Bonners Ferry, Idaho
Howdy, Neighbors!
The ride from Dillon, to Missoula, MT, had to be altered due to a cold rain that saw me on the 4-lane with one thought in mind…get to Missoula, quickly, and intact.
Photo taken about four days ago just before departing Dillon, on my way to Missoula.
Don’t forget, just click on any of the photos to make them bigger.
The following morning was sun drenched, and the ride to Whitefish, Montana, was made all the better because the motel breakfast room hostess, another rider, gave me directions for “the best route”. Route 35 goes up the less travelled east side of Flathead Lake, the largest body of fresh water west of the Mississippi; it’s noted for its great fishing and cleanliness. For details take a look at this link. http://visitmt.com/categories/moreinfo.asp?IDRRecordID=11891&siteid=1
Route 35 also took me through a portion of the Flathead Indian Reservation, which had a hell of a lot more charm than reservations I saw in Wyoming. The lake area is also noted for a mild climate, abundant cherry orchards, and vineyards. It was a beautiful ride, and one that eventually took me to a town called Big Fork.
At one time it was a waaay coool old timey town. Then, like so many other places, say, like Camden, Maine, Aspen, Colorado, and the Cotswold’s, in England, it was “discovered”. Fancy cars, high-end shops, and the smell of money have soiled the atmosphere…I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of town. When I move, it will be to a town where there are fewer Range Rovers.
That’s Bridgette, a charming lady who is originally from California, she has two shops in Big Fork catering to the rich and famous, and a wealth of information. She also has two other great looking assets…not sure if they were also originally from California.
This is Dan the man, the best bar tender in Big Fork. You can find him serving repeat customers at the Garden Bar.
The best thing I saw in Big Fork, was spotted on the way out of town…a first class old car museum. The Flathead V8 Ford Collection, featuring period memorabilia, and over 80 Fords, an Edsel or two, and a few Mercury’s, from the 1920’s through the 1960’s.
The museum is run by its owners, Lyle & Loretta Aklestad; two most pleasant and informative people. Being a motorhead I had to stop and take a look. What a splendid collection, and Lyle and Loretta were wonderful hosts.
I had visions of Whitefish…someplace between seeing Sacajawea offering route and travel information to people dressed in animal skins, and Sacajawea pole dancing. Fortunately, I found a modern country town surrounded by impressive mountains, a handsome countryside, good looking buildings and homes, pleasant people, really good ice cream, and escalating real estate prices. Sanctuary costs money, and Whitefish is a good place to live!
A very nice lady of a certain age noticed I wanted to sit down to eat my ice cream. She said c’mon and sit down here, I won’t bite you. She gave me a sample of her Huckleberry ice cream. Yum!
This what the boats look like that are used to fish in fast flowing mountain streams.
For More Info About Whitefish: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitefish,_Montana
By the time I arrived in Whitefish, I’d seen so much Goddamned beautiful scenery that I was beginning to feel a bit desensitized to the grandness of nature. But here I was, facing the must-do ride through the middle of Glacier National Park on the “Going To The Sun” road that climbs up and over the mountain through Logan Pass. With a sense of “having to do this” because I was there, I headed out on a cool but sunny Sunday morning to see more f-ing beautiful scenery.
Never, ever, in my life have I seen a more powerful presence of nature, creation, physical beauty on Planet Earth, and awe-inspiring views, all in one location. These commanding visuals pushed me to think about “Who Are We? Where Did We Come From? Where Are We Going?” I found them to be humbling, and mind altering. If you are an Atheist and want to stay that way, I strongly urge you avoid Glacier Nat’l Park at all costs. You could stand a high risk of feeling the sensation of ingratitude, and thus forced to ask, why? Glacier National Park is the trip of a lifetime, and makes Yellowstone look quite ordinary. The magnificent Grand Teton Nat’l Park comes in a very respectable second.
Entering from the west side of the Park at around 3,500 feet, you are surrounded by lush conifer forestation. Then a tranquil lake appears through the trees to your left, with glimpses of rugged mountains beyond. The road curves along the shoreline in lazy “S” turns with strobes of sunlight shooting through the trees.
Once you arrive at the end of the lake you immediately begin to ascend and once above the trees you are assaulted, and that is the only word to use, assaulted by beauty of unimaginable power. The mountains have an impassable aspect to them, something even Frodo Baggins couldn’t conquer.
The road, such as it is, is carved out of the mountainside; most of it from sheer rock, and all of it providing non-stop sharp turns and thrills like a XXX ride at an amusement park.
The guardrails, when there are guard rails, are but eighteen inches high. They are your protection from high altitude drops that would have you splash at the bottom should you be unlucky enough to “go over”.
When you think you’ve seen the most incredible view of your life, another lurks right around the next corner.
When riding this road, you must pay strict attention because if you look out and down while riding a bike it can cause a slight dose of vertigo and a momentary loss of concentration. Not great when you’re less than one second away from busting your best superman moves.
With a great sense of relief, and accomplishment, you finally go over Logan Pass, which sits at about 7,000 feet. The descending side of the ride is far less spectacular for some time, but the road is no less challenging.
However, once you get down a ways, here come the views again, at which point you start smelling smoke coming from your optic nerve.
At the bottom of the mountain sits the village of Saint Mary where you stop for a cheeseburger made by Chinese girls, here for the summer, flipping burgers, and making a few yuan. There was a bit of a screw up with my order so one of the girls came out of the kitchen to apologize for the delay. I told her that she had disgraced her village, but that I would personally forgive her. She understood.
The only Caucasian working in the store was an older gal who asked if I were on a bike. When I responded “yes”, she told me not to take the main road back to Whitefish, but to make a right turn onto Route 49 just a few miles down the road. “Eets reel gude”, she said. I made the turn onto Route 49 and immediately saw a speed reduction to 35 mph. After a few attention-getting corners, another sign said, “Road Narrows”, yet another showed “S” turn for the next 15 miles, and finally, another speed reduction, this time to 25 mph. By the time I had finished with this fucking “reel gude” road, complete with unpaved sections and numerous 180 degree turns with sheer, unprotected drops, I was totally shot, and running on nothing but nervous energy all the way back to the motel. Staggering into my room, I dropped my helmet on the floor, stripped off my jacket, and went face down on the bed where I stayed for two solid hours of deep, dreamless, sleep.
When I finally awoke feeling in the pink, as one does when you know that you’ve escaped death, I decided to celebrate by having a Prime Rib in the Craggy Ledge restaurant. There, I met the charming Matt and Patsy Peyerl, from Bismarck, North Dakota. Proud parents of three, and a handsome young couple. They were in Whitefish for a conference. This was only the second time in almost nine years they had been away together, minus the kids. I still can’t imagine why they were at the bar. Young, alone, and good looking. I mean, WTF Matt, she’s hot!
This is how that photo really ought to look!
Harvey The Harley, Jr., taking a rest on the Going To The Sun road. A real bulldog of a motorcycle, I’m incredibly pleased with its performance, fuel economy, (45 mpg, loaded), and comfort. You bond with a good bike, and Harvey has become my esteemed travel companion, and soul mate.
Next blog will cover the departure from Whitefish, when I met a 78 year old man from Ohio who rides one of the worlds fastest sport bikes, and an unexpected change in plan that ‘s swung me, and Harvey, westward toward Spokane, and Seattle, via Bonners Ferry, Idaho, a beautiful small town in a breathtaking valley, where I’ve holed up for a couple of days.
XO
Middie
