Dakota Excursion - part 3
 Photos and story by Colleen First
We're back with part 3 of the Dakota trip.
Click here if
you missed part 2.
The heat had been increasing and now that we were crawling along
the park’s approach road, the cooling breeze of movement was no
longer doing its job. We stopped at the store at the park’s entrance
to adjust gear, get some water and check out the store. The store
clerk didn’t know how much it cost to get into the park but said
that cars were $10. I looked at Req and said “I’ll split it with
you” and asked him about doubling up on his bike. He was game for
it, we locked his Givi’s to my bike and pulled up to the tollgate
on his Strom. Naturally it was only $5 for motorcycles, but just
think of all of the Reese’s Cups I can buy with that $5 saved! Jim
joined us in the park, on his own bike.
After a casual spiral around the fringes of the tower, we reached
the parking lot and found a spot among the cars, RVs and other
motorcycles. Some gear was shed and we walked to the path that would
lead us directly to the base of the monolith. We didn’t bother to
walk all the way around the base but instead stood for a while in
the shade of a tree watching a speck of a climber attempting to
scale to the top of the tower. Enough of being a spectator; it was
time for us to do our own climb back on to the bikes and hit the
road.
We left Jim at Devil’s Tower while Req and I continued north. It
was a pleasant ride through a varied landscape and the sun peeked
through scattered white clouds. Nearing the Montana border I made a
pass and expected Req to follow along behind me. When I didn’t seem
him right away I assumed that he had stopped for a photo and I kept
riding, but at a leisurely pace. I reached the tiny town of Hulett
and decided to wait for him here, parking the bike at the curb
underneath the welcome shade of a tree. I kept scanning the corner,
expecting him to appear at any minute, but was worried when he
hadn’t shown up in what I felt was a reasonable amount of time. Req
had commented that twice now his bike had died at idle and I was now
concerned that he was sitting on the side of the road, waiting for
me. I turned my bike around and doubled back through town to seek
him out. No sooner had I ridden past the last city block then did I
see him heading toward me. It turned out that his tank bag had been
open and his birth certificate had flown out while at speed. He had
stopped to retrieve it and was fortunate to be able to find it with
relative ease. Now we could continue on our way.
We rode back through the town and were soon gaining elevation
along a deep valley. Traffic was minimal and I was enjoying the wide
open roads when I noticed that my GPS said I was going east. I
should be going north. That was odd. I pulled off to the side and
informed Req that somewhere back there I had missed the turnoff for
Montana. We circled back and rode through town yet again, looking
for a sign for where we should turn. I eventually had to ask at the
general store, learning that I had overlooked the sign (twice)
during my anxious search for Req. Direction now correct, we were
once again on our way.
Southeastern Montana doesn’t have a lot of variety. It’s
beautiful but it’s also fairly desolate. Rolling plains stretched
out underneath eternal skies, giving both of us time and reason to
contemplate why Montana is known as Big Sky Country. At the junction
of 112 & 212 I pulled over at the only building, a roadhouse saloon
that proudly advertised cheap beer and lousy food. The parking lot
was empty and Req gave me a quizzical look when he saw that I was
contemplating stopping here for lunch. I looked around some more and
reconsidered my choice. I was turning my bike just in time to see
Randy and Mary, two friends from the Meet, go speeding by on their
bikes. I flew across the grassy median and flogged my GS to chase
them, eventually catching up to wave hi.
Their pace was faster than ours and I let them gradually pull
away, their two silhouettes eventually cresting one last hill and
fading off into the distance. It was just Req and I and it was time
for lunch. I spotted a couple of bikes in the parking lot of the
diner in Hammond and took that as a good sign and pulled in. A huge
puddle from the previous night’s rain was on one side of the parking
lot and I aimed the GS directly through the middle of it. It was
much deeper than I had anticipated and water was flung up in all
directions, completely covering me from head to toe. Req laughed
heartily at me and I was smiling when I parked my dripping bike next
to his. He had decided not to follow me through the puddle.
Obviously his sense of adventure needs to be adjusted.
Lunch was good, with entertainment being provided by listening to
the bikers and the locals alike. This was diehard farming land and
the men who came in obviously worked hard to put food on my table. I
wanted to convey my appreciation to them for their efforts but
didn’t know how to do so without sounding like a fool from the big
city. In hindsight I should have just done it.
 Back
out in the parking lot I was waiting for Req to gear up and decided
to take a couple of laps around the parking lot. I headed for more
puddles and amused us both by splashing around until he was ready.
And much to my disappointment he once again declined to give the
puddles a try even though I had demonstrated how harmless they were.
It was time to ride east for a long time. We had no real
destination for the night but were once again determined to find a
place to camp. Infrequent small towns popped up along the way,
giving me insight to the people who lived in this area. One sight in
particular caught my eye enough for me to turn around and snap a
photo of it. A horse was hitched to an old Amish-type buggy in front
of a white-picket fenced house. What was odd about this was that
there were three mattresses strapped to the top of this buggy. I
chuckled and then raced to catch up to Req further down the road,
telling him what he had missed later that night.
We stopped short of I-90 and put on some extra layers, as the
weather was cooling off and I was getting uncomfortable. It was back
to the interstate but only for a short time until we reached
Billings. From there we’d start looking for a place to stay for the
night.
I must have retreated into some sort of coma for this section of
I-90 because I can’t recall any of it. I just know that Billings is
a much bigger and more industrial city than I was expecting. I found
a full-size grocery store where we once again stocked up for the
evening’s dinner. Under threatening clouds we left Billings behind,
climbing up an amazingly high and ancient riverbank. The view of the
city was expansive and the road followed the rim of this canyon for
some time before darting north and away from the city.
I checked my map on my tank bag and saw three or four towns
between here and the next junction and trusted that one of them
would have suitable accommodations for us. I was wrong. Each dot on
the map represented approximately four buildings, with even the
largest dot, Lavina at the junction, offering up nothing more than a
general store and a couple of random businesses. Our prospects were
looking slim, especially considering that the dots on 12 were even
fewer and further between for the next 50 miles. The sun was falling
and we were on our own.
The map gave one more glimmer of hope: just twenty minutes away
there was a symbol for a campground. We’d be getting in late but at
least it was worth a shot. After what seemed to be forever I saw a
sign for “fishing access” and realized that this was our chance. I
pulled off onto the side road and consulted with Req. Our choices
were to take this dirt road to the “fishing access”, not knowing
what was there or how far it was. Or we could keep on riding to
Harlowton and hope that there was some place to stay there. By now
the sun was showing off its evening colors and I knew that we had to
make a choice quickly. We chose to look for a motel in town. I found
that we were choosing the “adventure of finding a motel” over the
“adventure of finding a campsite” amusing and wondered if we would
have been better off camping for once. Regardless, it was a few dark
miles to Harlowton, made slower not just by the twilight but also by
a surprising increase in traffic.
Our adventure ended at the neon lights of the Corral Motel,
brilliantly lit up and across the street from a truck stop and
casinos. The room was clean and large, paneled in exotically stained
particle board with circular florescent tube ceiling lights. This
was travelling in style!
The next day was a big one: we were going to visit Glacier
National Park. I wanted to get on the road early so as to have
plenty of time to lollygag through the park and see the sights. A
quick fuelling in Harlowton set us up for a few hours of riding and
we were once again heading east, but only for a little bit. Near the
town of White Sulphur Springs route 89 shot off sharply to the
north, passing through Lewis and Clark National Forest before
joining 87 into Great Falls. It was a good choice. The road kept me
entertained as it traced its way up a wide low valley, the hillsides
covered in deep pines while a bubbling stream ran along side the
pavement, glistening in the bright sunshine. Periodically, houses
were set back in the hills, long drives snaking their way out to the
road. As we rode north the valley narrowed, eventually closing in
tightly, its rocky walls towering on either side of the twisting
path. Rapid elevation changes gave an added dimension to this
already fun ride and I had the pleasure of leaning the bike over
time after time.
A quick stop in the tiny burg of Neihart to secure gas left us
empty-handed. Req’s range was less than mine and his tank was
getting pretty low. According to the local gentleman spraying weed
killer on his lawn, the only two pumps in town were shut down and
would not be turned on for another two hours. I double-checked the
mileage on my map to the next town, consulted the running odometer
on my bike and estimated that we should be able to make it. And if
nothing else, we could siphon gas out of my oversize tank and into
Req’s (something he was not very keen on resorting to). Back on the
bikes and back on 89, it was a quick trip up to 87 and then just a
few more miles to Belt, Montana. Those last few miles were a bit
nerve-wracking, as I hadn’t calculated them into my mileage. But the
turn off to Belt from the main road was a special little treat as it
closely followed a deep ravine and dropped quickly to the valley
floor below. The one pump in Belt was operational and we both pulled
up to it to replenish our supplies. Belt is a cute little town with
an historic stone theatre, a rock-faced bank and quaint rusty pick
ups trolling down its street. The general store was a veritable zoo
of taxidermy animals, poised over the aisles of soup and laundry
detergent. More Reese’s were purchased and we took a little break in
the parking lot, drinking our water and watching the town go by.
Refreshed and refuelled we got back onto 87 and onto Great Falls.
I’ve always wondered about the falls that towns are names after.
Just where were the “Great Falls”? Were they even still visible or
had they been buried behind dams? I think that it would be an
interesting search for these falls someday. I think that perhaps we
saw them on our way through the city. In my haste I had read the
sign for the bypass for 89 and confused that for the 87 that we
should have been on. It was a circuitous route around and through
the city, but it was somewhat enlightening nonetheless. And we still
managed to find the interstate on the other side, forced to take it
for just a few miles before regaining the pleasure of 87 through the
countryside.
Ever so faint on the horizon I could see the dark forms of the
Rocky Mountains. I was getting closer but it would take a while
before they would rise up before me in their glory. Instead I
focused on the gently rolling hills around me and the flat, wide
marshlands near Eastham Junction. Many birds were taking advantage
of the protected area and I had hoped to stop for photos.
Unfortunately, taking pictures of birds is usually a patient
endeavour, requiring time and persistence. I was short on both.
Instead I kept my eyes open for the various species I could
recognize and others that simply intrigued me.
It seemed to take a long time to cover the 80 miles to Browning.
Perhaps it was the slight monotony of the surroundings, or the idea
that Browning would be a lunch stop and I was looking forward to the
break. Regardless, it was with slight relief that we reached the
outer limits of the city and I pulled off into the first diner
parking lot I saw. As a testament to the diner, many locals came
through to eat there while we were seated. Lunch was tasty and
relaxed and we poured over maps while we ate. I suggested our plan
of attack for Glacier National Park, which Req approved of (he’s a
really good travelling partner). It was time to hit the road again.
I did another lap around the parking lot while waiting for Req to
get ready, almost dumping the GS in the surprisingly deep and loose
gravel in the corner. That would have been embarrassing, to say the
least. Req was ready to go and I pulled out on to the main road. I
immediately noticed a large SUV (like there is any other kind) that
had just pulled into the left lane from the other side of the road. My
well-honed motorcycling instincts warned me that she’d soon by
merging into my lane and sure enough, without so much as a signal or
turn of the head she was coming my way. I backed off and with a
blast of my horn and went around to her left. She appeared momentarily
startled from her phone conversation but quickly resumed her dazed
state as she continued drifting over into Req’s path. I watched him
avoid her in my mirrors and shook my head visibly at her stupidity,
my hatred of cell phone-using drivers reaffirmed once more.
The main arterial through town swung to the left and as I slowly
moved through traffic I had the joy of watching a cruiser turn left
toward the entrance to a gas station just as a truck was pulling
out. The truck surprised the cruiser and he wobbled his bike for a
few feet, narrowly avoiding dropping it, before he could regain
control and get around the truck. This town was dangerous and I
wanted nothing more than to leave it behind me. In my haste to do so
I forgot that it was time to get gas.
It was a few miles down the road when I realized what our mileage
was and that gas may or may not be available in the next town. I
pulled over to check with Req but he assumed that I was a on a
picture-taking mission and blew right by me. Surprised, I caught up,
passed him and then pulled over again. He blew right by me. So I
caught up to him again and on a straight stretched I matched his
pace in the next lane over and motioned to the gas tank. He looked
vaguely confused and at this point I gave up. If he ran out of gas
he could suck on the siphon hose!
The road we were on paralleled the Rocky Mountains as they gained
the grandeur commonly associated with Glacier National Park.
Light-leafed aspen trees covered the nearby slopes while acres of
torched pine forests covered the distant hills with grey skeletons.
Traffic was getting thicker and so were the corners, a sad
combination. I was enjoying the occasional corner taken at speed but
they were few and far between. Finally I pulled over on a gravel
turnout just to let traffic get ahead and to give myself a break. It
was a beautiful spot to check out and Req and I each took a few
photos of the mountains and the wildflowers. The roads weren’t about
to clear up as we stood there though, so we got back on the bikes
and joined the crowds heading north.
While coming down a long and fairly open hill I could see a dirt
road at the top on the other side. What better way to avoid the
crowds than to explore some dirt roads? Req was right behind me as I
signaled and took the turn. We flew a mile or so down some
well-packed dirt, surrounded by felled trees in the midst of a log
salvage project. Those grey skeletons were being harvested before
they became unusable. The mess created by such an undertaking was
all around us. But then we were also surrounded by unspeakable
beauty. Hillsides of wildflowers of every color, snow-capped
mountains framed by blue skies, rich green leaves of underbrush
recovering in the burn areas.
Not content to just sit there and look at the pretty scenery I
suggested to Req that we do some more exploration. Always game for
fun (but not necessarily puddles) he agreed and we continued down
the packed dirt road. At a “Y” junction I paused, not sure which
would be the better choice. The one to the left looked a little
rougher and therefore more adventurous so I chose it. I should have
chosen the other one.
The surface was heavy, loose dirt that didn’t play well with our
street-oriented tires. I plunged on ahead until I came to another
“Y,” at which point I thought that turning around would be the best
option. Unfortunately in doing so I also dropped my bike. It was one
of those silly, low-speed situations where the front wheel caught an
especially deep rut and the momentum of the heavy bike just kept
going down, down, down until the bike was resting comfortably on its
side. I stood up just in time to see Req pulling up on his bike, a
grin on his face. He whipped out his camera and then came over to
help me pick the beast up. We decided to head back to the pavement
and go into the park on proper paved roads.
Fortunately the gift shop at St Mary’s Lake sells gas. Of course
they also know that they have a corner on the market and charged us
a pretty penny for the privilege of filling our tanks. They also had
jacked up prices on other “tourist necessities,” such as charging
$90 for a memory card that we saw later that day in Canada for only
$10. I still bought some stickers for my bike and then we headed
into the park.
Going to the Sun Highway was not open all the way. In fact, we
got the short end of the stick because coming in from the east the
road was only open for nine miles, but had we come in from the west
we would have had 17 blissful miles of amazing scenery and vistas.
The weather was perfect, too. As it was, we rode up as far as we
could and then turned around and rode back down. What else could we
do?
Having seen as much of Glacier as we were going to, we set off
northward again, looking for a nice cabin or place to pitch our
tents before the end of the day. We rolled north past the town of
Babb, which must have been very small, as I don’t recall seeing it,
and then jumped off the main road to take 17 up and over the
northern end of the park and into Canada. It was another stretch of
road with a ridiculously low speed limit that I conveniently ignored
until I caught up to a couple of cruisers. They were doing the speed
limit and not wanting to appear too much of a jerk, I hung out
behind them instead of blasting by. I should have just blasted by.
Their pace was fine if you wanted to inspect the flowers on the side
of the road but it was almost torture to see these corners wasted
under my tires. Instead of languishing behind them any longer I
chose to stop for some photos, letting them get far ahead while I
secured some memories to relive at a later time. It worked. I got a
couple of shots and by the time Req and I reached the border the
guard was just finishing with the other bikers.
The guard was very congenial and walked to where we sat on our
bikes instead of asking us to move up to the line. He asked the
requisite questions while I swatted at mosquitoes hovering around my
head. He seemed satisfied with our answers and motioned us to move
ahead. I did so and was surprised when I looked back and saw that he
was still talking with Req. It turned out that the guard was
thinking of getting a Strom and wanted to know what Req thought of
his. This tickled Req to no end!
From the border we made a quick descent to Waterton Park but
decided not to check out the village. I had been there before and
quite honestly the only thing I can remember is that there were deer
in the yards of the houses. Instead we’d keep heading north/west and
shoot for a cheap motel. We had unanimously agreed that the
mosquitoes were to thick and we weren’t going to deal with them. We
really are wusses, aren’t we?
Some time after we left Glacier National Park, the sunshine left
us. The clouds had moved in and they looked dark and threatening,
another reason not to camp. We travelled along 3, nothing truly
remarkable occurring for many miles. A quick stop at Pincher Station
for a break was enjoyed and while I was inside and Req waited
outside, a heavy burst of rain blew through and soaked everything in
sight, including Req.
 Checking
the map I could see that the town of Fernie was just an hour down
the road. It was already getting late but Req said that he didn’t
mind riding further to stay there. I had heard other people comment
on the charm of the town and I had always been curious to see it.
This would be a great opportunity.
When riding east to west, lower British Columbia appears to be one
big mountain. No sooner do you cross a pass and think “well, that
was fun” then another mountain range would loom ahead. This makes
for interesting riding and scenery, for what can be days on end. We
had dropped elevation rapidly from Waterton and even more coming
into Pincher Station but now it was time to regain some of the
ground. The highway is now a blur in my mind but I do recall high
cloud-covered peaks, heavily forested mountainsides and fast flowing
rivers. And then we reached Fernie.
The helpful billboards on the approach to Fernie informed us that
the cheapest place to be had was The Grand for $19.95 a night,
complete with active train tracks across the parking lot. We found
another likely looking place but the fact that it was locked up
tight made it unlikely that we would get a room. We tried two other
places, one whose “Vacancy” sign referred to RV spaces available
while the other place was closed for remodeling. Our choices were
getting slim. It looked like we were going to have to bite the
bullet and get a room in The Lodge, undoubtedly the town’s most
expensive accommodations. As luck would have it, I saw one more
option just as we were pulling into The Lodge’s parking lot. It was
the Same Sun Lodge – a hostel that catered to young adventures
travelling through the area. The price was right and the room was
comfortable. It would be perfect.
We unloaded our bikes and walked across the street to The Curry
Bowl, where a delicious hot meal filled our bellies. Returning to
the hostel I visited in the common room for a little bit before
heading back to the room. We settled in for the night and I enjoyed
the heavy featherbed comforter on my bunk. It was a very peaceful
night’s sleep.
Part 4 coming in January! |
