Sometimes life and the weather change suddenly.  First, the life change story and then the weather.

I have worked at Ohio State University as a researcher for the past 23 years.  My sudden life change is that I am retiring from OSU at the end of August.  I have enjoyed working at OSU very much.  I was featured in the Spring 2018 Alumni magazine.  They convinced me to write for TheConversation.com, where my total readership broke 2 million people a few months ago.  They have promoted my research with over a dozen press releases.  Unfortunately, my job was supported by government grants, which have been cut.  After the trip is over it will be time to think about my next career, since playing golf daily holds little appeal.

The weather, especially in Montana, also changes quickly.  Last night at dinner the forecast was for hot and dry conditions during this morning.  Then with a 20 to 40 percent chance the forecast predicted that sometime from 3 PM till 5 PM a new cooler weather front would arrive.  Where the two fronts collide, the forecast was predicting large hail, heavy rain and lightning.

This forecast concerned me for two reasons.  First, pedaling a bike on the plains means that in a lightening storm I am the tall object on a metal bicycle.  While it is normally gratifying to attract attention, lightning is not something to entice.

Second, on the last cross-country bicycling trip, I was hit by hail and heavy rain in Kansas.  We made it to the edge of a city just as a storm hit.  One minute I could see.  The next moment everything beyond two feet away disappeared in the deluge.  I don’t mind getting wet.  But getting wet while being hit by sharp ice is quite painful.  In Kansas we were able to get onto the porch of a kind person’s home, so we had some protection.  I was unsure in Eastern Montana a similar kind of porch would be available again.

Since the forecast stated the chance of the storm was only 20 to 40 percent, I decided to try pedaling and not spend another night in Great Falls.  As a precaution I would start pedaling very early in an attempt to finish before the storm.  I also checked out all the places I could stop and seek shelter.

I was on the road at just after sunrise and did 25 miles before 9 AM.  I stopped for a bathroom break at a rest stop.  The bathroom had a loudspeaker system that was playing Montana’s weather.  The forecast had not changed.  By 11:30 I had done half the day’s mileage but was famished.  I stopped in the small town of Geyser for a hamburger, which was quite good!

After Geyser my speed dropped.  Part of it was a strong headwind.  Part of it was pedaling on a full stomach.  Part of it was that by noon I had already been on the bike for about five hours without a long break, except for wolfing down a hamburger and pulling over to swap water bottles.

I made it to Stanford, MT around 2 pm.  One hour to go before the storm was supped to hit and I still had 45 miles left to pedal through rural areas.  In Stanford the wind started to change direction and the sky began to darken.  I stopped at the last gas station in town.  They said it was 28 miles to the next gas station/shelter.  I wasn’t sure what to do with the storm coming closer.  I decided to hitch another ride.  If the storm showed up before I got a ride, I could at least stand under the roof that protected the gas station’s pumps.  If the storm hit while I was in a pickup truck, I was protected.

A very nice man named Dale, stopped and offered to give me a ride to the next gas station.  Dale ran his own repair shop and did a lot of work on combines and tractors.  He was going to fix the air conditioning unit on a combine just beyond the next gas station.  We had a nice chat and I learned all about the economics of repairing farm equipment and contract harvesting.  Dale’s ride was great because the storm was coming from the west and he drove me due east, which increased the distance between me and the storm.

He let me off at Eddie’s Corner, which was 17 miles from my destination of Lewistown, Montana.  I looked at the sky.  I looked at Eddie’s Corner, which offered less protection than I hoped.  The storm seemed to have slowed a bit.  The wind was now a gusting 20 mph tailwind.  My conclusion was there was enough time to pedal to Lewistown safely.

Did you ever make up your mind and then have that sickening feeling that the choice was wrong?  About 4 miles down the road from Eddie’s, the whole left side of the sky looked dark and angry.  Then I heard thunder.  It was far off, but it was clear this storm was going to happen.  I started pedaling faster.  To make the story short, I sprinted for 1 hour.  Normally, with a loaded pack I pedal about 12 mph.  The program that monitors my speed and distance showed I did the sprint to Lewistown at about 18 mph, with the help of a tailwind.

I made it to the “Welcome to Lewistown” sign just as the first rain drops fell.  I made it to a nice hotel, called the Calvert, as the sky overhead became dark and angry.  I don’t think hail hit Lewistown, so the forecast was off on that part.  But the forecast was right that the storm would pass quickly.  By the time I checked-in, took a shower and was ready to leave the hotel for dinner, the sky was clear again.

An afternoon of outrunning a storm was exciting, but also exhausting.  My original plan for tomorrow was to do 130 miles.  That plan is totally unrealistic.  Caleb, who checked me into the hotel suggested a shorter ride of 55 miles instead.  Caleb is a clearly a smart man.  I will sleep in tomorrow morning and take it relatively easy.

Biking long distances is clearly more of a mental challenge than a physical challenge.  Last night, I stayed in the Three Bears Motel.  The bed was comfortable.  The room smelled fine.  The neighbors were not particularly noisy.  With all these advantages I didn't sleep a wink.  This morning I wanted to rename the motel the "Princess and the Pea," after the princess who could not sleep because a pea was placed under her mattress to test her.

What was the problem?  I lay in bed stressing about today's ride.  Today I needed to bike up Roger's Pass on Montana's Route 200.  Roger's Pass, as the picture shows, is where I cross the continental divide.  All water dropped on the ground to the west of the divide sooner or later ends up in the Pacific Ocean.  All water to the east of the divide ends up in the Atlantic.

For those of you interested in history, Roger's Pass is famous for having the lowest recorded temperature in the contiguous 48 states.  In 1954 at a mining camp on the pass the temperature hit minus 70 degrees.  You can read about it here.

The last time I biked across the country I did eleven different continental divide crossings.  I was young and a wee bit stupid.  Instead of crossing the Rockies once, I went up the backbone of the Rockies.  This time would be different.  Just one crossing, not multiple.

Most continental divide crossings are a physical challenge so I wanted to know what to expect.  Google Map and Earth tell you a lot, but local experience today still beats looking at computer images.  I asked four different people where I was staying in Lincoln what the pass was like.  Three out of four said they had never been up the pass and the fourth had done it a long time ago.

This was shocking to me because Roger's Pass is a bit over 18 miles from Lincoln and the town of Lincoln has only one main road, that goes directly to the pass.  If these people had not done the pass, there must be a reason.  My brain went into hyperactive mode all night thinking of all the reasons why locals wouldn't go there.

The reason, which I found out later, is that there is an alternative pass five miles closer than Roger's that is very steep and has lots of switchbacks.  If you can manage to get over the alternative pass then you end up on the Interstate highway (route I-15).  Going over Roger's Pass takes you away from the Interstate, which was something I was keen to do, but most people who live in Lincoln are not.

Roger's Pass ended up being something pretty straightforward to bike up.  When the pass started I had 4 gears left and thought "this is going to be a piece of cake."  Halfway up the pass I was in my easiest gear (smallest ring in the front, biggest ring in the back) and sweating hard.  I did make it up to the top without stopping or walking, but it was no piece of cake.

I took the obligatory pictures and spilled a little filtered Gatorade and water on both the west and east side of the continental divide sign.  Then it was time for the six mile downhill.  If you ever do something like this, make sure you have wrap-around glasses.

The wind and air pressure coming down was intense and my eyes were tearing up.  Having your eyes filled with tears when nothing separates you from going over the edge of a mountain except for a low guard rail is a hair raising experience.  I used my brakes a lot, which kept the speed down enough so that I could see.  Wrap-around glasses keep some of the wind and pressure off the eyes and let you go down the mountain faster.

The end result was that I made it up, over and then down Roger's Pass.  There was a bit to worry about, but nothing worth spending 8+ hours in bed imagining all kinds of terrible things.  The mental pain was much more than the physical pain of getting over the pass.

I am just beat, so very little happened today.  I spent a lot of time in bed trying to recover.  The Rockies and the Cascades were far tougher than I thought.

I had sushi in Missoula.  It was a nice change of pace from hamburgers.  I also spent a long time cleaning and reoiling the bike.

Today was a relatively short day of pedaling, slightly more than 40 miles.  One problem that I have biking in Montana is that there are relatively few towns and motels.  The choice today was 40 miles to Missoula or 130 miles to Lincoln, Montana.

The last time I biked across the country I had the same problem in Montana; finding places to stop at reasonable distances.  Once on the last trip we just couldn’t make it to the next town because the distance was too far.  We saw a clearing just off the road.  It was besides some train tracks, but the tracks did not look very used.  We set up our tents, had some food and went to sleep.  In the middle of the night the ground started to shake.  It felt like an earthquake was happening.  Then a huge roaring noise filled the air as a giant train screamed by on the tracks.  I was too petrified to even open my tent flap.

The motel in Alberton was a bit like this story.  All the rooms looked at the Clark Fork River.  Just on the other bank of the river were train tracks.  These tracks were used more than the tracks I camped beside years earlier, but the result was the same.  I didn’t get a lot of sleep even though the surroundings were quite beautiful, and the motel’s restaurant served a great steak dinner.

My wife talked to me on the phone and tried to convince me of the need for a day off.  I wasn’t sure in the morning when I set off.  The ride towards Missoula was not much different than previous days of riding through Western Montana.  Today, luckily there were no missing or closed roads!  However, there were places were the road surface switched to loose gravel and hard packed dirt.   I was also chased by a dog, but it was early enough in the day that I could pedal faster than that dog could run.

I then hit a section of road construction.  The crew was spraying the dirt with water, so I got to pedal through sticky mud.  The bike and I were a total mess.  After making it through the mud the bike was not working well.  I was in a small town and found a man mowing his lawn.  I asked if he had a hose.  I was able to get the heaviest parts of the mud off the wheels, chain and brakes.  The bike worked much better after its bath, but I was still covered with dirt.

On the way into Missoula I picked up a bike path just ahead of a slightly overweight teenage girl wearing sandals.  I beat her on the downhill since I had the better bike.  On the flat she blew me away.  At that point I realized I needed a rest day, soon.

I made it by 2 PM to the local REI store.  I wanted a spare tire.  I had brought spare tubes and patches but the experience outside of Spokane convinced me that I needed a spare tire too.  They were out of my size (700 X 32 cm) but they did have lubricant so that I could reoil the bike after the mud bath.  The cashier chatted with me about my ride and felt that the next 200 miles would not be a problem.  He said the first 100 miles were a slow but steady uphill.  The next 100 miles were rolling hills that he didn’t think would give me a problem.  That was good news.

There was another bike store near my motel.  They had the same tire which REI was out of stock.  It was $10 more but I wasn’t going to take a chance of slicing a tire in Eastern Montana and not having a spare.  The salesman told me the same information about the next 200 miles.  I asked him if I should stop in Missoula or take a rest day in Great Falls, which is the town 200 miles from here.  He was unequivocal, “don’t go to Great Falls, stay here.”

It looks like I am spending two nights in Missoula.  I took a rest day here decades ago on my last bike trip.  None of the town looks familiar but I am doing familiar things.  Last time in Missoula I cleaned my clothes in a laundromat.  Tonight, I went to a laundromat to get the mud out of my bike clothes.  Last time we had a small party in the laundromat.  I bought wine, cheese and crackers.  This time was more subdued.  I talked on my cell phone and read email.  The result in both cases was the same; clean clothes.

This morning I hit the wall.  Maybe I was over-optimistic that I could do hundred-mile days through the Rockies.  Maybe I am just getting older.  Maybe many of you told me I was being unrealistic to not schedule any rest days.

Whatever the reason, I woke up around 5:30 AM and felt terrible.  I went back to sleep.  At 7 AM I woke up and still felt bad.  I decided to try the Super 8 Motel’s free breakfast.  It didn’t help.  On my way back to the room I looked at the sign and thought it said check-out was noon.  Maybe sleeping till noon would help?  I went back to bed.  At 11 am housekeeping knocked on the door and told me check-out was now.  Noon was actually check-in.

The front desk said I could stay the extra hour.  My original plan, months ago, was a 90-mile trip to Missoula, one of Montana’s big cities.  There was no way starting at noon that I could do 90 miles even if I felt in great shape and I didn’t.

Google Maps showed there was another motel 16 miles down the road in Superior Montana and also one 47 miles down the road in Alberton.  The maps also showed that some of the route would be on abandoned railroad right of ways.  My body was saying it needed a rest day, so I figured I would try the 16 miles and if that felt good I would keep going to Alberton.  Missoula would have to wait.

My wife called the motel in Alberton and they said there was plenty of rooms so there was no need to book ahead.  The first 16 miles to Superior were relatively easy for the Rockies.  There was one gravel section during a huge up and downhill, but the gravel was small and not very loose.

The scenery for the first 16 miles was amazing.  I went through one meadow that was particularly memorable.  A rancher had just pulled his truck and horse trailer into the meadow and opened the back down.  Four majestic horses sniffed the air and then bolted for freedom.  I felt I was watching a tourist commercial for “welcome to western Montana, were everything is free.”

Lunch, around 1:30 was a sandwich on the lawn in front of the courthouse in Superior.  After eating I checked in to see if I could go another 32 miles.  Legs, brain and backside all said 32 more miles were possible, but not a lot more.

The next 16 miles were just as scenic as the first 16 miles.  The river, mountains and trees were beautiful.  I was not setting any speed records by pedaling a bit less than 10 miles per hour, but the bike was moving forward.

A few miles later I ran into some problems.  Before setting out I had spent time with Google Maps ensuring I could make it the whole way from St. Regis to Alberton.  I looked at roads and even did satellite mode when the roads turned to dirt or gravel, since the Google mapping cars only stay on paved roads.  It looked like a good route on the computer.

Around mile 33 or 34 I was feeling good, thinking I had less than 15 miles to go.  Then the road switched from asphalt to gravel.  No worries, the gravel was packed.  Then the road split.  I was bit unsure which way to go since the mapping software said go straight but the sign clearly said, “no outlet.”  I went right and ended up at the river’s edge at a boat put-in and take-out.  I walked back up the hill, since pedaling on loose gravel with weak legs was not an option.  Just at the split a raft guide in his van passed me by.  I flagged him down and asked.  He said there was no road and I had to peddle on I-90 the last 15 miles to Alberton.

This did not sound good.  I-90 in Montana has an 80-mph speed limit.  I was not interested in being road kill.  Since not all the advice you get, even from river guides, is right I went up the “no outlet” road that Google Maps said was the way to go.

The gravel road soon stopped and became two ruts separated by grass.  Then the ruts stopped at a gate and the road completely disappeared.  There were two options.  First, bushwhack without a compass or map through someone’s private property.  This was not my first option since landowners in Montana don’t like trespassers.  The second was to go back to the highway.  Just before the highway I heard a truck coming up behind me.  I stuck out my thumb and a giant pickup truck pulled over.

It was driven by Jared, who was taking a couple from California, for a fishing trip on the river.  I told him my problem. He threw the bike in the truck and drove one exit down the highway, which was where he was going.  I was willing to pedal the whole way, but if the road no longer exists there did not seen much choice but to ask for a ride.

One exit down Google Maps showed I was still on the right road!  I pedaled for a few more miles and ran into another problem.  The road I was supposed to continue onward was closed with barbwire across it.  For added measure the owner put an interesting sign that you can see in the pictures.  For those who cannot see the pictures the sign suggested the surest way to a fast death was trespassing.  The only option was getting on I-90.

I stood next to the barbwire hoping someone like Jared would show up but traffic was nonexistent.  About 20 minutes later one car did drive down.  It turned out to be the co-owner of the fast death sign.  I told her my problem and she was clear that her family had bought the railroad right of way and did not want people on it.  However, she did understand my predicament and volunteered to drive me one exit down the highway, which was the town of Alberton, so I did make it to the next motel

Early this morning I didn’t think I could pedal even one mile.  I ended up having a relatively light day and covered about 40 miles of pedaling in about five hours.  I am not sure what lesson to take from today.  Maybe, just be flexible and things work out.