“Well, we’d be going faster on the bike,” Cheryl noted as we slowed for a mysterious bunch-up on the Going to the Sun Highway across the continental divide in Glacier National Park. Up ahead, a lady ranger, her short cropped hair barely peaking below the brim of her Smokey Bear hat, was urging the cars to move ahead. But people had abandoned their vehicles on either side of the two lane road, and were racing with cameras to our right.
“Must be a bear jam,” I said. “Get your camera out – nope, moose jam!”
In the bog below, a seven foot tall ungulate with mitten-like antlers stared up at the scores of humans peering down at him. Chewing his cud like an angus steer, he drove his head back under, searching for the plant roots he loved, and lived on.
“I hear they can stay under a long time,” Cheryl muttered as she fumbled with her high-end point and shoot. She was documenting every facet of our vacation, snapping nearly everything that happened, and some things that she just made up.
We were driving this section of road instead of biking due to Glacier’s strict curfew – no bikes in the critical sections between 11 AM and 4 PM. So we rode the tandem from the entrance to Lake MacDonald lodge and back, then drove back to the lodge for lunch, and rode again for another hour or so until we hit Logan Creek, where the restrictions kicked in.
Once back in the car, I said, “Too bad it’s not a goat.”
Cody had insisted we come back with at least a mountain goat sighting. One of the few things our kids remember from our original family vacation to Glacier was the short lunch time walk we took above timberline, when one of the white furry rock-hoppers sneaked up on us, and nearly snatched our lettuce filled sandwiches.
Luckily, on this trip, we found not only a goat perched on a precarious precipice, but also a bighorn ram, scampering up an open hillside of tundra. Cheryl managed to snap both, for vivid proof to our son that our time away from home had not been wasted.
The day before, we’d taken the tandem out for the first time in over a year, up and back along Montana route 83, through the Swan River valley. I’d been eyeing this spot for years every time I saw a Montana map. Over 50 miles from Seeley Lakes to Swan Lake, with just one small hamlet along the way. My plan was to drive up about 20-30 miles, get out and bike another 15-20, turn around and come back, and then drive on to the pre-Glacier lodging.
But those first 15 miles were not encouraging. The route was scenic, through a broad valley peppered with a beaded chain of lakes. But there was no shoulder, and for some reason, large vehicles, the ones preceded by pick-ups announcing “Oversize Vehicle”, were using this seemingly out of the way road as a through-way.
As we started up what seemed to be the final rise from the Clearwater over into the Swan River watershed, I pulled left into a turnout overlooking the last of the lakes, Lindburgh.
We dragged the tandem down from the decrepit roof rack and, without any real enthusiasm or hope, put it and ourselves together. Setting out on the narrow road, we each tried adjusting to the tricky and somewhat unfamiliar rhythms of the tandem. I pedaled easily, trying to adjust to the read end sway and lack of quick acceleration, for about a mile or so. At the top of the little rise, the road turned left, and opened up to a two foot wide well marked shoulder on each side.
With relief, and a downhill boost, we ramped up to 16-19 mph, and cruised easily past the Mission mountains on our left, and the Swan range on our right. Not super high, but still rising to a respectable 9000-plus feet above our 3500-4000’ valley. Grey granite jagged peaks, with summer snowfields tucked into shaded corners. All was green down here around us, despite the blue sky and 85F temperatures. No monster trucks passed on our side, and what few trailers or boats flowing by did so with room to spare.
About 15 miles in, we passed a small collection of buildings, including a lodge and two small diners. Good place to stop on the way back, I figured.
At about 16.5 miles, we turned around, still having not seen any of the oversized monsters, each hauling an immense round object more than one lane wide. Maybe they all had come through for the day?
The rough log cabin diner emerged from the forest on the left. An inviting deck spread across the front, where we leaned the bike and headed inside to a scene from 40 years ago. A counter with round, red vinyl covered swivel stools bolted to the floor. A round glass encased cooler, storing pies, and lemonade in a large mason jar. To one side, a small alcove with space for four tables, topped with checked oiled table covers.
“Do you have any cool drinks, like iced tea? I asked.
“Do you have any flavored teas? added Cheryl. Then she noticed the lemonade, and inspiration struck. “Just put about 1/4 glass of the lemonade on top of my tea!” The teen-aged server smiled and, hauling out the jugs, gave us old-time super-sized plastic cups, the old kind with 16 sides and clinking ice inside.
“Three dollars” she said. Prices from the past, as well!
Cheryl was overjoyed by her lemonade tea. Just the thing to go with the second Baker’s Breakfast cookie as we read the Missoulian out there on the deck. It seemed like finally, our bike trip was beginning – some sun, some rest, nowhere to go, and an empty highway to go there on.