Today was a long day! By far our longest, both in terms of time and distance. Waking up in the small dusty town of Circle MT, we got our bikes ready. However, as luck would have it, literally just as Laurel pushed her bike through the door, she noticed in frustration that her back tire had gone completely flat. So back in we went. Laurel was quite frustrated by this, but there was nothing to be done. She said that yesterday she had thought perhaps it was losing air, but it must have been a very slow small leak to have deflated overnight. She took off the tire and removed the tube. We couldn't see any debris or clear puncture. She took out a new tube to put on, only then realizing that her only remaining spare tube was the wrong size. Her bike tires are a rarer size, 26" x 1.4. It is the second number, the width, that causes trouble. Her spade tube was too thin. She was definitely upset by this. I was nervous, both for the fact that she was upset and not knowing how I should help, and also that if we could not patch the leak we would be stuck for a bit. But I was also rather calm, because these are simply the sorts of things that happen. We've had good luck and bad luck, and with bikes you just never know what your fortune will be with tires. It is frustrating, of course, but that's just how it goes. I hurried into the bathroom and filled the sink. This way we could perhaps locate the leak. After submerging the tube, we were both relieved to spot some tiny air bubbles coming from the seam. At least we had located it. Laurel cleaned in up and patched it, and searched the tire itself over and over for debris or something sharp. Nothing. That can be quite frustrating too. Because you can never be certain then of what caused it, or if you have removed the problem.
From there we walked or bikes next door to the gas station. Laurels main frustration, I think, was the delay that this repair had caused. Usually we leave by around 7am, but now we would likely not be on the road til 8am. But so it is, and I knew it couldn't be helped. She was also nervous that there was wind forecasted, and now we might not beat it. At the gas station-- the only thing nearby-- we got cinnamon rolls and snacks, and I got some hot chocolate while Laurel got coffee. We sat like bums on the curb as we ate, undoubtedly looking silly. Shortly after starting to eat, a man in work clothes in perhaps his late thirties walked up to go into the gas station. I could tell from a distance that he was going to talk to us-- many people see our bikes and dirty clothes and guess on sight that we are traveling long distance and are thus curious (especially as we are two young women, I suppose). He was very animated and smiley, and hopped around near us-- switching between kneeling with us and standing. He talked at length, almost as a child might, about some of the long biking he had done some time ago and how all the land you could see around us was his family's ranch land and their 1000 cattle and how they were very behind on branding the calves, who were now not so small and more difficult to handle. Eventually he asked us which way we were headed. When we told him towards Fort Peck and the route we were planning, he suggested instead that we take the route via highway 13 to Wolf Point and then over, noting that it was nearly the same distance and a more scenic ride as it crossed the Missouri River and there was an old bridge over it and cottonwoods at the river, mentioning we might camp there too if we wanted. We both pondered this briefly, and perhaps with too little hesitation and thought, agreed that this seemed a better route. He waved from his dusty truck as he got on his way, and then we were going.
This man had also mentioned that highway 13 was a nicer road, with better surface. Though not smooth tar, as far as compressed gravel and Montana roads it was very smooth. We both agreed he had been right -- a good road. There were green mile markers along the way that had started in Circle, so for among the first times I could track exactly what our mileage was. Just before mile ten, the same dusty brown pickup passed us, and I noted that the driver waved. Ah, it must be the same man. At mile ten, ahead in a driveway, he had pulled in and was waiting to wave. As we approached a wave happily, and he told us we had already come ten miles! I think we were making good pace, and was impressed. I told him yup, the wind isn't too bad today, and he repeated in agreement it's a good road. So we were lucky to run into him.
From Circle to Wolf Point is 52 miles and in between there is only a small town with a church and an ag coop so no place to get a drink or sit down. The road, though smooth, is up and down with a number of climbs, and this does indeed wear me out. I know that for me I must divide up distances, and cannot go more than 30 miles without a stop. However, Laurel seems to be the sort of biker that, if there is no gas station or restaurant, stops only for a few minutes to take a drink while holding up the bike. If it were me, regardless of whether there is a gas station or not, I would prefer to sit down and drink some water and rest a bit longer. But immediately we were on our way again. The wind was minimal, though slightly against us, and the sun was growing hotter than we have had in the past days. During the remaining section Laurel was always far, far ahead of me and I kept trying to push onwards. At one point, I could see her shape far at the top of a hill, and what seemed to be two other bikes. I was puzzled. Sure enough, when I surmounted the hill Laurel was speaking to two perhaps 30 something year old men on aerodynamic bikes, with their gear light and strategic. They were doing the Seattle to Boston route and had come through Wolf Point and were headed to Glendive.
From here, the road descends into the Missouri River and crosses on a highway bridge next to a large, old style bridge. Suddenly, as the road flattened and when onwards and onwards, and the wind picked up and the sun was scalding, with about 3 miles left before Wolf Point I "hit the wall" I knew was coming. I felt immediately tired and knew that I should have been more adamant about breaking up the mileage. I walked for a while, Laurel far gone and already in town. I felt miserable. These repeated days of such high mileage are not at all for me, and there is nothing at all for me to look forward to. Finally staggering in to town and finding Laurel, I noted on a sign that the temperature had risen to 96 degrees. The only nearby option, Laurel deemed, was a Chinese food restaurant next to us. We went in but I had no interest in food at all. I ordered something small simply for formalities sake and asked for water. I was quite fried at this point, and no doubt the waiter thought we were sorry souls (at least me). I poked at my food and slowly at it, head down and not speaking. I told Laurel eventually that I knew I would not make the rest of the distance -- still more than 40 miles! As it turns out, the route that we had taken was not exactly the same distance -- it bumped us up to about 98 miles! So I would nearly have to repeat all the distance I had covered. I knew I wouldn't make it. Laurel offered, to my surprise, that we could stay here. I think I must have looked very run down indeed for her to agree so quickly. But I asked what this would do to us for tomorrow. I knew we did need to make it farther in order for Laurel to be able to finish in the time she hoped. She said tomorrow maybe we could just do 50 miles to Glasgow, and that she may have to end there and catch the train. I felt so downtrodden. I did not want Laurel to have to miss out on reaching the border now that we were so close. I knew I could go about 20 miles further, but likely that was the limit. Peculiar as it may sound, I know my body very well. More so now after years of track and field and now so much biking. You come to know signs of fatigue, and what works and doesn't work. For example, I know that for my body going 52 miles like I had that morning wipes me out unless it is broken up into smaller sections. This is similar to me for track and field, where I am able to do quite well running sets, even at high speeds, but to do so all at once I would not be able to accomplish the same amount. I recover rather quickly between sets, but only if given the quality chance to recover, which I had not done that morning.
However, Laurel found that from Wolf Point to Frazer would be 19 miles (1 mile less than 20, I noted with hope!). So we tried to strategize. Tired though I was, I wanted us to be able to go farther. A friend of ours was by chance planning to drive through Montana that day towards Glacier, and this have us some hope that potentially, if I couldn't go any further, perhaps they could come find us. Then, from Frazer to Nashua it was another 16 miles. This made it so that we could take it in steps and assess at each point.
Of note is that before entering Wolf Point, we had also entered the Fort Peck reservation (within which Wolf Point is located). This seems to be a very large reservation indeed.
The road out of Wolf Point was very busy with traffic. The shoulder alternated between being generous and being narrow. The sun was very hot at this point as well. Laurel took the lead as usual, and I think that she went at a cautious pace for me which was helpful. I road behind and felt as though I were balanced on a wire. After sitting at the restaurant, I was feeling better than before, and proceeded carefully. We had some good luck as well that the wind had somehow died down, and that the road was more or less flat and even sloping downwards sometimes. A patch of cloud even moved to block the most intense sun. I was very focused, and only let myself think of reaching Frazer. But in the back of my mind, I began to gain confidence. Yes, perhaps I can reach Nashua, I would think. And then tell myself to focus on one step at a time. Don't get ahead of yourself.
I was feeling alright when we reached Frazer, though we had both been banking on some sort of gas station if we were going to make it much further. As I suspected from far off, there was very little in the small town of Frazer. We crossed the railroad tracks, and besides some homes and the water tower all there appeared to be was a bar, without windows and a small closed door. I was not too concerned as I had prepared for this, saving a sports drink from Wolf Point. Laurel opted still to go check out the bar, because they might have something or at least water. Inside it was dark, but there was a bartender, a tall, large and relatively young native man, who for his size was very soft spoken. Laurel asked if we might just have some cups of water, and he got us two cups filled with ice and water. He asked us about our ride and we exchanged stories. Apparently he had lived for a little while at the Red Lake reservation in Minnesota, but was glad to be back here where he is from. He also said that he hitchhiked something like from Dallas back up to Montana. It took him about a week, and seemed a very difficult process. It can be unpredictable whether you will get a ride, and sometimes it gets dark. In the mountains, for example. He said that a couple times he had laid down on the side of the road when that happened. He also said that hitchhiking ruined a lot of white shirts! Laurel filled up her water bottle with ice, and we thanked him. We were the only ones in the bar, but just as we were headed out the door an older man was coming in, with shoulder length black hair and sun worn wrinkles, and some missing teeth but a kind face. He asked us if those were our bikes outside and about our ride and wished us luck.
From Frazer to Nashua, the roads were good enough and the wind calm. The sun was glistening and shadows growing long as it got on into the late afternoon. It was perhaps 5:00. I felt surprisingly good. I told Laurel I knew I shouldn't even be thinking about it, but I had seen the road sign for Glasgow and it was 28 miles away. I shouldn't even consider trying to reach it. But, then again! Maybe we could make it? It was already so late in the day, but Laurel pointed out that it does stay light out till about 9pm. We could make it before dark. I thought more on it and the more we rode, the more it made sense to make it there. The weather was good, and somehow I was still moving. We pedaled almost as a race to Nashua. It felt like a horse race, at least! The shoulder was wide enough most of the time to ride side by side, and we both talked happily and perhaps somewhat crazily. Reaching Nashua, I could tell I was tired, but not done for. There was a small cafe here, which thankfully was open. However, as I realized before even entering, these were the "lake people" the motel lady had spoken of back in Circle. Meaning, the rich or vacationing folk, who come to visit Lake Fort Peck. Oh yes, I could tell the instant we walked in that we were being judged (and in fact, this is among the first times that I felt judged negatively. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, but I sensed condescension. Of course we did look dirty and tired, but regardless!) It was also very busy. And so it took a while for the overtaxed waitress to take any orders. All I had been hoping for was a gas station, where I could get a lot to drink, so although it was better than nothing, I felt overwhelmed. But oh well, I got a bit of lemonade.
When we got back on our bikes, the light was long. It was well past 6:00. The road climbed in a long curve up from the valley where Nashua sits near the lake. Behind us, there was a great view of the valley. The shoulder was narrow, though. We both felt tired, but we felt confident we could do it. After this climb, it was mostly level with some rolling uphills. The clouds in the waning sun and across the wheat fields and grassy hills were certainly a beautiful sight. Just before 8:00, we made it to the edge f Glasgow. Just before then we spied a road sign that said Canada with an arrow. Canada, by a different road than ours, is only about 40 miles away from Nashua. We stopped into the first hotel we saw, but it was very clearly out of our humble price range. But the receptionist gave us the numbers of some others so we could call instead of bike out of the way. Laurel reached La Casa Motel and it was much more affordable to us, and it is a good thing we called because we got the last room. We said we'd be there in about 5 minutes as we were on bikes. The owner was a large bearded man, with a very friendly voice. He was very nice to talk with! And offered us some Hershey's kisses from a bowl at the desk. When we told him we had covered 102 miles that day, he was very surprised and impressed. He asked if the Mosquitos had been getting us on the ride. Oh yes, I replied, they had been getting me! And deer flies too! I am covered in bites. But only me, and not so much Laurel. Insects of all sorts flock to me, alarmingly so. You may not believe it, but travel with me awhile and you too will observe how terribly I get eaten up, even when others haven't seen a single mosquito or fly.
The owner apologized that the only room left was upstairs. That's ok! We were just glad for a place to stay. After taking off our gear we got everything up to the room. Very nice and spacious indeed! Very comforting looking, and comfortable too. My first goal was a shower, which you can really never be grateful enough for! I didn't even bother eating much for dinner. I finally had service and could call home for the first time since Kansas. We fell asleep rather late, near 11:00, after all was said and done and prepared for tomorrow. But we were planning to sleep in til about 7 or 8 .
And who would've thought, when I was so out for the count, that we would go 50 miles more for our highest distance so far: 102.