However--and despite an immense late-day thirst, empty bellies, and keeping our eyes peeled--we somehow missed the brewery altogether, probably because we were so wrapped up in late-afternoon golden sunlight, the prospect of finding a campsite, and peeling off our sweaty riding gear. Too bad, because the place seems to have good reviews, and we would've enjoyed the break. Next time.
As a consolation prize, we did enjoy one of the most remarkable stretches of narrow, pristine pavement I've ever ridden, which ascended into the mountains just east of Glacier National Park. The low-angled sunlight strobing through the tall pines and spruce, combined with cool mountain air, sweeping turns, and an impeccable road surface was pure tonic for our senses. And just as we started to become concerned about finding a campsite, we found a perfect spot all to ourselves in a meadow at Clarence Creek, where there was once a forestry guard station. No sign of the original station remained, but there was a bear-proof food box and clean toilet that looked sturdy enough to withstand a bear attack. Again, kudos to the US park system and its amenities: we would be continually impressed by how thoughtfully managed and outfitted the various state and national campgrounds were that we visited. Parks Canada could learn a lot from the US approach, and probably save money as a result.
It all seemed too perfect, until--just as we finished setting up camp--a pall of woodsmoke descended unexpectedly over the trees in our area. This was alarming, as we hadn't seen any other people for well over an hour, we were a long way up a narrow forest road, and there were concerns about forest fires in the area. It wasn't clear where the smoke was coming from, there seemed to be only one road in or out, and we were becoming alarmed at the potential implications of getting caught in a blaze with unclear escape options. And the smoke was becoming quite thick and extensive. We decided to reconnoiter the source of the smoke and began planning a quick escape in case it became necessary. Pete took off on his bike, first back the way we came, then up a road through a side valley, to see if he could identify the source of the smoke. After about 20 minutes he found another campsite up the side valley where campers admitted to having a hard time starting their campfire. Their inept efforts had created a remarkably large cloud of smoke that had rolled down their valley and then spread out over many tens of acres near our campsite. It was a big relief to us that nothing more serious was the result, other than stinging eyes. Soon we had our own campfire going (no smoke), and the only other person we saw after that was a lone rider on a 1200GS who shot down the road from the direction we were heading towards the next day. He had blue lights installed on his bike which, coupled with the sound, made him look like a UFO.
The morning brought gray skies and a threat of rain, but nothing that some fresh-brewed coffee couldn't overcome.
Heading out the next day, we immediately found that the pristine pavement ended just past our campsite, transforming into a rutted, gravel forest road where a little bit of rain would have been welcome to keep down the dust. Finally, it felt like a true mountain adventure! The road was rough and exposed on one side to a progression of deep gullies far below, often with a stream raging loudly out of sight at the bottom. You had to pay attention to your track so you didn't get caught up in the view and become a permanent part of the scenery. We all began to truly appreciate the magnitude and exposure of the upcoming adventure: everything was covered in dust, none of us had any clean clothes left in the bag, we'd been eating camp food... this was what we came for!
Approaching the western side of Glacier National Park, our plan was to take the Inside North Fork Road south to Lake McDonald. However, we found that the road was closed at the south end as a result of extensive washout damage from the spring. This was surprising given we were traveling in early July, when we thought that most seasonal damage would already be cleared up. But it obviously wasn't the case--something we'd see repeatedly further south in the mountains.
Our alternate route followed a well-travelled, wide dirt road which offered a spectacular view of the Glacier peaks to the east across the river valley, but was tempered by billowing clouds of choking dust thrown up by passing vehicles. Only a few short sections had some sort of anti-dust compound applied--probably at the expense of individual homeowners to manage what must be a frustrating problem for them. We had to stop every ten minutes or so to clear our goggles and visors. Eventually we reached Polebridge, plastered with grime in every sweaty orifice, parched and hot from hours in the sun.
Here you can see a little bit how Jeff has pimped-out his DR650 with a new fairing and LED headlight. This was a nice set-up, now looking much more rugged thanks to some trail decoration. I think it was around this time that I decided to remove the plastic headlight cover I'd made and attached using Velcro, because it magnetically attracted all the dust and made my headlight completely useless anyway.
Polebridge has a remarkable history as a historic frontier town, and it was well worth a stop at the original general store--or "mercantile" as it is called in this part of the world.
The inside was like stepping out of a time machine into the old west. Remarkably little appeared to have changed in the basic structure except for the advent of electricity and a few other conveniences like cold beer. The contents were in remarkable condition: nothing historic seems to last like this in the humid conditions around Ottawa, Ontario.
From Polebridge we continued south on the main gravel road, hoping to skirt back east into the more scenic side within Glacier and then down to the Ranger Station at Flathead Lake. However, as we entered the park via a loop road, we discovered that vehicle permits were required--we couldn't just pass through without stopping, as is sometimes the case in Canadian parks. The self-pay option to enter was unreasonably expensive--something like CAD$30 each, which would have only been needed to ride the 10km or so to the main entrance! Instead, we turned back to take the non-toll road and aimed straight for the ranger station at Flathead Lake, where for US$80 we bought annual passes to gain access to all National Parks. While we were bummed about not visiting Glacier proper--first because of the road closure, and then because of the entrance passes--we figured the passes would come in handy later (and they did).
Then began a blissful respite from the dust, riding on hard-packed dirt and paved roads, all going along swimmingly well--until disaster struck.
The three of us often took turns leading the route, usually with Jeff or me up front, and Pete guarding the rear on his CRF. This time, I was in the rear and lost in my thoughts, when I noticed Jeff had suddenly stopped ahead to take a look at a railway crossing, probably because our helmet chatter had commented on how much the area looked just like a model railway set. Pete didn't notice in time that Jeff had stopped, and while he was able to slow down, was not able to miss hitting the back of Jeff's bike. I watched in horror--in part because I was just about to make a dumb joke about motorcyclists getting stuck on the railroad tracks and not being able to get away from an approaching train, when the two collided at the tracks. Their bikes were stuck together, something was burning, and both were mildly pinned in the tangle. You can see the dark spot on the ground where someone's bike leaked.
A sense of foreboding certainly got me moving quickly to help--and none too soon. We disentangled riders and bikes, and got both bikes upright and away from the tracks just minutes before a freight train came roaring through the crossing.
Fortunately, there were no injuries and no serious damage to either bike, other than some scorched straps on one of Jeff's saddle bags from when they touched Pete's exhaust, and some popped panels and a bent shifter on Pete's bike. It was nonetheless a sobering wake-up call for each of us on how quickly things can go pear-shaped by a simple distraction. We were all a little freaked out--especially because of how soon (and close) the freight train arrived--just like in a bad joke.
Nerves calmed, the only thing to do was to keep on riding--so we did, heading to Columbia Falls. Just before town, we noted a large "Trump" graffiti spray-painted high on a conspicuous spot overlooking the road. This was an obvious reminder that we were in solid Republican country which--given the recent state of politics, notable events, and deteriorating relations between our two countries, added to my general apprehension about being a Canadian in this part of the world. This was a surprising sentiment for me, and the first time I'd felt genuine trepidation about traveling in the US. Would we be hassled by police? Have our valuables seized under civil forfeiture laws for some innocuous traffic violation? Get shot by some random stranger in response to a simple misunderstanding or not knowing a local situation? Although I've travelled extensively through parts of the world that are considered to be very dangerous at times, and despite many prior trips to the US to visit family and for vacations, I really had some doubts about what to expect. Fortunately, these doubts would all be proved wrong, but I wasn't so sure of that so early into our trip.
When in doubt, I've learned it's always good to stop for food and eat with the locals. The Montana Coffee Traders in Columbia Falls proved to be a real gem, one of the best little diners on the whole trip and well worth putting on an itinerary in the region.
Having previously tried an iced espresso/banana/mocha combo in NYC many years ago, I knew right away this was something to order from the local menu. It was superbly delicious and necessary; a welcome tonic to the day's adventures. The food was also fantastic and filling, all for a reasonable price. Kudos to the wonderful people who run this place with smiles and efficiency.
After a tedious detour to Kalispell to get a SIM card for Jeff's phone so we could have cheap data access for route planning, we headed back east towards the mountains where our progress over the twisty, dirt road pass to Swan River was obstructed by some nut in a white Nissan Sentra who did his best rally driver impression for well over an hour, preventing us from passing on the narrow, rutted track. Instead of ripping it on our knobbies, we got to eat hot choking dust the whole time. Stopping to let the Sentra get a lead left us sweltering in the sun in all our riding gear. Then it would take us no time to catch up on the switchbacks, and we'd be right back where we started. The driver just wouldn't pull over, starting a running joke for the rest of the trip about other white Nissans we'd see and their off-road capabilities.
Finally we were able to ditch the Nissan, and at a fuel stop soon after, we met some guys adventure touring on squeaky-clean bikes who had an entirely different concept of what gear to bring and how to pack it. They seemed a little surprised we were traveling so far on 250s--a recurring theme we would hear more often as we moved south.
Covered in grime, testy from hunger, but stocked with the promise of cold cans of beer and fresh veggies from the gas stop, we headed down a welcomed paved road to find camping. With most spots on the Swan River full thanks to the time of day and our proximity to population centers, we jumped on the first available site at a two-site campground on the Swan River. Again blessed with clear, cold water, we chilled our beer, washed our clothes and our bodies, and fed an insurgent mosquito population that was delighted by our arrival. We also had a good chat with our campground neighbours, a pleasant retired couple who've been coming to this spot for years.
As at the end of every day, no matter how tired we were, we also grudgingly tended to our bikes, lubing chains and inspecting for undue wear and damage. Happily, our tires seemed to be holding up well despite the heat, pavement, and rough terrain, suggesting we should be able to get at least 3500km out of the rear D606's that we were each running. Our air filters were a different story though--this was mine after riding mainly in the rear of our group for some of the dustiest parts of our last day. This required a skin change.
By now the terrain and forests had attained a distinct personality from the woodlands of home. Towering Douglas Firs predominated, but there was none of the dense undergrowth we were used to. The air was fresh and the skies were clear. Remarkably, other than that brief threat of rain earlier, there'd been no precipitation on our trip so far.
