Per usual I was almost last to leave camp but it was only 6:45. It was clear who was serious about getting the pass and landing in town tonight.
I rolled up the long valley and felt good. You could tell it was going to be warm but I started with my hood up and long sleeves down.
In the distance there was something black across the fence line. As I got closer my instincts were confirmed. There was a herd of cattle pushed up against a cattle guard. Turns out that old saying “the grass is greener on the other side” holds true for cattle as well. I got to the crossing expecting them to move out of the way. These cattle could care less and actually seemed agitated. I yelled to shoo them on and some moved into the adjacent pasture but some young steers jammed in and to me seemed to be aggressive. What to do? I noticed there was a pasture cross fenced along the road so I wandered into my pasture down the fence line and found a place to cross. I threw the bags across and hoisted Alister safely to the other side. I made it too but not before getting a few holes in my shirt from barbed wire. Safely a quarter mile away from the cattle blockade I repeated the process to get back in the road. It cost me at least a half hour.
I rode on through the massive valley of never ending sage pasture. Climbing steadily but surely all day. This is just what I thought Montana would look like. Beautiful, open, and nearly unpopulated. The landscape was hypnotic. Changing but so subtly I kept thinking I was back where I started. Also it had gotten hot and I feel like from noon on I may have been hallucinating from the scenery, dehydration, and not enough calories.
I never saw anybody I had met the night before. There were a few ranch trucks and a couple tourists in side by sides but no bikers. I felt like the Spaniard and Aussie should have caught me by then. I topped out and realized my suspicions were correct. There were a few public use patches but almost all the BLM land was private lease. The campsites I saw were less than enticing. More importantly the volume of cattle on the land made all streams seem like cow toilet water. I was at the top and it was pretty much down hill so I decided to go for it.
I zipped down mile after mile of road. My hands cramping from braking. I checked the mileage to town and realized I had only gone 10 of the 37 miles to go. This was going to be rough. As I descended from the top the terrain became a tight rock canyon and the scenery became more and more beautiful. I wish I was not so tired and could have enjoyed it more. It was also clear this area sees more traffic and consequently the gravel quality deteriorated with every mile. It was down hill but seemed challenging due to washboards and loose marbles for gravel.
By the time I hit the paved road to get into town I was fried. Still not seeing anyone on a bike. Pedal pedal break. Pedal pedal break. As town came into view it seemed to get further away as I pedaled toward it. Eventually I made it to the motel/campground. There were no rooms but camping and shower was $10. Also soda and freeze pops!
I headed to the campground to find the Kiwis and the French had made it a few hours faster than me. It was 12 hours on bike for me. We did not see the Aussi, Englishman, or Spaniard that night.
I showered and met the gang at the pub for burgers and everyone’s take on the day. I could tell everyone was tired but they all seemed to be way more fit than me even though I was the youngest.
It felt good. My first day on the GDMBR was my biggest day yet. It was filled with breathtaking scenery and a sense of accomplishment that I got to share with new friends.