Lewistown, MT to Sand Springs, MT. 100.0 miles.
After a record day yesterday, my intention was to sleep in a bit. But, the morning sun blasting in my tent, and the commotion amongst my neighbors, a traveling high-school baseball team, had me up early. I went to a basic cafe in downtown Lewistown for breakfast. Sitting at the counter, I had an angled view of the action in the kitchen, and watched as the cook threw my sausage links into the deep fryer. That's how they do it around here, apparently. Reluctant, I tried a bite. It was, of course, quite delicious.
After a record day yesterday, my intention was to sleep in a bit. But, the morning sun blasting in my tent, and the commotion amongst my neighbors, a traveling high-school baseball team, had me up early. I went to a basic cafe in downtown Lewistown for breakfast. Sitting at the counter, I had an angled view of the action in the kitchen, and watched as the cook threw my sausage links into the deep fryer. That's how they do it around here, apparently. Reluctant, I tried a bite. It was, of course, quite delicious.
Formerly Camp Lewis, Lewistown is at the geographical center of Montana and was established in 1881.
Today, with a population of 5,900, it feels more like a city relative to many of the small towns I have passed through. It has a fair number of old brick buildings in the downtown core. The "Mackey Building" has been more recently occupied by "Montana Tavern".
This one on Main Street was built in 1909.
To get to Lewistown the day before, I had to cross the Judith River. In Lewistown, I was in the Judith Basin, and my morning ride out of town would require a climb up and over the Judith Mountains.
Checking the weather report before I left, high winds of 18-30 mph wth gusts to 40 mph were in the forecast for the next 3 days. Winds at that velocity from the side would make it unsafe, not only for me being blown around, but also for the cars on the road that are passing me while fighting the winds. Head-on, those winds would rob me of virtually all of my momentum, requiring me to expend tremendous effort only to crawl forward at a snail's pace. The winds in the forecast were Westerly! This meant that, as I headed East, the winds would be at my back, pushing me forward, helping me reach my destination. With this good news, I eagerly set out to climb the Judith Mountains.
The mountains really seemed more like a set of hills, like the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, compared to the mountains I had climbed in Idaho and Western Montana. But, the increased elevation was enough to support the growth of conifer trees. From the crest of the Judith Mountains, the wind had kicked up and was pushing me along. In addition, a gradual descent awaited me for many miles. I rode fast, sometimes struggling to pedal fast enough to keep resistance under my feet, which isn't really a problem, but a very good thing!
Along the way, blankets of flowers covered the landscape in pink.
Then, a little further along, fields of bright yellow whizzed by me.
In a little over 3 hours, I arrived at the town of Winnett (pop. 182). Wait a minute, could that be possible? Winnett was 60 miles from Lewistown. I had been sailing along, approaching an average of 20 mph, and made tremendous progress thanks to the wind and the descent. I decided to have lunch to celebrate.
The best restaurant in the town of Winnett is the Kozy Korner, the only restaurant in town. I walked in and was warmly greeted by the owner, Sylvia St. Pierre. She could tell by my attire that I was riding a bike, and we started up a conversation about my travels, her outdoor adventures, the town of Winnett, being American, and other interesting topics while I devoured my lunch.
Sylvia, now 78, was born in Java, moved at an early age to Holland, went to school in Amsterdam, married a German against her parent's advice, immigrated to the USA, had 2 kids, became a registered nurse in East LA (it was rough, she said, often commenting to her patients, "Didn't I patch you up last week?"), mourned the loss of her husband of 10 years, remarried her deceased husband's best friend and his 6 kids, moved to Colorado to get away from the hectic city life, raised their kids, retired and moved with her husband away from the hectic city life that developed in Colorado to, of all places, Winnett.
All the while, she has and continues to live a happy and active life, always grateful to be American, and live in Winnett. "Sure, it's a small town that's quiet", she remarked. Continuing, "But, if I want some action, I'll jump on a plane a fly to Las Vegas, or Colorado." "I love Winnett, and I love the USA", she said with compassion.
In fact, a month ago, she flew to Denver, met up with a few of her kids, and went on their annual backpacking trip. They climbed up to a 12,000 ft peak in the nearby Rockies, with 6,000 feet of ascent. This, the same climb that her, her husband (now deceased for 8 years) and her kids would do each year as a tradition. "You know, this time, I had to take an extra day at about 8,000 feet to get acclimated. But, once I did, I was on my way to the top.", she said with a smile. Not too shabby for a 78-year old!
When she got to the summit, she sat down on the same rock that her and her husband would share each year, with a magnificent expansive view in front of them, relishing in their accomplishment. With a pause, she said softly, "You know, when I'm up there sitting on that rock, I feel my husband sitting there next to me." "It's a special place."
I was touched by her story, and didn't want our conversation to end. So, I ordered the cherry pie a la mode for dessert and we chatted a bit more (not that I needed an excuse to order the cherry pie a la mode!).
Leaving the Kozy Korner, I was gearing up when a heavy downpour made me question where I was going and how much further I was going to ride. The next place on the map with any services was another 40 miles away. But, the winds were strong, and there was still plenty of daylight. So, I decided to push on.
Sand Springs was my new target destination. On the way, the landscape revealed exposed layers of the rock units underlaying the topography. Brilliant contrasting colors of white, red, grey, and black could be seen in a badlands-like topography. Shale and sandstone were the dominant layers.
I pulled over at a rest stop that provided a bit of history of the area, both in terms of past inhabitants, as well as the geology.
Kerchival City was developed nearby, and in direct competition with the already bustling Fort Benton.
I crossed the Musselshell River, a tributary of the Missouri River, now about 35 miles North of my location.
Finally, late in the day before sunset, I arrived at Sand Springs, having ridden 100 miles for a second day in a row. The wind was howling, and would create a challenge when setting up my tent. My map indicated that there was a post office, grocery store, restaurant, and market in town. But, unlike most towns on the map, there wasn't a number for the population of Sand Springs. It turns out that there's a church and one building in Sand Springs. The one building is the post office and market (probably with a few frozen options and a microwave that could allow it to count as a restaurant too). Everything was closed. As I peered through the window of the store, about 70% of the shelves were bare.
A sign on the door read, "Bikers can set up tent behind store." Fortunately, there was a bathroom with hot and cold running water. As long as I have that, I can prepare food that I carry with my own stove. So, it all worked out just fine.
You're meeting some awesome people with great stories. What a gift. I like the picture of you and Sylvia, who surely does not look 78.
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