Day 20: Portage, Patriotism, People

Day 20:  Wednesday June 25th, 2014
Great Falls, MT to Fort Benton, MT.  51.5 miles.

After a hot breakfast in an outdoor "Camp Kitchen" restaurant at the KOA, I headed out on the road just before 11 am.  I had my sights set on Fort Benton, a historic town on the upper Missouri River, a little over 50 miles away.  

Fort Benton was the furthest upstream site that steam ships could travel due to waterfalls and other obstacles further upstream of Fort Benton.  Thus, materials and goods arriving in Fort Benton would be offloaded and moved across land.  Lewis and Clark unloaded their goods and portaged their canoes with gear across land towards Fort Shaw (one of my stops yesterday). My ride today will roughly follow their portage route.

I was feeling a bit patriotic today, sporting my newly acquired TransAmerica jersey I picked up in Missoula.

For some inexplicable reason, throwing firecrackers over my shoulder added to that sense of patriotism.

And, I found a 2-for-a-$1 special on American flags that I couldn't pass up. They made a great addition to my "back end".

If you take a close look at today's map, you will see the Missouri River roughly paralleling my route to the North. And, you will see two drainage channels that my path crosses, these channels carved out by smaller tributary rivers that are flowing Northwest into the Missouri. As I travel across this section of high plains and navigate across these drainage channels, I will have a series of descents and challenging climbs that are abrupt and steep. From a distance, these channels cannot be seen, as the plateau on either side of the channel is the same elevation. So, it would appear that the landscape is otherwise flat, with the exception of the work of these rivers on the landscape.

The weather was off to a head-start this morning. This time, the cumulus clouds were developing to the East of me, in the direction I was heading, and the most organized development was a little bit South of my trajectory.

This could be ok, as yesterday's storms moved East as they developed.  Regardless, I was keeping my eye on them. 

I dropped down into the first drainage channel, crossed a river, then began the steep climb to return to my previous elevation. As I was climbing, a distant object on the road, barely visible, appeared to be moving towards me. It was small, but steadily moving. "Is it a motorcycle?", I thought to myself.  As it moved closer to me (and I barely moved closer to it in my lowest gear climbing uphill), I questioned whether it could be another bicyclist. Now larger, approaching me, I first recognized the bags hanging off of the sides, as they were the same as those I was carrying. It was another touring cyclist heading West.  He veered across the road to my side, a huge grin on his face met mine.

"Hallo" he said , with a French accent. "Are you American?", he asked. His name was Jean-Marie Courderot, from Avignon, France. He shipped his bike to St. Louis, and began the Lewis & Clark bike route.  "I am eding to ze Pa-zific Ozen", he said.  We chatted and laughed for a good ten minutes. He was on top of the world, so happy to be riding his bicycle across the United States of America. 

As he rode off, I finished off the rest of my climb energized, thinking about how happy he was, and sharing the same sentiment as I continued to make my way  closer to the Atlantic Ocean. 

A litte more than half way to my destination for the day, I came upon the quaint old homesteading community of Highwood. I was hungry for lunch, and my map indicated a market and bar were here. I wound my way through most of the town. The market had been converted into a church. I didn't see a bar. I was already planning for the alternative; picking a shady spot somewhere and making a lunch out of the food I was carrying with me. I passed a school (K-12) that likely served most of the small towns in the region.  Then, on my way out of town, there it was, the "Highwood Bar". 

One car out front, I wasn't sure if the place was open. I reluctantly opened the door, and there were 2 guys at the bar and one woman bartending. The blast of bright daylight entering the bar as I poked my head inside stopped everything. All three individuals looked at me. I anticipated that one of them would blurt out rhetorically at any moment, "What do you want?".  Not allowing that to happen, I quickly asked, "Are you open for business?"  The bartender replied, "Oh, a biker; sure, come on in".

The gentlemen at the bar were wearing jeans, overalls, and plaid shirts with dirty baseball caps. They looked like they were taking a break from driving their farm equipment they owned through their fields. Drinking their version of Gatorade:  Bud Light, they resumed their conversation.  I sat a few seats down from them at the bar. 

"What can I getcha to drink?", the bartender asked. Still wondering exactly what I was doing in this establishment, it was difficult for me to respond to her simple, and expected question. Delivered with a total lack of confidence, I replied, "Um, do you have Dr. Pepper...".  Her head cocks sideways in the same way a dog responds to obscure sounds, as I am still trying to get my tongue to cooperate with my mouth and vocal cords. "...er, um, Pepsi?",  "A soda?", stumbling all over myself as I'm seeing her reaction. Without correcting her head tilt or responding, she rotated 90 degrees and headed to a refrigerator at the end of the bar.  "I'm not sure what we have.", as she swung open the door and bent down to peer into the dark abyss of a place rarely visited in this bar. "What do ya know, I've got Pepsi and Dr. Pepper", she replied. I told her the Dr. Pepper would be great. She popped the top and served it on the rocks. 

I remembered why I was there; to eat lunch. I looked over my shoulder to the left and there was some sort of makeshift kitchen; not with real appliances, but the sort of thing you might see behind the scenes of a coffee shop. Reluctant to ask another question not related to the mostly empty bottles of booze behind her, I blurted out, "Are you serving food today?"  After a pause, she replied, "I could make you a chicken sandwich."  Now that response in most circumstances might warrant a follow up question inquiring as to what else was on the menu, or a request to see the menu. But, in this situation, without hesitation, I gleefully replied, "That sounds fantastic!"  

While enjoying my refreshing drink, I overheard the gentlemen, in their 60's, at the end of the bar. One of them was the mayor of Highwood. He was trying to pry the other one away from the bar to finish the day's work, spraying the fields. "Let's go, Bob."  Bob wasn't done drinking Bud Light. He was pretty much done drinking the one in front of him, but he was intent on having "just two more" before returning to the fields. Eventually the mayor won the battle of wills, but not before Bob helped himself to the upright cooler to grab 2 cans to go.

After they left, a husband and wife in their 40's entered. They were just stopping by to pick up a few things from out back, including a BBQ grill. The bartender served me a delicious sandwich, complete with condiments and potato chips on the side. Then, she stepped out with the husband to assist while the wife stayed in the bar to "keep an eye on things". 

I spoke to her for a few minutes while devouring my sandwich. She excitedly told me that the two of them were closing escrow and obtaining keys to the Highwood bar tomorrow. They had been living in Las Vegas for some time.  Both now retired from the military, they are in Highwood to start a new adventure. 

The couple left and the bartender returned to her post. Well, sort of. She poured a Bud Light into a clear plastic cup, then sat at the end of the bar, letting out a big sigh. It was now just the two of us. She looked up towards the ceiling, then began to speak as if she new I was intently ready to listen to anything she had to say. "I'm selling this place to those two", she said.  "They're getting the keys tomorrow."  I replied, "Oh, you are the owner?"  "For one more day.", she said as her voice wavered a bit.  Then, she began her story. It didn't matter that I was a complete stranger from out of town. She needed someone to listen.

She moved from Phoenix to Great Falls to live closer to her son. It was there that she would meet her latest husband, Mike, who also had two kids of his own.  Mike retired early in his life, and the two of them bought the bar in Highwood, where hey have been for the last 22 years. They made Highwood their home together, and embraced the small community that became their "regulars".

Experiencing shortness of breath, Mike went to the doctor in the beginning of last December. It was at that doctor visit that he would find out about the cancer in his spine, bronchial tubes, and shoulder. She told me about Mike's quick decline, with intimate details about his response to chemo, about the interactions and words exchanged between her and him, and between their kids and him, in the hours before he died in the end of December.  While telling this story, she carefully struggled to keep her composure. But, it was obvious that she was suffering from her great loss, and her last day in the bar she and Mike bought together was a blatant reminder of her reality.  Tears were dripping down my cheeks as I listened, reminded of the loss of my father-in-law, and the emotional blow it inflicted upon my wife and I in an all-to-familiar story. 

"So, I'm moving back to Phoenix", she said while struggling to sound confident. "I have some girlfriends there that I'm looking forward to seeing again."  "None of them know I am coming.", she added. Then, she corrected herself, "Except for my best friend; she knows."  She told me about how she used to organize and invite her girlfriends to all-day pajama parties. She plans to host one and get the girls together just like old times. We laughed about that.

Then, I stood up, walked over to her, and introduced myself with my arm outstretched, offering a handshake. "My name is Judd", I said. She shook my hand and replied with a big smile, "I'm Tammy."  I thanked her for sharing her story with me, and gave her some words of encouragement.  Then, before I turned to walk out the door, I said, "How much do I owe ya for lunch?"  "You don't owe me nothing.", she replied. "I made that sandwich wih my own food."  I left a tip on the bar big enough to cover the meal. She walked me out the door. Seeing my bike, she said, "Hey, I like your American flags."  I smiled, she thanked me, and I rode off. 

As I rode through the linear valley that Highwood is situated within, surrounded by fields of wheat and the occasional small farm house, I thought about Tammy's story, about the hard life that people in this small community endure, and about what it would be like in the harsh 8 months of winter in this remote place. 

About to crest the hill at the other end of the valley, I stopped to see Highwood in the distance once more, still emotional, before it disappeared from my horizon. 

Now back on the high prairie, the landscape mostly flat, I made good time for the rest of the day.  In its natural state, short grasses would blanket this landscape, underlaid by glacial till from the continental glacier that covered much of the northern part of North America in the past.  Now, however, I am riding through extensive fields of mostly wheat. 

Within a mile or so of reaching Fort Benton, the landscape abruptly "breaks away", dropping sharply down into the Missouri River floodplain.  Look close at the photo below. The car on the road has just climbed up out of the floodplain. 

To arrive in Fort Benton, I had to cross the Missouri River. 

The town has a tremendously colorful history. Lewis & Clark are a part of Fort Benton's past. This sculpture is along the River in town. 

One of several buildings on the National Historic Registry here is the Grand Union Hotel. A story posted in the lobby tells of a time when drunk cowboys would attempt to ride there horse into the lobby and straight up the grand staircase.  The proprietor would pull his rifle out from behind the reception desk and fire away, knocking the intruders off their horse. 

Main Street has one row of old buildings.  The other side of the street is a parkway along the river with historical information posted all along the way. 

The old bridge spanning the Missouri has been converted into a pedestrian boardwalk, complete with benches and picnic tables. 

At the end of this bridge and atop the levee protecting the town from high river flows, sits the USGS stream gage that monitors the flow.  On the gage house, a sign indicating the high water mark of the great flood of June 6th, 1908, when the water was clearly several feet over the top of the levee. 

I went to the "Clubhouse" bar for dinner. While there, I met Michael. He's on an adventure of a different kind.

Starting in Twin Bridges, MT, he made his way down several tributary rivers until he ran into the Missouri that led him here to Fort Benton.  His final destination, New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. Michael is traveling in a kayak, with a paddle, some provisions, and a set of detachable wheels that he can use to move his mode of transportation and gear around obstacles (dams mostly, and a few falls).  

I chatted with him for a while about his adventure, and we shared stories of our experiences.  You can read about his adventures on the web by doing a Google search of, "Wandering Currents, Missouri River Adventure 2014".

I left the Clubhouse just in time to catch the sun setting over the Missouri. 

The forecast for tomorrow (Thurs) includes 15-20 mph winds out of the East, with a 90% chance of heavy rain/thunderstorms. My plan is to stay put in Fort Benton Thursday and explore it's rich history. 

Forecast