MOTORCYCLING FROM MAINE TO MONTANA AND BACK IN 2 WEEKS

I wasn’t sure about whether it was a good idea; motorcycling from Maine to Montana in two weeks: 2500 miles each way , a few days rest in between. Intense road trip, no room for the breakdowns, maintenance, or the inevitable hassles that would come. I could have taken more time, but I wanted to try and see it it could be accomplished in 2 weeks. I plan to take more trips out there, now that my oldest son, Lincoln , has settled in Montana. I wanted to see if a 2 weeks squeeze was reasonable.
Originally I was planning a solo trip, but when I offered two motorcycling pals the chance to accompany me, they ditched their plans for their own motorcycling vacation to Newfoundland, Canada and launched off with me. Both of them own their own businesses: Steve Horton, put the electrical work in the hands of his apprentice Tom, and Pat Hurley set his two man Mike and Sam Seal Harbor construction crew up with enough carpentry work to keep them busy for two weeks. The departure date floated for a bit, but on Monday, Aug. 5, 2004 we met at 6:00 am at the Mic Mac Market out on Rt 17 in Union and aimed the headlights north for Montreal. We were all on BMW’s . Steve had a mid 80’s R80RT ( 800 cc’s), Pat was on a newer R1100RS ( 1100 cc’s), and I was on a 1996 R1100RT. We favor the big twins up here in Maine.
All of us serviced the bikes at separate shops before we left. I had my transmission replaced just before we left, but then my battery died 2 days before liftoff, leaving me scrambling for a replacement. Despite all three of us departing on new rear tires, two of us were replacing them before we made it back.

Our route was up through Maine and NH on rt. 26, then in CANADA 10W then 15W through Montreal onto the TransCanadian ( 17 W ) over to Sault St. Marie ( USA) and then hooking up to Rt. 2 into Montana. We mostly stayed off the interstates. An indispensable tool for navigating was the excellent book “Road Trip USA”. If you plan to travel long distances across the USA, buy this book. Much of the descriptions from this report were lifted directly from it. A friend had an updated copy and I was going to Xerox the sections of Rt. 2 that would apply to us, but then I was able to download and print off their website ( www.roadtripusa.com) what I needed . We used this to plan visits to historic sites, diners, find free camping, plan for gas . Our plan was to get up sometime after 5 am, and be packed , one cup of coffee downed and on the road by 6 each day. We liked to ride at least 100 miles before stopping for a full breakfast, and aimed for 200-250 miles before noon, which would make the rest of the day not so bad.

A brief discussion on gear. All three riders had extensive experience with long distance riding and camping, including trips to Alaska, and multiple trips on literally thousands of miles of gravel roads in Labrador. We knew what to bring. Before we left we did meet over a breakfast to discuss sharing tents and gear . Pat and Steve shared a LL Bean tent and I had a 1 man North Face Canyonlands tent. We planned for 2 tents in case we got separated and one of us had to stay behind or head back early to deal with emergencies. We all slept on Thermarest pads. Pat and I both packed collapsible chairs. We took backpacker 2 stoves. I had my 1967 SVEA stove that ran on Coleman fuel . I could buy extra white gas any where. Pat eventually got stuck carrying an MSR unit that ran on a small lp canister. He ran out in a week and was never able to find a replacement out West in any of the camping places we visited . Pat brought coffee from Rock City Roasters (www.rockcitycoffee.com) and the percolator that he fired up every morning at daybreak as we broke camp. We planned to each have a meal packed and canteens full in case we ended our day’s ride at an unserviced campsite . Before the trip I was having trouble with my Garmin III GPS, and had sent it off to them for a flat $99 service / software upgrade where they replaced a major part of the unit. I ran it off the bike’s electrical system and never turned it off for the whole two weeks. It ran flawlessly and the use of the unit with my maps made navigation a snap. I get my maps and camp books from AAA. I have the platinum upgrade from the BMWMOA motorcycle club that also provides emergency road service if needed.

A few words about music on the road. I feel I have arrived at what appears to me to be the ultimate system for listening to music on the road. I gotta have my tunes , and 12 hour days in the saddle listening to deafening wind roar within a full face helmet is not my idea of how I like to spend my day. I have tried CD players, tape players, Sports Walkmans, wiring an earphone plug switch into my factory bike FM radio/ CD player, replacing the dashboard speakers with upgraded units, running a Boosteroo amplifier , but none did it for me. What I do now is connect my (Apple iPod www.apple.com) to the bike’s electrical charging system through a cigarette plug charger . I never turn it off, day or night. I put the unit itself in the tank bag where the rain and grit can’t reach it , plug in the remote control, run the wire outside and velcro the remote to the top of my tank bag. I then plug a coiled wire into the remote and run that cord into a set of dismantled $19 Sony ear bud headphones that are surface Velcroed into the ear slots of my Arrow flip shield helmet. Before I left , I even found a free software volume boost on the Internet that allowed me to further boost the iPod output volume up to 100 %, making it easily audible even at the 90+ mph speeds we hit in Montana. Don’t get me going on the iPod . I have never been as thrilled with an electrical device as I am with this thing. I was even able to get books on CD from my local library before I left and lead them into the iPod via the computer. Next time it’s gonna be Moby Dick.

I really tried to consolidate gear to take up as least space on the bike as possible. I was able to get all my stuff into 2 saddlebags, 1 tank bag, the Givi 50 liter top trunk, and one small waterproof dry bag that I lashed on top of my right saddlebag. The key was fitting the big dry camping stuff into the top trunk, which holds the flat tire tubeless kit, the 12 volt air compressor ( both in standard zipped bank deposit envelopes), Thermarest , and a Wiggy’s (www.wigys.com) 40 degree sleeping bag and pillow. A good compression sack for the sleeping bag/ pillow is a must . If it gets colder than that, I wear the pants and jacket liners from my Motoport Ultra II Cordura riding suit (www.motoport.com) inside the sleeping bag. A fanny pack, and mosquito net shirt also fit in the top trunk. I lashed two canteens onto the top rack: a 1/2 gallon cowboy type for cooking and washing at the end of the day , and a nalgene 1 Qt. bottle that I refill and drink from during the day. In side the blue dry bag go the micro tent, Moss 12 foot rain fly, 3/4 size bike cover, and the Motoport waterproof inner pants liner, which I put on when it is cold or raining .
The right saddlebag has the stove, cooking gear and food and the left saddlebag has my clothes, dop and first aid kits , maps and camp books that are not in use. The tank bag has all the little stuff: batteries, chargers, cleaners, sunglasses, etc. I was really pleased with traveling light. I did need to ship out a box of bicycling gear to Montana for mountain bike riding: shoes, pedals, etc.
Fast Forward- gear related
I did a mini interview of Pat and Steve around the last cups of coffee on day 14. First question, “What was your most important piece of gear?”
For Pat it was his electric vest- he remembers Michigan at 46 degrees in the rain . He was also happy about the tire choice. The Michelin Pilot made the trip , and was the only rear tire between the three of us to make it all the way. He was not happy with his seat. He tried out an Airhawk pad, and it did not help much. He felt the angle of the seat was pushing his crotch forward and down. I told him that it might help to put a couple of shims on the front of the mount - that is what I did to help out with the angle problem. He also had a new pair of over pants that he was going to send back. The pants were lined with some type of waterproofing layer that caused him to get a rash due to the heat and clamminess. His strongest memory was in North Dakota where he registered a classic image of the west: a woman on horseback riding beside a herd of cattle across the rolling prairie.
Steve really appreciated his RT fairing , especially in the rain. He would like to explore use of a GPS unit. He pledged to do more maintainence on his vehicle before the next long trip. Steve noted that, “ I had this constant awareness that something could happen.” It must have been channeled into the right pattern, as he and the rest of us made it home safely. He also had a strong appreciation for the long stretches of ever present trains out west, as every half hour we either heard or saw another train rumbling by. “ Montana moves on those rails.”

THE RIDE
July 5, 2004 - Lincolnville, ME to Pembroke, Ontario ( 485 miles)
It started raining as we were fighting the gridlock traffic through Montreal and kept up most of the day into the evening where we stayed at the Pembroke Comfort Inn ( $95 CDN w/ all taxes) . Steve suggested that we might want to keep riding , but I was ready to put into practice the newly acquired skill of stopping when I was tired. I felt some level of responsibility for getting us home safely, and felt that pushing at end of the day is when stupid mistakes cause pain, damage, and disappointment. We all piled into the last ground level room. I got us the AARP discount. We were encouraged to park the bikes right outside the room and use the sliding glass doors to deal with all the gear that was already soaked the first day out. They even gave us the use of rags to clean up the bikes. The next morning we found a Tim Horton’s doughnut shop , the first of many that we would frequent on this trip. We were doing good after day 1.

July 6 - Pembroke, ONT to Muncing, Michigan ( 540 miles)
Even more miles got chewed up this wet day, where we entered the US through Sault St. Marie, then went west on Rt 28 through a slice of Michigan between Lake Michigan and Lake Superior. Hwy-28 runs near the south shore of Lake Superior near Pictured Rocks National Lake shore. It takes most of a day to get across this section of the journey.
It was wet. We had originally planned to go up and around Lake Superior in Canada, but the rain, and extremely limited visibility canned that idea without much discussion at all.
The UP ( Upper Peninsula) is fairly rural, surprisingly mountainous and is tied to the three industries that maintain it yet today: timber, mining, and fishing.
We stopped and had mediocre bagels and coffee in Marquette (pop. 23,000), a Lake Superior ore port.
I went through 2 panic situations that day. I was temporarily blinded rolling down the road after a gas stop when I flipped down my helmet chin guard where it it stopped midway down because I had failed to secure my chin strap. It was all black - I couldn’t see any piece of road, and was keeping the bike up by feel only. If anyone had stopped in front of me I would have slammed into them. I was rapidly panicking but a small percentage of my thinking process worked enough to have me grab the chin piece and successfully pull it down all the way. New procedure- strap up the helmet and pull down the chin guard before I pull out into traffic.
A while later we pulled into Tim Horton’s for coffee and doughnuts and I was totally convinced my wallet had fallen out of a zippered pocket on my jacket, but Steve checked my pockets and found it for me.
Michigan’s oldest community, Sault Sainte. Marie (pop. 16,542; soo saint ma-REE) was home to an Ojibwa Indian community for hundreds of years before the first fur-trappers and French-Catholic colonists arrived in the late 17th century. The road passes above the locks. Long ago the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers corralled and tamed the rapids between 20-foot-higher Lake Superior and Lake Huron with four enormous locks, the largest and busiest in the world.
We finally landed at the Super 8 in Muncie, Michigan. We got the last bed downstairs in this place, too. The three of us sprawled all our wet gear all over the room , partially drying out some of it before we slid it on the next morning, ready for another day in the saddle. We were some tired and wet puppies.

July 7 - Muncing, MI to Bemidji, Minn (475 miles)
We left the Super 8 at 6 am the next morning under black skies , 46 degrees and rain. We gladly took the 1 hour break in the new time zone where we entered route 2 just east of Duluth.
From Duluth, US-2 stretches for 250 miles of open road in its trek across northern Minnesota . It is here that we start to observe the endless wheat fields of the west, remnants of old iron mines and a series of still-busy lumber and paper mills. On this day, we ended up in Bemidji, eastern gateways to the gaping spreads of Chippewa National Forest and many of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. We went right over the puny headwaters of the mighty Mississippi River.
The high point of the day was the visit to the Rider Warehouse store ( (800)222-1994, www.aerostich.com) in Duluth, Minnesota. Duluth is a big place, close to 100,000 people. It is the largest motorcycle-related travel supply catalogue in the world, with, “ The best tools available for all riding in all environments to all types of destinations.” I bought a small black beanie, a souvenir t-shirt and some stickers for presents in Bozeman. We started seeing many BMW’s, all of them except us winging their way west to the national BMW motorcycle rally in Redmond , WA. We got lost heading out of town. At day’s end we stayed at the KOA campground outside Bemidji, Minn. I like the KOA’s. They are always clean, usually have a pool, feel safe, and they welcome motorcyclists. Here , Steve discovered that his rear fender was holding on by a thread, probably having busted through its mounts when it fell into a chuck hole on last year’s trip to Labrador, CANADA. I offered up the old Maine motorcycle license plate that I use as a wider base to stabilize my side stand in loose conditions on that he was able to convert to a giant gasket. The pool was relaxing, and we all had enough wet and soiled clothes that we did a group washing machine run as well.
I have been hanging with these guys for decades, but this was on this trip when we finally voiced the discovery that all of us retell the same worn stories and that the listeners are usually so polite that we don’t say anything about it. This came up when Pat began to retell the story he told two days ago about the show on the Discovery Channel where he saw footage of a grizzly bear tearing the door off a car to get into the cooler inside. We got more honest with each other as the trip rolled on. Even so, we’ve been together so long that there were times we would pretend to listen and then hope for a new story tomorrow.

July 8 Bemidji, Minn Fort Buford, ND (476 miles)
The next day traversed the rest of Minnesota, with North Dakota thrown in as well.
I started the day falling off my bike after I hit an obscured stump pulling out of our KOA campsite.
At this point, US-2 narrowed from a divided four-lane, climbing onto the flat plains.
Much of North Dakota’s landscape lives up to those nondescript clichés from childhood family trips: It hems and rolls and yawns forever. Montana may be Big Sky Country, but North Dakota sure seems to be High Sky Country, the land where, if you tire of watching dancing golden wheat mirages, you can exercise your finger channel-surfing on the radio. It’s a long, flat, (and, dare we say it? dull) drive across the state, with little here but plains or pseudo-prairie, and even the most epic side trip offers minimal relief. The state has done what it can to help out bored travelers by eliminating roadside mowing for most of the trip across, opting for native prairie and a potential refuge for wildlife—and road kill.
That said, the 300 miles across the state do hold a few points of interest, including Fort Union, an evocative outpost of the early frontier; popular Devil’s Lake recreational areas; the agricultural centers of Minot and Williston; and the geographical center of North America, marked by a stone monument in the town of Rugby.
I was more than a little bit concerned that Steve felt that we were going too fast, that his bike was uncomfortable at speeds at or above 72 mph. In Montana you might get arrested for only doing 72 on the highways. He was also requesting that we get in the habit of stopping for gas somewhere between 120 and 150 miles between fill ups. I remember riding for at least ten years with a buddy that had the same R80RT as Steve , and his bike’s reserve tank was usually kicking in at the 180-190 mile range , which was well within both Pat and my range of 210 miles. This was a relatively new bike for Steve, and maybe he was confusing it with other BMW’s with smaller tanks and worse mileage. In the end , I stopped trying to convince him to try and go further and stopped when he wanted to.
In Williston at the end of the riding day, a policeman pulled up after noticing us on the side of the road studying our maps. We had been planning to hook up on the Interstate and book it into Bozeman. He advised up to go to the two forts south of Williston. We took his advice and after viewing Fort Union and then Fort Buford took advantage of the free camping at Fort Buford.
A trip to Fort Union takes you back in time to the mid-19th century, the heyday of Fort Union and the fur trade on the Upper Missouri river.
We toured the partially reconstructed fort and walked where many famous folk from several countries and cultures walked, folk such as Father Pierre DeSmet, Sitting Bull, and Jim Bridger. Fort Union Trading Post was the most important fur trading post on the upper Missouri from 1828 to 1867. At this post, the Assiniboine, Crow, Cree, Ojibway, Blackfeet, Hidatsa, and other tribes traded buffalo robes and other furs for trade goods such as beads, guns, blankets, knives, cookware, and cloth. The site was never a military fort, but represented a unique era in American history, a brief period when two radically different civilizations found common ground and mutual benefit through commercial exchange and cultural acceptance. See below:
“The Euro-Americans, Indians, and mixed-bloods who lived and traded at Fort Union were participants in a social experiment that expressed what today we would call multiculturalism. What they demonstrated was the possibility that people with radically different ethnic, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds could live and work together and merge their cultures in meaningful ways. …It went to pieces because the citizens of the United States and their government were devoted to a unitary culture that refused to accommodate the range of differences visible every day at Fort Union. If a useful civics lesson can be drawn from the post’s history, it may be that people need not necessarily embrace or fully understand someone else’s culture in order to construct common ground or admit humanity with their neighbors.”
Barton Barbour; Fort Union and the Upper Missouri Fur Trade, 2001
At Fort Union we enjoyed talking with Richard, a physician from LA who had been to Maine, but dismissed it as “ too rural”. He was really upset that not all the gas stations had credit card readers on the pumps. He engaged us in a long story about a fellow plastic surgeon from LA that had gone through a couple of divorces then met a really great 48 year old flight attendant that he married after her getting her cheek implants, arm tucks, and some other cosmetic work, and even with all that left her after 6 months. We definitley don’t hear much of that type of thing in ME, yet.
Our somnier for the night was right on the Montana /North Dakota border where we had free camping at Fort Buford, ND.
At the campsite at Fort Buford (www.state.nd.us/hist/buford/buford.htm) there were picnic tables in a grove of shade trees next to a small flowage. Fort Buford, located near present-day Williston, was one of a number of military posts established to protect overland and river routes used by immigrants settling the West. While it served an essential role as the sentinel on the northern plains for twenty-nine years, it is probably best remembered as the place where the famous Hunkpapa Sioux leader, Sitting Bull, surrendered. Thirty-five families, 187 people in all, traveled with Sitting Bull to Fort Buford, where on July 20, 1881, the great Sioux chief surrendered his Winchester .44 caliber carbine to Fort Buford's commander.
The caretaker took off and left us alone , but told us they were leaving the bathrooms open all night, so we could wash up there as well. The site, near the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, was the same as visited by Lewis and Clark, and was noted for the huge numbers of mosquitos they encountered there. I shared my mix of Spam, canned turkey, canned peas, fajita sauce, a bagel, butter, and tea with Steve and Pat, as they had no food with them. We went for a walk in the graveyard, where I was really glad I wore my bug shirt . We discovered small miniature cactuses growing in with the grass, and feared for flats, and /or puncturing our air mattresses. Cactuses already?

July 9 Fort Buford (near Williston), ND to Bozeman, MT ( 480 miles)
From Fort Buford we made it all the way to our destination in Bozeman. We headed south for a bit, ate Mexican for breakfast at a local diner in Sidney, MT, then got onto route 200 west into the Rockies. The world literally opened up within 5 miles of crossing over into Montana when the sky stretched forever , the sun shone strongly and the land rolled for 20 miles in every direction. Tears were falling hard for me coming into this part of the trip, with strong iPod soundtrack playing, and what appeared to be some kind of huge emotional welcome after two thousand miles of wind, rain, memories, and nagging fears. I was filling with anticipation at seeing my first born son.
Eastern rural Montana is where speed signs list only “ reasonable and prudent” speeds and no one drives less than 85 mph. I was laughing out loud the road was so beautiful, open and fast. It was sinful not to goose it to 100 mph, with not a house in sight and clear roads up ahead as far as the eye could see.
On a tip from the curator at the museum in Circle we stayed on 200 until we hit Eddies’ Corner and pointed onto 191 south. We stopped once and I ate peanut butter and blueberry jelly on crackers. The Little Belt Mountains were rising close, with the snow capped Rockies just behind Helena to the west. In Harlow we took Rt 12 west for 14 miles and then got onto Rt. 294 and lots of loose gravel construction and poking speeds. Just to the right was Elk Mountain at 8596 feet. Hitting route 89, we turned south, passing through tiny Ringling, and the Big Belt Mountains above the Gallatin National Forest. Just before Wilsall, we took a right onto Rt 86 and rode that stellar road past the Bridger Bowl into Bozeman. We got in at 7 pm, and met Eric at Lincoln’s house . Lincoln was downtown getting food to make supper for us. He showed up on his bicycle with a backpack full of goodness. He whipped up a mean chicken curry and we met his house mate Ellie, as well as a couple of his other friends. We were given the use of the far end of the living room for gear storage, and two of us took to the floor and one slept on the futon. We relished the hot shower, sinks, music, and looked forward to the short walk downtown to Main Street. Steve and I both live at least 3 miles from anyplace that we could call a store, and haven’t walked to town, ever.

We stayed in Bozeman for the next four days. The first morning we started a ritual that we replayed every other morning starting at 6 am, namely washing up, walking down along Main St., looking in the shops on our way to the Rocky Mountain Roasters for fresh cappuccino, latte, or regular coffee, a slow poke read of the local paper and planning the day.

Saturday night we were the guests of Duner Tor , who put on a massive barbecue spread at his amazing ranch within the limits of downtown Bozeman. We had a lot in common, he and I, including Grateful Dead, iPod, Mac computers, BMW motorcycles, KLR 650, acoustic mandolins, and a sense of pursuing our own agendas. He hosted an eclectic band there of young folks, his friends, and local motorcyclists. It was a warm greeting .

July 12 Bozeman> Cooke City> Yellowstone> Chico> Livingston> Bozeman loop.
On Monday, July 12, Lincoln had to work , so we did a day trip of 389 miles that took us out of Bozeman on I-94 for 70 miles or so , then right on 78 in Columbus through Absarokee, Roscoe, and on to Red Lodge where we picked up the entrance to the Beartooth Highway. The Beartooth, dubbed “ The most beautiful roadway in the USA” by Charles Kuralt, climbs to 10,947 feet elevation . It connects the northeast entrance of Yellowstone near Cooke City with Red Lodge, MT . It winds through glacial cirques, alpine lakes, and massive snow fields, even in the summer, passing through 20 peaks at over 12,000 feet, including Granite Peak at 12,799’ . Grizzlies, black bears, elk, and bighorn sheep roam freely. It takes at least 2 hours to drive the 60 mile road. The day we were there it was 58 degrees, but the wind made it feel like 38 .
We entered Yellowstone at the Northeast Entrance and motored through the Lamar Valley and then the Blacktail Deer Plateau. The section we traveled was bare of geysers, which are primarily located in the western part of the Park. We did stop and gaze at a large herd of buffalo out in the valley. Yellowstone is the world’s first national park, established in 1872. I plan to spend more time there in the future, probably late Sept. , or early Oct. before the snow comes in.

July 13
On Tuesday morning, Lincoln took me on a 13 mile looped mountain bike ride up the Grassy Mountain Trail, just across from the entrance to the Bridger Bowl ski complex. We started at 5718 feet and reached a height of 7400 feet . It was truly a slice of fat tire heaven. We rode 4 miles up a forest service access road, then up again onto single track and passed through vast fields of strongly fragrant wildflowers, reached the summit an hour later, where I pointed my 6 inch travel full suspension Schwinn “ Straight 6” downhill and began a 9 mile descent through multiple switch backs, and hard packed rolling surface back to the truck.
When we got back to Lincoln’s place , Steve felt he could not go on with his worn 3,000 mile rear tire (Metzler) and he had verified that there was a tire to fit his bike at the BMW motorcycle dealer in Missoula, 3 hours west. He was unsuccessful finding that size anywhere in Bozeman. He and Pat had almost put into action a plan where they were going to leave that afternoon and find a place to stay in Missoula so they could be first when the dealership opened at 9. I told Steve I was not going to leave with them, that I was spent from my bike ride, needed to rest, and that I would meet them there in the morning if they chose to leave right away. Steve reformulated a plan where he would wake early the next morning, and slowly work his way over to Missoula to be there first in line for the tire change.

Instead, Lincoln took us on a tour of several of the houses that his crew were working on. We piled into his truck and took off for Livingston. He works for Ryker/Nave Design, an architectural/building firm that does progressive housing design. His good friend from Appleton, ME, Cairan Fitzgerald had just completed a 5 year architecture degree from Montana State in Bozeman, had worked for the firm for the past year, and recommended Lincoln to his employers. Lincoln was foreman on one of the three crews, and was working on a renovation at a residence at Chico Hot Springs. We first visited Cairan’s construction site, the residence for the husband and wife Ryker/Nave couple. It was unusually complex and angular, and was sited in an awesome place. He then took us along Paradise Valley, overlooking the Yellowstone River valley where another crew were working on a $1, 250, 000 addition/ renovation of Jeff Bridge’s ( the actor) log cabin, sited on 900 acres . The log cabin looked much older than 30 years, and the crew was placing a ridge beam on a conventional addition when we got there. The setting was spectacular , the job was immensely interesting, and they had even subcontracted a young guy whose family were experts in building log cabins.
We later went over to a fully completed home a short distance from the Bridges job, that looked unique, with a grain silo for a bedroom, and a wavy floor that reflected the profile of the nearby mountains and hills. Then a tour and coffee in Livingston, a really interesting small ranchy community right on the shore of the Yellowstone River.
July 14, Bozeman, MT to St. Mary, MT ( 415 miles)
Wednesday morning, was an early one for Steve, as I awoke and heard him fire up his bike in the dark at 3:50 am and head off to Missoula. He had packed his sleeping bag, and pad away on the bike the night before and slept fully clothed on the futon. Pat and I left sometime after 6, ate a Southwester omelet ( chourico and green chile) after averaging 85 mph for the first hour. It was hellishly fast on that section of I-94, with every car or truck doing 85-90. When we arrived at Big Sky BMW we saw Steve’s bike sitting out front absent a wheel at about 9:30 am . Steve was the first guy there at 8 am, but a group of 5 riders had walked right past him and got their work orders started as he waited for the service dept. to open . It was tremendously understaffed with 15 BMW’s out front and 20 lined up out back, all enroute to the National BMW motorcycle Rally in WA. All with what they hoped would be the best sob story about why they needed to go to the front of the line. There were guys waiting there all day for an oil change, that should have headed 400 more miles west to the rally site where they could access the all day assisted oil change area that they could schedule at their leisure. We didn’t get out of Missoula until 12:30 pm. I estimated that I still had 1500 miles left on my rear tire. I bought a Michelin Pilot rear tire, and strapped it on the luggage rack in the hope that I would get quicker service sometime in the next few days.
Crossing northern Montana roughly 30 miles south of the Canadian border, US-2 gives an up-close look at two very different parts of this huge state. The western quarter, on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, offers incredible scenic beauty and innumerable options for outdoor recreation,culminating in magnificent Glacier National Park. East of Glacier, it’s like a completely other world as two-lane US-2 (popularly known as the "Hi-Line") races across glaciated Great Plains range lands along the many tributaries of the broad Missouri River. A few low buttes and cylindrical grain silos rise up in sharp silhouettes, but the horizon is the dominant aspect, stretching for what feels like hundreds of miles in all directions. Apart from dozens of one-side-of-the-road blink-stops, the towns along US-2 in the eastern stretches of Montana—Culbertson, Wolf Point, Glasgow, Malta, and Havre—are few and far between. It’s here you realize what the "Big Sky Country" is all about: cruising along at 80 mph, pacing a freight train and waving at the engineer, and never, repeat, never, passing a gas station with the tank less than a quarter full.
We headed up to Glacier National park via access on the easter side of Flathead Lake. I thought we were on the same page for gas, as we had made a plan to stop for gas and fresh Bing cherries on the easter side of Flathead lake. I got ahead of Steve and Pat on Rt. 93 and after waiting a half-hour for them at the turn for Rt. 35 at Polson I called up the 1-800- Call 4 BMW number and left a message that I’d connect with them at the West Glacier entrance to the park. I had made the call and was ready to leave when they pulled up. They had stopped for gas, food and drink, and we were back together again. We did find Bings, and even some Ranier cherries at a road side stand after we had stopped and downed some fresh raspberries.
This was to be my third time in Glacier National Park on a motorcycle. Alan McKinnon and I did it in 1996 on the way back from a 6 week trip to Alaska. In 1998 , Lincoln and I rode it when we did a tour of South Dakota and Montana. I think of Glacier as the place where the prairies end and the mountains begin. Glacier park’s main features are reached via 50-mile-long Going-to-the-Sun Road, a magnificent serpentine highway that is arguably the most scenic route on this planet. Climbing up from dense forests to the west and prairie grasslands to the east, this narrow road (built in 1932) is the only route across the park’s million acres. The 50 mile road usually takes 2 hours to complete, as it winds along the shores of the park’s two biggest lakes. The road’s middle section—everything east of Lake McDonald, basically—is usually closed by snow from late October until early June. (In May, before the road is open, the park service hosts "Show Me Day," when shuttle buses bring interested visitors near to where the snowplows are working, shooting the fluffy stuff hundreds of feet through the air.) One bit of good news for motorcyclists: No vehicles or combinations over 21 feet are allowed on the Going-to-the-Sun Road.
On the west side of the park, lovely Lake McDonald is Glacier’s largest lake, and also the most developed area, with an attractive lodge, two restaurants, a gas station, and a nice campground. We entered the park from the west in the late afternoon, and immediately found the Fish Creek picnic area and swam in Lake McDonald. After swimming, we decided to cook an early supper right at the picnic table by the edge of the lake.
We pulled out of the parking lot refreshed and satisfied and doubled back a couple of miles to start the Going-To-The -Sun Road . I highly recommend taking after dinner to cruise through, as we did. The glancing sunlight made for impressive photos, and there were few cars on the road. Between the lake and Logan Pass, five miles east of the Lake McDonald Lodge, Avalanche Creek is the most beautiful short hike in the park, winding through dense groves of cedar and fir alongside a creek that cascades noisily down a sharp cleft in the deep red rock. The two-mile trail ends up at Avalanche Lake, hemmed in by 1,500-foot-high cliffs.
The heart of the park is Logan Pass, a 6,680-foot saddle straddling the Continental Divide, which comes alive when the snow melts to reveal a rainbow of brightly colored wildflowers. There were mountain goats walking around the parking lot up there.
Along with the extensive facilities along US-2 at West Glacier, East Glacier, and St. Mary, you’ll find a couple of rustic lodges and motels within the park. The nicest of these is the intimate, comfortable— doubles starting around $90 a night—Lake McDonald Lodge (406/ 888-5431), with a lovely lobby filled with comfy chairs arrayed around a fireplace, and lots of bearskin and buffalo rugs; it also serves the park’s best food.
There are over a dozen campgrounds in Glacier but they fill up fast; none has RV hookups, and only two take reservations (406/888-7800).
Admission to the park is $10 per vehicle for a seven-day pass. For information in advance, call the park headquarters (406/888-7800).
None of the dozen or so campgrounds were filled , so at 9 PM we easily got a campsite at St. Mary at the eastern entrance of the park. They charged us $17 total and gave us a site usually reserved for bikers and hikers, with a bearproof locker for storing food and toiletries. If we had a car, our food would go in there.

Thurs. July 15 - St Mary, MT to Ft. Buford, N.D (512 miles)
I misread my watch in the dark, thinking it was 5:30 and time to pack up and hit the road. No one was up yet. It was still dark. I packed the sleeping bag, and deflated the Thermarest, put them away in the top box on the bike, and cleaned out the tent . I went to the wash house and shaved, etc. and took down the tent, when I looked at my watch again I realized I got up at 4:30! I boiled a percolator of coffee and by the time it was done, Pat was up.
At this point of our return we had 1,000 miles of undulating Great Plains to cross again. Cut Bank (pop. 3,105) is popularly known as the coldest city in the U.S., thanks to the presence of a U.S. Weather Service monitoring station, Cut Bank is a friendly and pretty enough place, bisected neatly by US-2 and the railroad track
We rode about 100 miles and ate breakfast in Shelby, then another 100 to Havre. Shelby has an impressive lineup of bars along Main Street (The Mint, the Mountain Club, the Alibi Lounge, the Tap Room . . .), but the town’s major claim to fame is that it hosted the 1923 world heavyweight fight between Jack Dempsey and Tommy Gibbons, a 15-round decision for Dempsey that was closer than it should have been. The match was produced as a publicity stunt to lure people to the oil boomtown, and Shelby built a 40,000-seat arena, but after Dempsey’s managers hemmed and hawed about canceling the bout, only 7,000 showed up. We passed through the Blackfoot reservation , and it was the same garbage-eating-dogs running-loose, boarded up buildings shuffling sadness that I’ve seen in Indian properties all over North America.

Havre
The largest town along eastern US-2, Havre (pop. 9,621; HAV-ver) was founded by the Great Northern Railroad and named, for no good reason, after the French port Le Havre, though you’d never tell by the pronunciation. Havre retains more than a little of its Wild West feel and has enough unusual attractions to merit an extended stop. North of town is a large area of eroded badlands, and just west of town at 306 3rd Avenue, behind the Holiday Village Shopping Center, is Wahkpa Chu’gn Archaeological Site (daily May–Sept.; $3.50; 406/265-4000). Dating back to prehistoric times, the area has been used by many cultures, including Plains Indian tribes, to drive bison to their deaths. The town itself is engaging and rowdy. Numerous poker clubs (everything has "casino" tacked onto it) and cowboy bars line the compact downtown area, underneath which is a defunct underground world of illicit bordellos and opium dens—all part of the whiskey trail that flourished a century ago and again during Prohibition, when bathtub gin—copious quantities from Canada, a stone’s throw north—was run through. Tours are available through Havre Beneath The Streets at 120 3rd Avenue (406/265-8888). We tried to sign up for this tour but the hours were too late for our schedule.
US-2 runs along the northern border of the Fort Buford Indian Reservation, which covers some 650,000 acres stretching south to near the Missouri Breaks, a rock-and-sagebrush landscape that provided perfect hiding spots for outlaws like Kid Curry, Butch Cassidy, and the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang.
Twenty miles east of the Fort Buford reservation is Malta, named for the Mediterranean island but otherwise just another ranching town that grew up along the Great Northern Railway. Malta, where the eastbound and westbound trains of Amtrak’s Empire Builder pass each other, is just one of dozens of flyspeck US-2 Montana towns with names borrowed at random by Great Northern Railway promoters from all over the globe. Heading along the highway, you pass near or through Dunkirk, Kremlin, Havre, Zurich, Harlem, and Tampico, all of which were founded by the railroad and settled in the main by Northern and Eastern European immigrants enticed here around the turn of the 20th century by the railroad’s offers of farmlands and homesteads.

East of Malta, highway signs proclaim your entrance to "Beef Country"; just check out the menu options in the cafes and you’ll know you’ve arrived. The main place we found worth stopping along this stretch is 17 miles east of Malta and four miles north of US-2. The Sleeping Buffalo Hot Springs resort (406/527-3370) offers a huge (60 by 80 feet) naturally heated swimming pool as well as tent camping. Cost us $5 each to take an hour and soak in two different natural pools. We first went in to the naturally heated 80 degree pool and felt just a little of the warmth that was to come. After about 20 minutes of paddling and cooling off we went into the hot pool, which was 106 degrees- really hot. The water comes from an artesian well that is 3500 feet deep, and the water temp is 108 degrees and flows 750 gallons per minute with 495 PSI. Many visitor claim exceptional relief from arthritis, rheumatism, gout and various metabolic disorders. It is also germicidal, and others claim that drinking the water provides relief from ulcers, and other gastric problems. We just wanted to slough off the road dust and freshen up for the ride ahead. Steve eventually got in after we convinced him that humans would not roast their inner organs in 106 degree water. I did OK, getting right in and felt my muscles relax. We were reasonable about it and only spent about 10 minutes in the heat and went back into the 80 degree pool. We dried off, had a juice in the store, and then hit the road for yet more miles .
The Hot Springs was additionally famous because on Sept. 5, 1999 Lorne Greene broke the Guinness record for the largest cooked hamburger. Hi Line productions produced a pure Montana beef burger that weighed 6,040 pounds, measuring 24 feet in diameter. The grill that was able to crank out the hamburger was still shining and proud , sitting right at the entrance to the hot springs.

Friday . July 16 - Fort Buford, N.D. to Fort Frances, Ontario ( 605 miles)
It was a typical morning, with a good herd of mosquitos probing on us on the shores of the Yellowstone River before we quickly packed up and hit the Rt. 2 heading east. We originally were going to try and stop at Cabella’s of the huge hunting/fishing mail order catalogue, but missed it, somehow. Must of had to do with the heat, fatigue, and Steve leading the way for 205 miles nonstop.
I had a very rapid 30 minute tire change in Minot, ND . It literally took that long for me to pull in, unpack the gear from the rear of the bike, remove the wheel/tire, bring it in, hand it (and the new tire) to the mechanic, who told me to start paying for it ( $15) , as he would be done in a couple. I was repacked and back up the highway to join Steve and Pat, who had just had their breakfast delivered to them when I sat down and put in my order.
We headed north on 71 to revisit Bemidji, MN and crossed over to Canada at International Falls, WI. We gassed up before crossing to save $$ . I followed the icons for the city park, which indicated camping allowed. The Pither’s Point Park Campground is located on the shores of Rainy Lake in east Fort Frances on Highway 11. You may ask yourself “what does Pither’s Point Park have to offer me”? The official answer would be “many hours of relaxation, recreation, fishing, swimming and sun bathing.” For us it was a place to crash and get out of town as soon as possible in the morning.
I took us a while to figure out what was going on. There was no one at the registration building, and was self-serve. I put the $15 CDN in the envelope and dropped it in the slot. We spotted some tents and a building down the road. Pat took off to make some phone calls. After setting up the two tents near a bath house with hot showers, sinks, and toilets, a couple of women campers told us there was no camping allowed on that side of the street (no signs noting this). One said the police would come by later and have us move. I gathered up all the gear that was now in my tent , and dragged it over across the street and set up the new site. They advised us to keep off the grassiest, most inviting area, that flooded if it rained. We were unable to get the bikes near the tents, though, and had to park them about 100 feet away. I didn’t like that. International Falls was across the river and had a huge paper mill that stunk up the area. Steve insisted that our original site was down pipe from the septic system servicing the bath house, but I swear it was that stinking paper mill. Steve made friendly with a bunch under tarps and big tents that were hitting the sauce. Lots of clanging of trains at 4 am.

Sat . Fort Frances , Ont. to Wawa, Ont. (585 miles)
This was the day we went up and over Lake Superior , which we avoided on the way out due to rain. How about this garish red white and blue sign advertising an upcoming town - “Snyder is Strong for Pepsi!” The first 200 miles were spent on Route 11 just getting to Thunder Bay on Lake Superior. When we passed Marathon, ONT I knew we were two days from Maine, as I had made that distance in 1996.
I got stressed out and irritable as the day progressed. I enjoy eating shelled nuts on the road- peanuts salted in the shell and pistachios. Eventually I realized that it had been about 7 hours since I ate and that was what I needed to do. We spent the night on the eastern shore of Superior, at Twilight Park campground . Pat built a smoky fire to keep the bugs away. I ate the following for supper: can of turkey, 1/2 pack Ramen noodles, 1/2 a zucchini, 1/2 can of peas, fajita seasoning, some H20. For dessert, fresh strawberries and a freshly made yogurt fruit sundae. We picked up the stuff in a rush just before the only supermarket in the area was to close at 7 pm.
I heard an ad on the radio for the Mosquito Magnet: “ Taking back the outdoors one yard at a time!” It’s a propane powered $200 dollar open flame that somehow pumps out C0 2 at a mosquito killing rate. Steve was definitley a guy that did not like mosquitos, but his oversight at leaving Pat’s tent door open resulted in a mass arm waving wall beating session before they could get to bed. Quote of the day is ascribed to Pat, “ I think these mosquitos got the telegram from the ones from Fort Buford that we were coming!”

Wawa, Ont. to Limoges, Ont. ( 610 Miles)
This was the morning that Pat almost ran out of gas, before we found some 246 miles later. This was the same guy that started the trip convinced that he had to stop for gas when his odometer hit 150.
Wow! Rain, fatigue, irritability, and finally a place to crawl into the tent.
The absolute most startling event of the whole trip back involved Steve and a “potent horse”. Steve was in the lead , glued to the rear bumper of a two horse trailer as he was peering around the side of it trying to find a space to pass. He never saw the tail on the left horse lift up and discharge a massive shit flow that hit the 70 mph turbulence in the wake of the trailer and explode into a green bomb that scored a direct hit onto him, his bike, tand the he road in front of him ... I saw it coming and had backed off . I have no recollection of ever laughing so loud and for so long. It was an effort to hold the bike to the road. When we stopped a half hour later I expected him to immediately say something about it, but he didn’t , so I opened with , “Jeeze, it sure smells like crap around here!” which sent him raving.... “ Did you see what that horse did to me ???”

We gassed up at an Irving Big Stop where we had supper as well. It was after we had spent a long day on the road, braving a wicked rainstorm that had us putting on rain gear, and fighting to keep the bikes on the road with a strength of the rain, wind, and impending darkness. Earlier, I came up behind Pat and couldn’t see anyone on his bike as it was moving down the road! He was exhausted and had collapsed his torso down on the tank, and was obscured behind the massive pack he has on the rear rack. An ambulance pulled into the Irving just behind us, and Pat got the quote award for today as well, “ I thought those ambulance guys were coming to get me. I thought someone must have seen how I was driving on the road back there and called them on their cell phone!”
After a really long, tiring day surviving the traffic of Ottawa at the end of the day we reached the Kittawa Campground, on Highway 417, east of Ottawa , from exit 79. We found the place in the pitch dark, and it was pretty evident that it was a French Canadian party spot, with multiple hot tubs, pools, multicolored lights, music , lots of revelry, and their own security force on golf carts. We were escorted past actual street intersections with stop signs, and street names on posts just like the the real world. We got there in the dark. We had a site that was by a man made pond with a fountain in the middle. There were mostly permanent rented camper/mobile home summer places all around us - at least hundreds, and maybe thousands of them. I was totally fried by this point, really tired. I got irritated with Steve, who said something about mosquitos and a question about a possible passed motel. It is really no fun looking around for someplace to sleep with no real idea of what the hell is going on, in the dark, in the rain, and I barked that I did the best I could, that it was sometime no fun being in front and having to make decisions on the spot, in the dark, rain, and after 500 miles of humping down the road. These kind of things are said even to a friend when one’s brain is fried .

Day 14
Limoges, Ont. to Lincolnville, ME and home ( 456 miles)
We got up in the rain and pushed out while it was still dark. We knew we were going to be home at the end of the day and could have cared less about packing wet tents. Nothing was going to get in our way of enjoying this last day, even if we had to get through the gridlock of Montreal.
We pushed on with a plan to eat after getting through Montreal. After a great deal of exploring we found breakfast in a small suburban French-Canadian suburb. No English was spoken here. Steve and Pat ordered the blueberry crepes for $ 6.95 CDN, which turned out to be 1 crepe stuffed with heavy whipped cream and lesser amount of berries. I am pretty good at sizing up a French menu, and ordered the “special “, When the waitress plunked 2 eggs, 2 toasts, 4 pieces of ham, a fruit slice assortment, home fries and 2 crepes ( for $5.95 !) in front of me the boys got real quiet, except for Steve who downed his crepe , looked at mine , and then asked “ Are those yours too?”
We left the restaurant and just as we were approaching the entrance to Rt 10 Pat pulled along side of me and said, “I gotta pee!” I asked him how he wanted to handle it and he said he’d wait a bit and just pull off the side of the road. I suggested he take the lead, which he reluctantly did , but he was about to enter the access for Rt. 10 West back to Ottawa when my shouting and horn beeping was apparently enough for him to veer off at the very last second and take the Eastern route.
Two and a half hours later , when we stopped for gas Steve asked, “ When are you going to be ready to eat?” I told him wasn’t hungry yet, but if he wanted to eat, I’d be OK with it. You can’t cruise for long on one crepe.
The last day got better and better as we entered New England . We passed through St. Johnsbury , VT, the pleasantly peaceful commercial center of Northeast Vermont, at the junction of the US-2 and US-5 highways, the I-91 and I-93 freeways, and the Maine Central and Canadian Pacific railroad tracks. Approaching the New Hampshire border, US-2 heads across rolling rocky hills covered with forests, largely pine and birch, with a few scattered farms. This corner of the state, a recreational paradise of hills and lakes and few year-round residents, is known as the "Northeast Kingdom."
US-2 makes a short but scenic run across the NH. From the historic commercial center of Lancaster, just east of the border, US-2 winds along the wide valley of the Israel River before reaching Jefferson, home to two of the state’s biggest tourist traps.
For the truly masochistic parent, about a mile west of Jefferson is Santa’s Village, with candy canes looming threateningly at the entrance, a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster, the Yule log flume and, of course, Santa himself. Just east of town is Six Gun City , an ersatz Wild West town featuring cowboy skits ("Come on out, you varmints!"), frontier shows, a carriage museum, and a pair of water slides.
Continuing east, US-2 curves around the northern flank of towering Mount Washington and the rugged White Mountains, an area rich in outdoor recreation and scenic splendor.
At Gorham, US-2 reaches the valley of the Androscoggin River, which it follows east into Maine.
US-2 enters Maine at the forested eastern flank of the White Mountains. Winding east along the river, the route passes through alternating mountain resorts and mill towns, starting at sedate Bethel (pop. 2,329)which was first settled in 1774. At the tail end of the Revolutionary War, the town, then named Sudbury, suffered the last Indian raid inflicted on New England.
We rolled into the parking lot of one of Pat’s many cappuccino shrines in Maine. We now knew we made it. Pat said it all as we stared out at the road while we were nursing our second cups of coffee in Bethel, ” It’ s amazing that anyone can leave their driveway, get out on that tar, and just by keeping going end up in someplace far away they’ve never been before, like Bozeman, Montana!”