I rolled out and managed to find West Yellowstone's post office (located a few feet off of the city's teeming central thoroughfare). I sent off some things I had acquired, as well as a few maps I no longer needed. From there I hit the barbershop, where $13 bought me an authentic scalping. I have no hair left. I actually had to tighten my helmet's chinstrap to get it to fit again.
The ride out of West Yellowstone was flat at first, with a few minor climbs as I circled north of Hegben Lake, pictured below. The day was perfect for cycling, but I have to admit I started to miss the national parks about 5 minutes after I got on the bike.
Just past Hegben Lake was Quake Lake, named for an tremor that dropped portions of the valley as much as 22 feet in a few seconds. The fault severed several forestry trails and dropped millions of tons of dirt into the river, causing the banks to swell. A hastily dug trench prevented flooding of the lower valley.
Here's a shot of the lake, with trees killed when the lake flooded the riverbanks.
After pedaling past the lakes, I entered the Missouri Flats, which promised easy riding for most of the day. I ran into a few other cyclists, Matt and Travis (both from Ohio). These guys travelled light and fast, but I rode with them long enough to discover that they are riding to Seattle to look for an apartment.
Matt's friend Hutch had talked both of them into biking cross country, but then the piker quit five days into the trip. Fortunately, Matt and Travis get along pretty well, even though they didn't know each other too well at the start of the trip.
I rode with them for a while, but I ended up looking at Matt's rear tire the whole time, so I dropped back and concentrated on my surroudings rather than my pace.
A storm front began to move through as I cycled along the valley floor, and try as I might, I couldn't outrun it. I finally gave up and pulled over to put on my rain gear. For the first time during the trip, I found the rain gear comfortable -- even pleasant -- since, the tempertures dropped into the 50s as the rain began.
Little did I know that this would become a regular occurence in Montana -- freezing afternoon rain. Every afternoon, without fail. Pretty sweet, huh?
As I said, the rain wasn't that bad. And my rainsuit kept me warm. There was one ugly incident where I stopped and took off the rain gear, only to have the rain begin anew two minutes later. That sucked a lot. One benefit did arise from the weater system -- that rarest of all creatures, a tailwind. I cruised along at 18 mph as I continued the mostly flat run through the valley. Aside from a broen spoke (never should have let that guy in Jackson tune-up my bike), the day went pretty well.
I reached Ennis, a small town that derives 90% of its revenue from fly fishermen (the other 10% comes from the Dairy Queen near the campground. The intercom at the drive-thru made my night miserable, but after a long day of bike riding, it takes more than a single tinny speaker to keep this New Yorker awake). Matt, Travis and I checked out a few hotels, which were predictably expensive on a Saturday night, so we set up our tents.
The campground was packed with more than a few bikers -- the most notable group was that of Bruce, Sue and Dale. Bruce and Sue are former hippies that currently live in northern Colorado. Bruce is a veritable wealth of touring information, and we discussed routes through the northwest. I'm getting closer to Missoula and have to make a few decisions about my route soon. Don't bother to send me emails about your prefernces; I really don't care.
Oh yeah, cool sunset sky.
