I slept like a dead man, even in my less-than-clean motel, but I managed to roll out of Anaconda at the relatively early hour of 11 am. Goddamn, but I am a brave soldier.
The 12-mile climb out of Anaconda, which had worried me the day before, was a total cakewalk, and I reached Georgetown Lake easily enough. The lake was fairly ugly. That's all I have to say about that.
I raced down a steep descent as I left the lake behind, then took a side road to check out the town of Philipsburg. The town was a real disappointment. I had heard a lot of good things about it, but once I got there, it just seemed like a small town with a few tourist traps. Annoyed, I kept going. It rained a bit, but nothing compared to the usual afternoon deluge I've come to expect in Montana.
If you think that I'm exaggerating when I describe the weather patterns of our fourth-largest state, just compare the skies in the next two shots. They were taken about 30 minutes apart.
I had a sweet tailwinf all the way to Drummond, where I turned west and began to follow the Clark Fork River. I foolishly listened to Donna Ikenberry's advice and took a frontage road rather than just riding on the interstate. I spent the next two hours climing unnecessary hills and weaving back and forth, wasting energy. I-90, on the other hand, ran as straight and flat as the river it follows, and I cursed dumbass Donna and her stupid guidebok with every passing mile.
I did manage to make one new friend on that frontage road, though something I said pissed it off. Just a few notes for anyone interested: a rattlesnake's hiss is louder than its rattle, which isn't nearly as drawn out or sustained as the movies would have you believe. Strikes a pretty kick ass pose, though.
I called it a day at Chalet Bearmouth campground, about 35 miles short of Missoula. Tomorrow I'll hit town, buy a few maps, and -- with any luck -- run into Jan and Titia, who I haven't seen since Kentucky.