The bike shop in Whitefish -- Glacier Cyclery -- was one of the best I've seen on my trip. Dave, the mechanic that worked on my bike, was a pro, and he managed to get my bolt out without drilling. He also adjusted my bottom bracket and tracked down the source of my bike's squeak (the right pedal). That freaking squeak has been driving me nuts since Kansas.
You know how annoying a squeaking sound is when you hop on a bike at the gym? Try listening to it for six hours. Dave, wherever you are, you rock.
Dave installed my new rear tire with the tread facing the wrong way, but nobody's perfect.
Here's a picture of the Whitefish train depot. I only took this picture to have something to put on my Web page.
Cool, huh?
I went to a motel, where I reversed my rear tire and took a shower. I'm in an old motel, and the shower is a little slippery. I busted my ass. Actually, I busted my ribs on the counter when I wiped out. I'm pretty sure that they're just bruised, but damn, they hurt. Laughing, sneezing, wshing your hair, riding a bike -- these things all hurt when your ribs are screwed up.
They say that 90% of all home accidents happen in the bathroom, but I always assumed that that's because people do freaky shit in their bathrooms. All I know is that I spilled all of my chocolate sauce when I fell, and it scared the hell out of the stray cats that I had caught.
Anyway, I cleaned up my bike and walked around town, where I discovered the Black Star Brewery. They have a "tasting room," which is basically a place where they give away free beer. How cool is that? Whitefish is pretty cool.