Day 18. Cut Bank to Chester, 68 miles

I woke up to 40 degrees and icy condensation covering my tent and everything else. I packed up what I could and laid the tent parts out to get as much early-morning sun as possible. I’m learning quickly that it starts cold in the morning, but the sun comes up quick and full. While waiting for things to dry, I took a quick look at the map and discovered that I’d forgotten I was using an alternate route through most of the rest of Montana, an older version of the ACA route that they’d changed several years back due to increased traffic. I’d asked about it on an ACA forum and been advised the older route was better this summer due to construction on the new one. And I’d planned it that way and then just forgot. Unnerving as it felt to be getting off book—it’s so easy to just follow the device’s cues!—the truth is that it’s 2 East through Wolf Point, most of the rest of Montana. No cues, no turns: just 2 East for days. (I didn’t remember until later that day that I’d ordered and have with me a free an excellent Montana biking map that gave lots of useful information about road conditions.) So I took a deep breath and set off without external navigation, but with my railroad companion.

My first (and only) town of the day was Shelby, a town with more signs announcing its name than I’ve seen previously—three before we were even in the town proper.

The town still had some terrific buildings standing from its heyday.

I learned more about the town’s history from this marker, which I found delightful and dryly hilarious.

Outside town, that was followed by this related, but far grimmer, marker about the wretchedness of colonization. The tone was severe, and the graffiti drove the point home.

The land rolled on like this.

And like this.

I’m still seeing lots of white crosses, though the landscape is far less dramatic, with fewer drop-offs and blind curves and other features that would make driving hazardous. There are so few features, in fact, that I took one of my breaks a mile early because I happened on a wholly unexpected and much appreciated guardrail against which I could lean my bike and my back. It was the only one I saw all day.

The railroad is usually nearby, but when the going gets tough it wanders off to do its own thing for a while, rejoining me when the road has calmed down a bit. Faithless.

I arrived in Chester earlier than planned—crosswinds and hills notwithstanding, my average mph has increased to 10-11 from the 7-9 I was doing in the mountains. Also, the lack of shade makes prolonged stops less desirable.

I stayed at the less-than-charming MX Motel, but made up for it with Modelo on tap and a frozen pizza (the kitchen was closed, sad face) at The Grand Bar & Grill, where I chatted with the bartender—NY-born, CA-raised, MT-adopted—and the other patrons and had a good old time. Back to the motel for a call with Andrew ❤️ and bed.

To those asking about snacks! I have a lengthy disquisition on snacks and gear mostly composed in my head, but I haven’t yet put clumsy fingers to screen on it. I’m guessing the heat is going to drive me to more motel stays through the plains, so hopefully a good night of free wifi and a comfortable place to hang will allow me to bring it to written fruition. Thank you for caring! I have much to say on the topic.