Decisions, decisions

I'm two days behind.  If I skipped Waterton and Glacier National Parks, I'd not only be one day ahead, but could also  bypass the grueling climb up over Logan's Pass (6,646 feet, or 2,026 meters).  On the other hand, I remembered the trip I did nine years ago that also took me through Glacier National Park.  I definitely wanted to see the park again.  Besides, the weather was absolutely perfect.

Obviously, I needed a Plan B.  I decided I could eliminate the smaller Waterton National Park and with it, the excursion up into Canada.  That would put me back on schedule.  I asked a few folks and found out that there was a scenic alternative route that would link the east side of Glacier National Park and Cut Bank, Montana, where I could pick up my original itinerary eastbound.

Before leaving Whitefish, I had to go to the post office and to the grocery store.  I thought I was going to get on the road early for once, but yet again, it was after 10:30 am before I got rolling.  You take a well-maintained secondary road for the first few miles, but after that you find yourself first on state highway 40, and later US 2, into Columbia Falls. 

For me, the most memorable thing about Columbia Falls is the big Dairy Queen you see as you roll into town.  I'd only been on the road for a measly hour, but who knows when another root beer freeze might be available?  Why, it might not be until Pennsylvania or Ohio!  "Carpe Diem" I always say.

It was a pleasant day of cycling, mostly on back roads and some of them on unpaved back roads.  I'll read the fine print next time, because I hate bicycling on gravel.  But there was no turning back, so I just stuck through five miles of dust, rocks, and pot holes.

Stunning, awesome, and beautiful beyond belief

There are just a handful of places in the United States that inspire like this: the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Yosemite in California, Bryce Canyon in Utah, and here in Montana, Glacier National Park.

There is one point where you round a corner and you see these incredible, craggy snow-covered peaks towering above all else on the horizon.  It truly makes you stop and stare in total awe.  And you're not even there yet!  Other than first glimpse of what awaits you, entering from the west, it's a gradual introduction to the wonders of the park.

I was very lucky that my timing worked out perfectly.  Bicycles aren't allowed on the road between 11:00 am and 4:00 pm, when all the car and RV traffic is at its worst, and  I had arrived at 3:40 pm.  So after a short 20 minute rest, I began cycling along the relatively flat part of "Going to the Sun" road that borders Lake MacDonald.  You pass the grand old Lake MacDonald Lodge.  I arrived at Avalanche Creek campground in plenty of time to set up camp, wash up, fix dinner, and chat with the three other cyclists in the "hiker/biker" campsite.

My biggest worry about the next day was that my camera battery wouldn't have enough juice to get me through the one day that I knew would be the most scenic of the whole trip.  I couldn't remember whether I had charged up the spare  battery.  So I asked the camp host if there were any electrical outlets available where I could recharge my camera battery.  "Nope, and even if there were, you couldn't use them.  Park employees only."  replied the wizened old battleaxe.  She saw the expression on my face and went on to explain: "Ever since 9/11 we can't let anybody use the electricity.  After all, they might very well want to plug in a laptop in order to conduct terrorist activities!".  Uh oh.  I can see that I am about to get into a lot of trouble, and decide I will just have to trust that the camera battery holds out.  Good thing she didn't check MY luggage while she was at it.

In Avalanche Campground, I managed once again to survive a night with no hot water, no showers, no electricity, and no steakhouse with wine bar.  I am getting tough.  However, please note my proudest accomplishment of all: I was on the road at 8:00 am the next morning!  I was determined to make it to the top before the 11:00 am bicyclist "curfew".

By cycling so far into the park on my day of arrival, I only had 16 miles to get to the top.  How long could that take?  I'm in shape now, and not the sorry excuse for a cyclist I started out as.  The answer, however, was: four hours.  In my own defense, it turns out that I could have made it to the top "legally", by 11:00 am, if I hadn't stopped to take photographs every time I turned a corner (or more accurately, rounded a switchback).  My cycling time was just under three hours, but the elapsed time was just over four.  Luckily, I was not apprehended and am not writing this from jail (as a terrorist).

The park has refurbished the old 1937 Ford tourist busses.  Other than by bike, this would be a terrific way to see the park.  The guides know all the best spots to stop.   

As I rounded the last switchback before reaching Logan Pass, I stopped to catch my breath in the parking lot that quite a few people seemed to be using to go on a hike.  It was about all I could do to catch my breath and drink some water.  All I could think of was my goal, a mere half mile up (and I do mean up) the road.  If someone hadn't asked me if I didn't think the mountain goats were incredibly tame, I would have missed the entire point of all those people climbing up the stairs to the hike.  I parked my bike and was rewarded with the scene of Mama Mountain Goat and her kid.

It's a curse, but the truth is that I always take more photographs going uphill than when going downhill.  For the first seven miles down the east side of Logan Pass, it was a screaming 32 mph (50 km/hr) joy ride.  I think I stopped all of once for a photograph in those first seven miles.  It was just too much damn fun whizzing around those curves without expending the slightest effort. 

You'd be doing yourself an injustice if you read all the verbiage and didn't take a look at the photos.  You'll love Glacier.