The group of cyclist riding south from Watson Lake to Yellowstone just posted news of their first nine days on the road. Reading it I’m transported to days past when I’d take off on long bike rides, rides before monastic life. Riding in Ireland in the rain, peddling up hills to the sometimes fast, often slow, rhythm of the Can Can. Dah, da, da, da, da, dah, dah da, da, da, da,…. My how it can rain in Ireland; and on the road south from Watson Lake by all accounts.
Monday August 25th
Rain thru the night and into the morning. We lie in our tents waiting to see who will be the first to make a move. We rally around 9:30 AM. Cook up the rest of our oatmeal which is around six bites per person and heavily supplemented by spoonfuls of peanut butter. The dirt road we came to our campsite is now a mudslide puddle mixture so we push our bikes through the woods and up the steep embankment to the road. The rain subsides and we are back on the road. We make good time into Fort Nelson. The forestlands give way to cleared pastures affording us magnificent views of the country. To the West we can see snow capped peaks of the coastal ranges. We spot the old remains of a blackbear road kill.
Great photos too.
This post is offered in memory of Cuthbert who, in his early years in Montana, would pick up road kill and bury it. He was known as ‘the man who picks up animals’. Later he was killed in New York. A truck ran over him, and his bike, at a crossing. After that I sold the priory bicycle and didn’t climb aboard one for well over ten years. Taking a short ride to break the biking fast seemed like a good thing to do at the time. My serious biking days are over though.
Good fortune to the riders in the wilds.
Errr! 11.30 p.m. That sounds like the Racoons out in the garden again, pulling up the lawn and washing their spoils in the fountain. Wild life in Berkeley. Bless em.
