Part Eight - Yellowstone to Missoula

Coming out of Yellowstone, I turned down onto a new highway and the whole bike slid sideways. Wasn't expecting that. Turns out they had just chipsealed the road, which means they poured tar onto the existing roadbed, then poured on gravel, rolling it in, leaving a sometimes solid, sometimes loose surface. Not fun. Between the rocks shooting out from under the fenders to not knowing if the bike would turn or stop when you wanted, we were happy to get off this stretch.

The road was blocked further on by a real-life cattle drive. They used the road to send the cattle between the fields on this particular bit as there was nowhere else to go. Pretty cool for a city boy like me.

Look ma, a real cowboy! Our amusement turned to disgust soon after, however, as the cattle had turned the roadbed into a quarter mile long sewer of trampled droppings and acrid urine. It actually coated the entire road and made the surface slick. The fine spray of filth soon coated the undersides of all the bikes. Not so cute now, you shit machines!!

This was truly big sky country. Huge expanses of open road, few vehicles, a whole lot of nothing.

Coming off a small pass into another valley, I saw this view. Slowing and fumbling with the camera, as I took this pic a blue blur flew past me in the adjacent lane. My trusty R1 riding bud had seen the expanse as well and was opening up his beast. Well, that just wouldn't do. I pocketed my camera and hit the gas, tucking in as the truly awesome rush of acceleration from my 160 hp motor started reeling in the distance. I stayed tucked, the speedometer uncertainly displaying 184 - 185-184-185. We slowed a bit for a bridge at the base of the hill, not knowing if it had a lip that'd launch us, then cranked the gas back up to the stops until the road started to curve right. What a rush. Running in tandem at 160-170mph. A group of ranchers in a field were watching us as we sped past, giving thumbs up and throttle twisting gestures as we blew by. The noise must have been music. We finally slowed down, grinning like idiots in our helmets. Ahhh.

Puffy clouds formed, grew, and disappeared over our heads, contrasting with the deep blue sky. Not a whole lot of smog out here...

Fuelled up in a little town called Wisdom (pop. 50) and continued heading northwest. This little rain spewing thunderhead was threatening to dump on us, we thought we had made it past unscathed but just as we entered the forest BIG splats started hitting my helmet. I knew it would be short lived, though, and gassed it right through. Got a little wet, but it was easily endurable as I knew it would very soon end. Over the other side was a little pass descending down the mountainside, a fun little 20 miles.

Followed the 93 north to Lolo, where we intended to find a hotel. The road slipped between rounded hills, some burnt and still crisply, some covered in sun-browned grasses, seemingly waiting to ignite. Great road, smooth sweeping turns, linking one after another, bieng at peace and one with the bike.

Sinuous...

Well, thats it. My camera finally died. After years of abuse, it finally started making grinding crunching sounds when the lens extended. It is no more. Unfortunately, it's also where my story ends, at least until I get my greasy little hands on my fellow rider's pics. I do have another camera, but it wasn't present on this trip.
So, to finish the narrative, as we were gassing up in Lolo, I asked a woman there about lodging, she told us to go the 5 miles north into Missoula, a much larger town. We did. It was good. Ended up meeting a guy that night(Franz) who told us to drop by his shop in the am, he'd escort us over the pass.
Got up in the morning, sunshine streaming down. Made it to the little bike shop, where we met the guys, a 62 year old retired engineer(Hans), the guy we'd met last night who was full of bike knowledge(Franz) and had knee sliders worn to the nubs, and a few other guys who would tag along. We checked out his shop, I bought new blinkers to replace my superglue and electrical tape ones, which were installed free of charge. ( Sorry, can't remember the names, so I just used Hans and Franz.)
We finally got going, seven riders in total. Franz took point, Hans second, me third, a guy on an ancient smoking gsxr1100 fourth, then the cbr600 and my bud's R1. We quickly lost the seventh guy, who was on a vtx1800 and had already said he was going to turn back early. It was nice to see the bikeshop guys in leathers despite the heat, as it's always a little interesting to ride with unknown people and the willingness to suffer heat a little to protect against skin grafts made them a bit more acceptable.

No worries. This was their backyard, they knew it well. I tucked in and followed their lead. What followed was the most fun I've had on a bike in a long time. Lolo Pass is a dream of a road, twisting and turning endlessly for 100 miles, first up a mountain pass, down the other side, then following a wandering riverbank. If you ride, you owe it to yourself to get there. Really.
I kept the guys in sight, not crowding, not losing them, just using their knowledge to gauge my speed. Taking the 35mph posted turns at 100mph, still leaving a margin for safety/unforseeables, flowing, feeling the tires bite and set the suspension, rolling on and off the throttle, shifting around on the bike to shift the center of gravity to aid the cornering, planning your lines. Heaven. We quickly reeled off the miles, I had a bit of a moment when the bike wheelied a bit off an unseen rise at about 150 or so, but sheer fun.
My low fuel light had been shining it's sickly yellow at me for 15 miles when a little store/station crept into view. We pulled off.
I yanked off my helmet, grinning like an idiot, gushing like a schoolgirl. Fired up! Happy! Yeefrickenha! Hans and Franz both were smiling and laughing at my enthusiasm. We filled the bikes as we waited for the others to show, went inside to pay and get a couple of gatorades to counteract the heat. I insisted on paying for the guys fuel and drinks, as they'd just allowed me to follow them around in their home turf, showing me their lines, plus they'd spent at least 30 minutes professionally wiring my blinkers back at the shop gratis. I figured I still owed them.
The others filed in, all grinning. We shot some pics, talked to other riders(this is the only gas stop available in a typical bike's range, most riders stop), and finally said our farewells.
We continued on to Lewiston/Clarkston, Hans and Franz and crew were bound for Boise for the night. Thanks guys.
Got into Lewiston, Got a hotel, went out for beers and pool, talked to yet more bikers, slept Well.

Got up in the am, had to get back. Lewiston to Seattle in one run.
Used the two lanes to snake a diagonal path to Ellensburg, then made time on the Interstate 90 back home. Impressive crosswinds, and my detector saved us one final time. Took a few final group shots at the last gas stop, stay tuned.
Recently heard the CBR600 rider just bought a new Gsxr 750. Yep, he's hooked.

All for now.