Day 68: Going Part of the Way To The Sun

Matt takes off and I hang out at Lake McDonald for a bit while the sun rises from behind the mountains. A park ranger tells me that today is going to be MUCH nicer than tomorrow and that I should ride up Going to the Sun Rd today, rather than tomorrow. It's supposed to rain and get real cold tonight, so I decide on getting a cabin at KOA where I can drop off my stuff while I am riding today. The cabin is cute. A little expensive, but every price within 50 miles of this park is inflated to a nauseating degree (Except for the Backpackers Inn in East Glacier... What a great place, and its run by a cyclist!). On my way to the KOA, I see Matt on the side of the road... having some bike problems. I'm kinda useless in those situations but I keep him company nonetheless. Double-goodbyes are the worst, right?

Drop off my stuff, check my email, and head back to the park sans 40 lbs of stuff. I head up the road, and it's probably the most beautiful day I've seen in the last 2 weeks. Strange, for over a week they had been predicting that today was going to be a mess; a huge drop in temperatures and massive amounts of rain. I had scheduled my entire week around today, and here I am... a warm fall day as sunny as it could be.

The first 10 miles are beautiful but not much different than everything I've been seeing for the past 3 days. Once I get past Lake McDonald the sights start to get a little more interesting: Waterfalls, Creeks, Overlooks... etc.

It's great, but I am starting to worry that I might not get anything even close to the full Going to the Sun Experience. It gets better and better as it goes on, and then the road ends at 'Avalanche'. I have to admit I am a bit let down with the ride, until I notice that the road is only closed to cars... Hikers and Bikers can keep going. Accompanying this sign, is a pretty stark warning about bears; they'll attack without warning, provocation, there is no hope if you get attacked, etc. I get a bit freaked out. There will be no cars, and probably no other people up this road. Just me and Smokey (The Bear). I hate heights, bears and fish (anything alive underwater). There are others, but those are the big three at the moment. Really freaked out about the bears, though cognizant of how irrational it is.

I start up the road but after a mile my paranoia sends me back down to Avalanche. I sit around for a half hour and work up the courage to go back up. I keep telling myself how irrational I am acting, and eventually force myself to go back up. 'Fitter, Happier, More Productive...' I am loud and unconvincing if these were my actual affirmations. Eventually I calm down as I notice how the scenery has changed... My goodness... about 2 miles past Avalanche, it gets AMAZING. I can't even begin to describe how ridiculous the beauty is. There really are no words.

I am taking a picture when another cyclist speeds by me up the road. I catch up with him about 5 minutes later and we start talking. His name is Chris Wilson and I join him if only for the peace of mind that comes with being in a group. He says he's climbed this road over 50 times and that he's never seen it with so much fall color. We get to the part of the trail where we start having to do some serious climbing, and after about a mile, we hit the end. It's a little ways past Packers Roost, and I'm seriously debating just ignoring the signs and heading up until the road deteriorates. But I don't... I guess I'll just have to come back next year. The way back down is pretty fantastic. I want to stop every 10 feet and take a picture, but I'm enjoying the speed. Storm clouds are gathering over Lake McDonald and so I hurry back so as not to get stuck in the rain. Looking behind me, I see the GTTS RD as it winds its way up the face of that cliff; so treacherous; looks insane; I WILL come back to ride that.

Slowly, the scenery recedes back into a yellow leafy forest on the banks of the lake.

I say goodbye to Chris and get some food at the same diner I ate at last night. It's a bizarre feeling I have. I'm not sure how to explain it to others it's exhilarating and isolating. It's one of the more amazing experiences I've ever had. Damn I wish I could've done the whole thing.

It's raining on my way home. I get to the cabin, and listen to the rain on the wooden roof. I stay up to late trying to plan out the last 2 weeks of the trip. I get an email from John E. and apparently it's going to dump a lot of snow in the Cascades this next week. I might need to take the southern route through Washington. Damn.

I want to take a day off either tomorrow or the next day, and do a lot of nothing. A LOT of nothing.