From time and time again on this trip, I'm constantly reminded of the vast amount of wonderful people that exist in this world. Whether this reminder comes from a brief conversation with someone in a gas station, or spending an evening and a morning with a group of people, I come to the same conclusion. People are inherently good, they mean good and want to do good deeds to others. The only thing holding people back from these good deeds is the fear that is spread by society via the media of bad experiences that select people have. Fear is spread through societies in the form of horror stories, pictures, and the news. People are lead to believe that there are very few other people that can actually be trusted.
After four magical days in the back-country with Christa I said goodbye to her on a Sunday morning at the train stop in West Glacier. The night prior, we were 3 miles away from our intended campsite. The site was the result of the thoughtfulness of a man who, not only had given me a ride with my bike and multiple bags of groceries into the park 5 days prior, but had also lent me his whitewater kayak and shuttled me up river for an 8 mile run down the middle fork of the Flathead River. I stuck out my thumb in the pitch black of the moon-less evening and immediately a truck pulling a boat with two scuffy looking men pulled over. After a brief conversation, Christa climbed inside, and I pedalled like mad after the car that carried my girlfriend to our intended meeting place 3 miles down the road. Upon arrival, I saw the truck in a parking lot and glimpsed Christa walking into the only bar in West Glacier. I walked in and was confronted with a jubilant Saturday night atmosphere in what turned out to be the local whitewater rafting and kayaking, trekking, backcountry skiing, adventurer bar. The guys who had helped us out had offered us free beer and we were soon laughing, joking, and having a grand time with the locals that had at first given me a fright. Later, Christa managed to convince me that she really did have a train to catch the next morning and that we shouldn't accept our new friends offers for a round of shots at around 11pm.
After a short nights sleep, a quick breakfast, and an even faster goodbye as Christa was hurried onto the east-bound train, I finally got underway on my bike again the next morning at 9:30am. I was headed east on the Going to the Sun Road towards the divide through Glacier National Park. The road possessed certain restrictions to bicycles, I would have to summit the pass before 11am, an estimated 3 hour ride from the location I began. I got underway, and by 11am I had made significant progress, but was still about 1.5 hours from the top. It was clear to me why the restrictions were in place - the non-existence of a shoulder and the twisted winding road with a constant 6% grade uphill made it a difficult road for inexperienced tourist drivers and especially dangerous for bicycles. The traffic jams on the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend caused by a careless biker going 7mph would create many unhappy vacationers as they tried to drive the extraordinarily scenic road to the top of Logan Pass.
Before 11am and the beginning of the bicycle restrictions, I was completely aware of these problems I could cause, so was fully conscious of my need to get off my bike and stand aside when large streams of cars would pass me. I took care not to upset the hundreds of cars that passed me while protecting myself from careless drivers at the same time. The comments I received from drivers as they passed me, or as I passed them stopped on the side of the road were nothing but positive. "You can do it," "We're with you, glad it's you and not me biking," "We believe in you!"
When 11am came and went, I decided I wasn't causing traffic jams and people enjoyed seeing me biking, so I continued up the pass. My presence, however, was not appreciated by the law enforcement personnel in the park and a mere 2 miles from the top of the pass, I was stopped by an officer. There was no way to avoid the $125 ticket. "That's 2 weeks of food for me, I wasn't causing any problems it was the tourists driving slowly, parked in the middle of the lanes that caused the traffic jams, I constantly stopped to let cars around me as they came up! Isn't there anything I can do? Could I work for a couple days for the park? Anything???" "I'm saving your life," was the reply from the %&#$ officer.
The day was quickly going downhill. The descent of the pass was not at all gratifying like pass descents should be. The usual overwhelming flood of endorphins and accomplishment that I usually felt after summiting a pass was replaced by remorse, sadness, homesickness, and anger. It was my first time in about 2 weeks on my own again and I missed the companionship of my friends and especially my girlfriend. A quick phone call with Brint however gave me hope. He had just crossed the Canadian border and would wait for me at a campsite a mile or two away from the line. I pedalled with a renewed pace of ambition out of the park and across the Blackfoot reservation north toward the border.
14 miles shy of the border, however, I had the idea to get my passport and everything in order for the officials. It quickly dawned on me that my passport was not in the place it had been everyday of my trip. I had moved it into my backpacking backpack which Christa had brought out to me for our trip together; my passport was with her on the Amtrack, by this time somewhere in North Dakota, headed away from me and back to Wisconsin at 60 miles an hour.
I was devastated. The weight of the day took over my entire being. I was completely alone, missing Christa and my friends terribly, feeling even worse because of the ticket, and my only glimmer of hope at crossing the border and being reunited with Brint had been dashed out by my own forgetfulness. I sat in the ditch in the middle of the grassy ranch land on the reservation with my head between my legs. A car stopped next to me and an asian tourist with limited english got out and asked me if this was the way to the border. In desperate need of a person to talk to to share my pains with, I hoped he would see the distraught look in my face, but after answering his question, he was back on the road, speeding toward the border I could not cross.
My phone was my only connection with my friends and family that could comfort me, but it was soon out of battery and I was completely done; out of energy and an emotional wreck. As I biked back toward Glacier, the tears flowed freely down my face and I cried out in anguish at the flood of negative emotions I was feeling. I needed a bed, I needed some dinner, I needed a friend to talk to.
A campground that advertised warm showers and laundry among other things sparked my attention and I pulled off the road to test my luck. "$20 is the cost," I was told by the native that sat at the entrance in a lawn chair. "Glacier would charge me only $5 for a site..." I told him, and he agreed with my price. I pedalled over to the site I was directed to and started up a conversation with my neighbors, the only people in my proximate vicinity.
My neighbors were a elderly native couple, Mary and Tiny, recent grandparents. Mary was taking care of three younger children that ran back and forth between the lake and their camper and offered me dinner. As I sat around their fire eating hot dogs and talking with Tiny, my sadness slowly flowed away. I told them about my day and about my trip, about Christa and about the ticket and my passport. They told me about their recent trip to Jasper, about life on the reservation and the problems that the Native American community faces in today's world. I was invited back the next morning for breakfast. By the morning I was feeling significantly better, and after a bacon, sausage, pancake, egg breakfast I was treated to, all my problems had washed away. Listening to a phone message from Brint about the probability of me being able to cross the border without a passport added to my increasing mood, and I set out for the Canadian border, refreshed, with a new light inside of me of love for Mary and Tiny, love for the Blackfeet people, and love for humanity in general.
While there are bad people that will rob you, steal from you, and perhaps hurt you, the majority of people are good; willing to give what they can for the assistance to another human and the betterment of society in general.
I crossed the border at noon, and reunited with Brint headed for Waterton National Park in Canada. By Friday, we had made it to Calgary and the hospitality and shelter of Anthony's old room mates and friends. The goodness of people has been the saving and most beneficial grace of my entire trip, and my faith is in humanity.
New pictures
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