Northern Tier Day #48 Cut Bank, MT to Cardston, AB
Northern Tier Day #48
July 7, 2019
Cut Bank, MT to Cardston, AB 75 Miles
Ride Time 6:18
Tour Total 3766 Miles
I fell into a deep sleep last night at the Glacier Gateway Plaza Motel in Cut Bank. My body felt like it weighed a million pounds as it sank into the bed. I was sore and tired when I woke up this morning. There was daylight outside the window, and it was time to get up and go beat the wind.
Yesterday when I arrived at the motel I dried out my tent, did my laundry, showered, shaved, and lubed and cleaned my chain. I went to Subway for dinner and ordered a tuna fish foot-long. Afterwards I returned to the Cut Bank Creek Brewery for more Penguin Piss Amber Ales. The bartender explained to me that in Montana a brewery can only serve a customer a total of 3 pints. Breweries must also close by 9pm. The tavern association, who represents local bars and taverns, is trying to monopolize their interests. It’s the same story across the US and our fine system of gamblism. The house controls the game.
The folks at the brewery made fun of the motel where I was staying and said that it was the most ghetto in town. That was reassuring. Trying to get back to the motel last evening was difficult because of the crazy wind. There was a huge system coming into town.
First thing this morning I went across the street to the Exxon Town Pump where I got a Starbucks Frappuccino, a mango orange juice, and a pack of powdered donuts. I said goodbye to US Highway 2 and the train tracks that I‘d been following since Wolf Point. I took a right on County Highway 213 that would take me north to the Canadian border. It was chilly with a thick cover of clouds above. In addition in my cycling shorts and short-sleeve jersey, I was wearing my leg-warmers, sweater, and jacket.
There seemed to be a weather system to the north where I was headed. It was probable that I would have no services my entire 75 mile ride. A possible store was listed on the Canadian side of the border but my map specifically stated ‘Very limited services next 72.5 miles’. I always had the option to dig into the emergency stash of granola that I'd been carrying for 3700 miles.
I could see the giant mountains to the west and still make out the Sweet Grass Hills to the east. It was hard to keep my eyes on the road. I noticed oil drilling, and passed jack pumps, tanks, and drilling equipment. I was surrounded by wheat fields.
Highway 213 was empty, and I had it completely to myself. The large wind farm that I could see yesterday was now to my east. I passed a highway information sign that read ‘Port of Del Bonita open 8am to 9pm’. I found it odd that a Canadian port of entry would have a Spanish name. I hope that I didn’t make a wrong turn somewhere.
The highway took a sharp turn to the north west and I enjoyed the snowcapped mountain range before me. The wind was from the south and I had a crispy crosswind as I headed directly west. I would eventually be going north west which would give me a tail wind. There was a weather system to the north and another to the west. I was hoping to slip between the two of them. The roads were still wet from last night’s system.
I entered the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. The pavement was now dry, but there was a huge system to the south-west, and it seemed like I was going to catch a piece of it. A prairie dog ran across the road in front of me.
I felt a few drops so I pulled over to put on my rain pants and down vest. It seemed like I was going to get doused so I stopped again to put on my shoe covers. It never really did rain that bad. It was just drizzle, and then the storm moved to the north. The sun was trying to come out so I pulled over and removed my shoe covers, rain pants, and down vest in an attempt to attain that Goldilocks body temperature.
Locals didn’t understand why I was taking such a roundabout way to get to Glacier National Park. ACA offered an alternate Marias route that was more direct, but now that I’m doing it this way it makes complete sense. ACA cartographers are so smart! There was absolutely no traffic on the road, and tomorrow night I’ll be right where I need to be for ‘Going to the Sun’. From what I’ve heard from other cyclists, the approach from the north has an easier grade. I was avoiding all those campers and recreational vehicles down on US Highway 2.
I had the road completely to myself with wheat growing on both sides of the highway, and not a single tree in sight. In the distance I could make out grain silos, road signs, and telephone poles. There were snowcapped mountains to the west and rolling hills everywhere around me. The mile marker signs started in Cut Bank so I didn’t need to look at my odometer to see how many miles I’d traveled. Another storm system began developing to the west
Today marks seven weeks on the road. It’s a good thing that I keep this journal and for the photographs I’ve taken. I’ll be able to fondly look back at all this when I return to Brooklyn. At this point, everything before just a few days ago is a blur.
I passed an artistically created sign combined with an old wagon that read ‘Welcome to Glendale’. The town was comprised of grain silos and farm buildings, but no services. It wasn’t even listed on my map. It started drizzling again. By the time I put on my rain pants, down vest, and shoe covers it had stopped. I rode a few miles and then stopped to take them all off. A large dirt and grass butte popped up out of nowhere with the snowcapped Lewis range behind it.
County Highway 214 is also known as the Chalk Butte Road. There was zero shoulder, but it didn’t matter because there wasn't any traffic. Ten miles away from the border I got a text message from ATT trying to sell me international data and phone plans. They know my every move.
There were continuous rows of bushes planted 100 feet to the west of the highway to serve as a natural snow fence. I started to see more traffic from the north including campers and RV’s. It's a good thing for me that I get up early and start my day before those folks.
I crossed back over the Milk River which was about 50 feet wide and had a green hue, and not the muddy color I remembered. Three miles before the border I passed some buildings and a billboard advertising US postal delivery addresses and PO boxes. Canadians near the border could save money and custom duties by having their packages delivered to this address and then drive from across the border to retrieve them.
I had a long climb to get out of the country. I got hot and sweaty and had to remove my jacket. At the top of the hill, I could see buildings and a radio tower 1-1/2 miles in the distance. I assumed this would be the border.
The US part of the border looked like a prison entrance with razor wire fences and sensors. I exited right though it all. On the Canadian side it was more mellow. I took a photo of the border sign as well as the stone post. I stopped at customs and handed the agent my passport. I asked if he’d seen other cyclists, and he replied that I was the second he’d seen this season. I then proceeded to the Alberta sign where I took another photo. As I was finishing up my documentation I spotted two eastbound cyclists, whom I stopped and spoke with. Bob was from California and soon to be retiring to Georgia. He was doing a modified Northern Tier with a Great Lakes and Lake Erie Connector. He was traveling with Adrian, who was doing a loop around Glacier with Bob. They had spent the night at Cardston at the private campground where I was planning to go camp. They told me that I had a lot of hills ahead of me, and I replied that they had a lot of dirty railroad towns ahead of them.
Bob said they had made it to the top of the Riding to the Sun road at 10 minutes after 11am, a few minutes past the cutoff for cyclists. He said it was raining at the top with nothing to see. He reported that the traffic was horrible, and at one point he rode in the left-hand lane. Motorists told him he was crazy and he shouted back that they were crazy.
I think motorized traffic should be banned from National Parks. The public should have to cycle or walk in. Our population is obese and we’re addicted to oil consumption. Here was an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone.
Two miles after the border I came to the town of Del Bonita. The General Store was closed on weekends and there were no other services. I cracked open my emergency stash of Trader Joe’s Peanut Butter Protein Granola, and sat on the front step for a snack break. I had forgotten that I had also stashed away chocolate brownie Clif Bars, which had morphed into blobs. There was a parking lot across the street filled with campers and RV’s. Why anyone would make this spot their destination was beyond me.
A sign read that Cardston was 53 km away. Everything was now in metric, and I no longer had phone service or internet. I took a left on Route 501, heading west towards the mountain range. I passed several oil jacks pumping out crude. There were grassy pastures filled with cattle.
I climbed up onto a ridge and then flew down into a valley where I crossed the north fork of the Milk River. It’s green color suggested that I was getting near the mountains. I’ve seen so many prairie dogs running back-and-forth across the road today. Some have tunnels directly beneath the shoulder. I spotted two birds of prey flying circles high above.
I spotted a highway information sign about Whiskey Gap, and stopped to learn more. I ended up, instead, talking with a nice older couple from Kimball, a little town down the road. The gentleman said that the sign was a new addition to the Highway, and that he used to tour. He once rode from Vancouver to Kimball, a distance of 600 miles. He had also cycled ‘Going to the Sun’.
The closer I got to the mountains, the more magnificent they became. I was particularly interested in the square shaped peak, that I later learned was Old Chief Mountain. The ridges were dramatic and sharp, dotted with glaciers and lines of snow.
I met local farmer Don, who was cruising down the road on his ATV. He pulled up alongside me for a chat while I pedaled. He owned the land here alongside the road. I asked about Cardston and he said that it was a dry town because of the large Mormon population, which was a disappointment to hear. While we were talking a bald eagle flew overhead. I tried to take a photo but it quickly flew south. I spotted three more in the distance. Tom owns a couple dozen head of cattle, and he grows barley, wheat, and canola. He said he’d once been to the top of Old Chief Mountain.
I passed more birds of prey circling above and I was able to snap a few photos. At Kimble, not listed on my paper map, there was a junkyard full of old cars. That was about it out here. There were no services. I rode down into a valley and crossed over the turquoise color Mary River.
Coming into Aetna I passed a sheep farm. There were a few houses and pastures. I had no population listed, and there were no services. I began to encounter houses and buildings as I got closer to Cardston. I could see a cell phone tower in the distance.
I took Highway 2 into Cardston, population 3580, and home of the Remington Carriage Museum. I went to Subway for a pulled-pork foot-long, potato chips, and several super sized strawberry lemonades. I prepared my report at Subway and then pedaled around town until I found an open Wi-Fi.
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