Northern Tier Day #50 St. Mary, MT to Whitefish, MT
Northern Tier Day #50
July 9, 2019 St. Mary, MT to Whitefish, MT 85 Miles
Ride Time 6:53
Tour Total 3929 Miles
I slept well in the St. Mary’s campground and woke up early with the birds. It rained through the night and I knew my laundry would be soaked. I wanted an early start because I wanted to beat the motorists and to have the road to myself. I hoped to catch the sunrise over the mountains. I slowly and methodically rolled up my soaking wet tent and drenched laundry and lashed them to the top of my rear bag.
I met the cyclist I was sharing the hiker biker site with. I regret that I didn’t get his name, or his photo. He was riding cross country to Chicago, and had crossed Logan Pass yesterday. He said that he got a flat tire, which he didn’t mind because it was so beautiful. I bid him good luck. There was another tent pitched behind his that had emerged during the night.
I had been warned about the construction around St. Mary’s lake, where they were re-surfacing the road. But at 6am, hours before the work crews would arrive, I had it all to myself. It was cloudy and I was keeping my fingers crossed that it would burn off. A deer ran alongside the road at St. Mary’s Lake.
As the sun rose, it cast pink and orange light onto the dynamic rock faces, accentuating the rippled surface and shadows. It was overcast with a slight drizzle, and the air was crystal clear in the valley. At one point I received a barrage of text messages. I hadn’t had service for two days and wasn’t able to reply. Last night the bartender at Kipp’s Beer Garden told me to go to the park visitor center where I could get 5G service. There was a Wi-Fi signal but no Internet.
After 5 miles I came to Rising Sun campground, where the ranger from yesterday had directed me to stay, and ostensibly where all of my westbound cyclist comrades had spent the night. I passed a sign that read ‘Logan Pass 12 miles’. At Goose Lake I stopped and took a photo of my bike in the bike porn style of Kyle Hughes.
The shale along the road cuts was chocolate colored, and there were bits all over the road. I rode cliffside which was preferable to the waterside plunge on the other side. I spotted two ginormous crows, but by the time I stopped, unclipped my phone, and aimed my camera, they had flown away.
The road was twisty-turny with new asphalt and no designated shoulder or white line. There was a sharp cut off into jagged rocks and ditch. A double yellow line ran down the middle of the road. The motor vehicle speed limit was 25 miles an hour. I passed acres of dead trees still standing with branches splayed, and peeled bark. There had been a fire here, and I could see the charred remains.
There were flowers of every color growing out of the rocks and highway shoulder cracks. A chipmunk ran across the road. And then the climbing began. I put the chain in my smallest front ring and the forth from the end on my cassette. There was a towering mountain ahead of me, with stratified rings around it’s girth and a squared snowfield top that resembled a crown. I was hauling wet laundry and a drenched tent over the pass.
Fellow campers and people at the bar last night were recounting their grizzly sightings. Mark and Cindy had told me a story about a Korean cyclist whom they had met in Canada. He had been camping in the woods, and in the middle of the night heard his bike being tampered with. He opened his tent fly and saw a grizzly bear. He realized that all he had to defend himself was a selfie stick. I don’t need my own personal version of that story. Last night I put all of my bags in the bear box.
I saw one amazing peak after another. One had a perfect point. I could see a cyclist ahead of me but they didn’t look like they were carrying a load.
I talked with cyclist in the campground this morning about how hills were honest whereas wind was shifty. I didn't mind hills, because I just geared down. But who knew what was going to ever happen with wind.
By 7:15am the motorized traffic had begun. I caught up to the female cyclist who had pulled over to remove her jacket. I’d soon be removing mine too. There were so many different kinds of wildflowers alongside the road. If I were to stop and photograph every different type, I’d never get over the pass.
I spotted license plates from New York, Iowa, Wyoming, Minnesota, Washington, California, Alberta, Ontario, Montana, Idaho, Colorado, Illinois, Texas, British Columbia, Ohio Florida, Oregon, Kansas, Georgia, Arizona, Quebec, Maine, and Wisconsin. Aside from Montana, I saw more Minnesota and California license plates than any other state.
I looked up to my right stretching my neck all the way up to the sky to see the top of a huge mountain peak that I was right up against. I could see a thin long waterfall.
A Going to the Sun Shuttle passed me. Bicycle is the only way to experience this. I was right out in it, and there was nothing else to focus on. I stopped and took a photo of Jackson Glacier, which is drastically retreating thanks to climate change. Fuck you Donald Trump.
I had looked at this route on several different maps. It never makes complete sense until done in person. The fantastic sweeping switchback that brought me up to the pass was much different than what I had expected. It was way more dramatic. The slopes down to the valley were steep and vast.
I stopped to take a break at the bend but the mosquitoes were bad, so I kept moving. The views were stupendous. It was fun to circle around the mountain peaks and see them from different perspectives. What was pointy from one angle might be square from another.
At one point I was able to see the road deep down in the valley where I had been earlier. I could see that motorized traffic was starting to pile up. I stopped to take off my jacket and the train of motorized traffic caught up to me. Motorized traffic could really ruin my experience in Glacier. I hated Yellowstone last year because of the motorized traffic. I believe the Park Service should limit National Parks to shuttles, hikers, and cyclists.
I approached the tunnel that I’d seen on the map, and I seemed to be climbing higher than the tree line. Ahead in the distance I could see the visitor center and summit. I spotted my first roadside snowfield and stopped to take a photo. I passed a large waterfall and could feel it’s frosty mist.
The visitor center was just up ahead, which meant that I would soon be racing down the other side. At one point there was snow on both sides of the road and I felt like I was riding through a freezer.
At 8:40am the Logan Pass Visitor Center parking lot was already full. I passed a sign warning to expect delays. This is why I love traveling on a bicycle. I rode right to the building entrance, and there was only one other bike on the rack. I inquired if there was Wi-Fi, and there wasn’t. It was time to keep moving. The place was flooded with tourists.
Just like that I was over the Continental Divide. A friendly family from Winnipeg took my photo in front of the sign. Logan Pass is 6,646 feet above sea level and was the highest point on the Northern Tier.
I knew the downhill was going to be cold, so I put my jacket back on. I flew down the mountain, which was a 3000’ descent. I passed cyclists coming up the other side and shouted ‘Almost there’! Motorized traffic coming up the other side was like the BQE on a weekday at 5 PM. I was so glad that I had gotten an early start! Whew! Yeah Baby! Early bird gets the worm!
The speed limit was 25 miles an hour, and down the mountain I was traveling the same speed as motorized traffic. My fingers were cold. There were several waterfalls alongside the road and much of the pavement was wet. I was cautious and stayed in the center of the road to not get wet.
Eventually I could see McDonald Creek in the distance far below. I rode through a cloud as another cyclist was climbing in the other direction. He gave me a ‘Woo Hoo!’ I started passing other ascending cyclists and they all cheered me.
The streams I was seeing were all now leading to the Pacific Ocean. I was over the Continental Divide. The traffic was becoming ridiculous, and I wanted out of the park. A white van came way too close to me. We weren’t going that fast, but a collision would have sucked for me. I passed numerous vintage 30’s era Red Buses packed with tourists.
I noticed the sign for the Sacred Dancing Cascade, and that name caught my eye! I was riding alongside the rushing whitewater McDonald Creek. Right at McDonald Falls I got a rear flat tire, so I pulled over to fix it. The place was flooded with tourists. I knew the routine, but I was curious what could have caused it. I was shocked to see how many areas had worn through the tread in my tire. I needed a new tire, number three! Fortunately I had packed a tire boot kit, so I patched the tube and booted the tire. It was the perfect spot for a flat. There was a nice wooden fence for me to lean my panniers, and a sidewalk to work on. Several tourists came up and talked with me. There was a beautiful waterfall backdrop, perfect sunny weather, and no mosquitoes.
I made it a quarter of a mile and the patch didn’t hold. The second place I stopped wasn’t as nice. This time I put a new tube in. With the flat tire problems this pass was more work getting down than it was riding up.
I stopped at the Lake McDonald’s camp store and lodge where I ran into two westbound cyclists from Brooklyn. One of them lived in Kensington and the other, with an Irish accent, lived in Williamsburg. They were on their way to Vancouver and had run into the Tacoma crew and heard about me. I met two other east-bounders on their way from Banff to whitefish. I found the Tacoma crew, who had seen the sticker I had left for them on the pass.
The lodge was really nice and featured a native rustic style with exquisite craftsmanship. A roaring fire was crackling in the oversized fireplace. There was no Wi-Fi so I decided to continue down the road. I passed a sign saying no bicycles 11am to 4pm for the next 4 miles. It was 11:44am, and I thought that rule only applied to the pass. F that. I continued forward.
I was captivated by the beautiful turquoise waters of Lake McDonald. I couldn't believe how much the scenery had changed in the last two days. It was remarkable here. I felt like I was in a paradise fantasyland.
By noon it was sunny with blue skies. After Apgar I got an 18 inch shoulder and a white line. The speed limit increased to 40 miles per hour, and there was a double yellow line down the center of the road. It was still a little tight for me.
As I was exiting the park, the entrance leading in from the other side was backed up like the Holland Tunnel on Canal Street at 5pm on a weekday. I crossed over the Middle Fork of the Flathead River.
I stopped in West Glacier at Fredas bar where I had a barbecue huckleberry bison burger with two Bitterroot Huckleberry Honey Ales. The bartender was curious about my trip and was considering a Southern Tier crossing next winter. I left West Glacier and was back out on regular crappy highways. Fortunately, though, there was a nice bike path off to the side of the road.
I had another blowout because of the expanding hole in my rear tire. I stopped and put a double boot inside. I was now on my last inner tube, although I did have patch kits. Two west-bounders passed me on their way to Washington DC. It was now sunny and hot. I removed my leg-warmers and sweater, and lathered up with sunscreen. A day cyclist warned me that there was construction up ahead with chips and gravel. That was not good news. I was 15 miles from Columbia Falls where I knew there would be a bike shop. I was briefly on my old friend US Highway 2, and took a wrong turn which cost me a mile on borrowed time. Back on route, my road then turned to gravel. Fingers crossed the boot would hold. Passing motorists kicked up clouds of dust. Finally the asphalt returned. The scenery was gorgeous, and an eagle flew overhead. Camp wood here sold for $5 a bundle.
In Columbia Falls I went to Over the Mountain Bikes where a couple on a loaded tandem was getting a repair. They were headed to Yellowstone. I purchased a new tire and 2 new inner tubes. I was tired and the mechanic said there was a good brewery in town. Unfortunately both the motel and the RV park in were full. It was another 10 miles to Whitefish.
I called ahead and booked a room at the Downtowner Inn. I was psyched to learn they had a coin operated laundry. Their WiFi was crap, but my service was good enough that I could upload yesterday’s report and take care of all of my business and social media.
Whitefish was a tourist town and ski resort in the winter. It had a nice brewery that I walked by. There was a large fair in the park. It was hot, and I just wanted to take it easy. I dried out my tent in my room, showered, shaved, and did laundry. I met up with the Tacoma crew for dinner at the Buffalo Cafe where I had the Elk Enchalatas and two Bozone beers.
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