And so the tour REALLY begins. So far, we’ve had two long pulls to an all-time favorite festival, surrounded by family and friends and two days of great fun. But now the riding for the never-before-seen begins. Alone.

We’re there before we know
Just watch this Grey Ghost go
Steel on the tracks & the hammer down
Things used to move so slow
These days it’s roll man roll
Steel on the tracks & the hammer down

More Desolation Angels

I headed 428 miles due north to within one handful of miles from the Canadian border. The last 36 miles were up the gravel/dirt portion of the North Fork Road to a lovely AirBnB, off-the-grid home hosted by the amazing Angie and her weimaraner Sugar.

I questioned (as did others) why I wanted to stay 20-something miles away from any Glacier entrance, but the decision was a wise one. McCovey needed some time in the dirt. Actually, he was fine, but my skills were dormant. 4 trips up and down the road had us dancing like we meant it. But the first time…, oh the first time. Dear reader, I am sure you are like me, or all of us. When you have never been somewhere before, the distance to the expected sign or turn and the patience to wait is, well it’s…, it’s the human condition! I had all my gear AND a full backpack of groceries the first time up the road. Light was fading, bears were watching. McCovey was doing the “Unexpected Hula,” usually on gravel hills. I saw a total of 3 cars over the 48 miles from Columbia Falls and the road goes on forever.

But there was the Tepee Lake Sign, right where it should be and about 100 miles north of where my brain expected it. The homestead is actually named after my niece Winnie Shaw (I was astounded to find as I arrived.) Alas, I was mistaken. Winnie was Sugar’s predecessor and an all-time bear dog. Sugar has been trained not to take such risks.

And risks there are. You can walk back and forth to vehicles on the property, but any more than that requires packing bear spray. And mine arrived a solid day after I left for Idaho. Angie handles this property off the grid, by herself, with Sugar and what sounds like dedicated, kind and community-minded neighbors. They have to be. You are either in or you are out for the winter. When spring begins, so does the task of gaining enough wood for the next one.

And what a property it is! Go immediately to AirBnB and consider it. Spotless, beautiful with views of Glacier you will never forget.

The people sound fun – snowshoe softball draws teams of folks in the winter. Angie was amazingly hospitable. French press coffee, molasses cookies and the whole main floor for me with WiFi that remained on until the Giants game was over. This is an important note, because the home is completely off the grid, run by solar batteries and a propane generator as necessary. And WiFi sucks power, so is turned off each night. I just texted upstairs and all was good with the world.

Just 12 miles south is the tiny village of Polebridge, but I don’t ride the bike in the dark, and certainly not up a gravel road in bear country! The saloon sounded good, but the ride made it a hard pass.

As I prepared for the next day riding to the Sun in Glacier National Park, I learned that rain was in the forecast.

I dawdled too much the next morning writing and channeling the George experience, forgetting that Angie told me there was a pilot car for construction on the Camas entrance.

So I missed my 11am Lake McDonald tour by six minutes. I supposedly needed that tour so I could ride the Going-to-the-Sun Road. Of course I was already there and could have skipped it. But then I would have missed a covered tour with beautiful vistas in the rain. And I would have missed Claire’s earrings! You’ll see! So I hung around the Lake McDonald Lodge reading Bill Bryson for 90 minutes in the spotty rain. A Walk in the Woods started to warn me about not breaking down on the ride back to Tepee Lake….

As he prepared for the Appalachian Trail, Bill soberly noted that:

“Nearly everyone I talked to had some gruesome story involving a guileless acquaintance who had gone off hiking the trail with high hopes in new boots and comes stumbling back two days later with a bobcat attached to his head or dripping blood from an armless sleeve and whispering in a hoarse voice, “Bear!” before sinking into a troubled unconsciousness.”

Bill Bryson

Well I was taking a guided tour with people from Atlanta, Russia and Minnesota on a boat, then. No worries.

Beautiful vistas and interesting discussions about terminal moraines from Claire, our guide. She a dedicated and wilderness-savvy 21 year old millennial, or so it seemed, as every hike she took, question she solicited and factoid offered was “totally awesome.” I stayed silent, learned what I could and watched mainly the youngest kids’ wide eyes take in the the purple sky and Glacier’s scale. Near the end of the trip, Claire was nearby and I asked an off-the-microphone question about some weird clouds. She brightened, did not know, engaged her friend, and all of a sudden we were talking about Jason Isbell and the Big Sky concert Lynn and I wanted to have attended and she did. It sounded, you know it, totally awesome. As were her earrings that she got at a booth there. May all 21 year olds have Claire’s life spirit. And may all old men have more patience than I with repetitive millenial adjectives. Sorry, Claire.

From there, McCovey and I headed up the Going to the Sun Road and headed to Logan Pass in increasingly cold, driving rain. If you’ve never been on this road, it is two lanes, narrow, only one switchback with 5000 foot drops over foot-and-a-half high rock retaining walls. Usually. I am not afraid of heights but YEESH, one false move and McCovey stays, but I go. It was marvelous, beautiful and stunningly majestic.

You get the idea. Over Logan Pass, clouds struck and I could not see more than 10 feet. Realistically. Not an exaggeration. McCovey and I slow to a panicked crawl for about a mile. That was enough for me. Got below the cloud and returned back over the summit for a different, stunningly gorgeous perspective down the way I had come.

Made my way down the road to West Glacier, wet and cold and grinning ear-to-ear. This time up the North Fork, we knew what we were doing.

Waltzing McCovey, waltzing McCovey,

Who’ll come a-waltzing, McCovey, with me?

And he sang as he watched and waited ’til his billy boiled….

We had the lean and acceleration down, averaged about 40 through the turns flinging mud and boiling whatever the billy is on the North Fork road, past my cabin just south of Tepee Lake (!!!) Settled down to my sandwich and fruit downstairs and watched the Giants take the 2^nd game of the series from the Mets as my soaking clothes sat by the stove.

Well, at least I think it’s a sign. Glacier, we are coming back in the sunshine! C’mon, One, let’s Day Hike!

Just one question. WtF is a billy boil?