38 miles

Today was a leisurely one. We took our time in the morning. Bryant went kayaking while Danielle and I made some stops in Whitefish. I bought some blank journals for when this one runs out, and another spare tube. We had coffee at Fleur bake shop, and their pastries were stunning. Whitefish definitely caters to the tourist. Once we got on the road, we found Bryant a little ways ahead talking to another cyclist, a woman in her 60s or 70s. She told us she has been riding from Mexico back to her home in Canada since March. Her husband died of Parkinson’s last year, and she told us that they used to take bike trips together – he had a recumbent and some assistance for a while. She spoke of having done 100+ mile days through the desert. She had a long braid down to her waist. I loved her immediately.

My front derailleur is having trouble shifting from the middle to the largest chainring. I’m going to want to sort it out soon. It only happens occasionally, but I love dropping onto that big ring and pedalling all the way through a descent until the highest gear has nothing left to offer. We stopped at a river bridge near the end of our ride. The water was turquoise in the sun and flowing fast—I think it was called the Flathead River. We sat on the side of the bridge and watched swallows swooping and diving above the water. The sound of the water rushing and the feel of the warm sun and all that dazzling color was a real moment of bliss. I felt so much gratitude. 

As we approached Glacier National Park, the scene transformed into one of bustling tourism. Instead of actual bears, here we saw a guy in a bear costume. We poked around a bit, sharing a slice of Huckleberry pie while Bryant went ahead to the campground. We arrived at our site and set up our tents, then had a picnic dinner next to Lake McDonald while the sun went down. 

Over dinner we debriefed a bit on our experiences thus far. Danielle has been feeling homesick, and hearing her say so made me realize privately that I haven’t felt that way at all. If anything, I have been feeling much more at home in the woods, with just my thoughts and the smell of the pine trees. 

I keep thinking about how much I love this environment. Searching for where that feeling comes from, I realized that some of my happiest, freest memories as a kid are of being in the woods, or on the road. Spending summer days at Grandmaman’s camp in middle-of-nowhere Quebec, or at Pilgrim Lodge with so many other kids, or our family road trips, always to visit extended family, whether it was Virginia, Canada, or elsewhere in New England. I spontaneously found myself remembering the Pocahontas soundtrack on my way down a hill the other day, which comes from listening to that cassette over and over on the 14-hour family drive to Virginia, sometime in the mid-90s when that movie first came out. I’m really looking forward to reaching Maine.