River Runs and Crossings

I woke up in what felt like 7 star hotel. Not used to high quality beddings. I won’t be surprised if tonight it’s gonna be camping. I do miss it too. Not miss miss it but you know what I mean.

I’ve programmed into the GPS a route south to whitefish, Montana the long way via scenic  motorcycle roads. Using ChatGPT.

The route is apparently known for motorcyclists. It meanders south from Revelstoke to Creston along very long rivers of which I crossed twice on  ferry, one claimed to be the longest free ferry in North America.

Feels like those stretched sports stats.

“first time in NBA history that a person  whose first name starts with P shoots a 3 pointer at minute 34 after the opponent team scored twice in a row in a game by two east coast teams in a an even year with a republican president and full moon…”.

On that ferry was from Balfour BC, I chatted with a few motorcyclists. I need to go back to do route 3 along the Canadian side of the border. But there’s a challenge. I need service and tires soon. We will see.

I crossed into the US in the Salmo crossings into Idaho. Easy. And funny primitive. The US border agent asked me to move my bike sideways so he can read my license plate. Primitive. 

But the landscape changed immediately. Weird. It opens up to wider valleys, mountains a bit further apart. And I felt like I can breath easier, as there’s more space. The river runs were with trees on both sides, obfuscating the river views. I only now realize it was also closed energy at 80 MPH with beautiful road curves and views. Weird (again in this paragraph).

Now I need to ride SW towards Libby, MO, and tomorrow I’ll hit Whitefish and back to do Glacier.

Where do I sleep tonight?

ChatGPT suggested a scenic ride south of Libby on Bull lake road, along Bull lake. On the back side of the lake in nowhere Montana, there’s a small campground called bad medicine. Yup. That’ll be my spot.

I did have some reservations about how remote it is in panhandle land. But there’s no fear but fear itself. It’ll be fine. The few residences along the way were typical trashy hillbilly. There’s no fear but fear itself.

I arrived at an empty state campground in the woods by a beautiful lake. An old campground hostess on oxygen, a couple of old folks and a hillbilly man and his son, both with open carry guns. I’m used to see this in this part of the country. No big deal. Good against bears and aliens.

All in a huge wooded campground surrounded by more woods.

The hostess suggested a site,  I asked about wood and water. Yup, running water there. The man offered free wood. He just chopped up some dead old tree.

Then he followed over with a couple of my favorite canned IPA beers, and his son carrying my wood.

Magic!

I hung out with Jason and his 12 year old son Garret for hours. Self described hillbilly originally from Northern California, did not like the rules, true countryman in Montana. Lives the woods and lakes, hunt and fish morally. The sweetest man I’ve met in a very long time. Authentic. Wow! His youngest son found a loophole to start hunting at 11 1/2, not the usual 12. Apparently. We fished by laying on the dock on our bellies for hours, baiting big fish with little fish with warms. The big fish won. He figured us out right away but apparently it’s an ongoing battle. We will see. Jason uttered that if a fish doesn’t teach you patience, he doesn’t know what would. I learned a bit of patience.

It was fascinating talking and watching a man so in tune with nature. I was at awe the whole time.

I hear them playing guitar in their campsite, singing. I should go there. They just caught and cooking fish. They all play guitar. Jason played here with a Seattle philharmonic violinist who grew up around here.

They are both very good guitarists and singers and hang together so tightly like father son friends.

We sat by his fire for hours chatting, they played music and sang. Wow.

We spoke about woke, racism, AI, simple life, absurd laws and traffic laws, love, god, religion. He is a blabber, interrupts himself with a story within story associatively. Like me. He knew and dug all my dad jokes and his son told the best jokes. He doesn’t have a phone. Doesn’t want or need it. I gave my number so he can give his wife to stay in touch.

I asked him if he is happy? He is. He is content with simple life, one with nature and no rules. However he seemed very conscientious about not breaking or confronting any laws or rules. A great simple man. Proud on how he raises his 3 kids and it’s the most fulfilling to him.

They collect huckleberries, get $70 a bucket, he can sometimes get 10 buckets a day. I love huckleberries. He offered to send me. But I don’t have an address. Ha.

Wow. Awe. Inspiration!

And as usual I don’t have reception. Great.

Mood -

Today it was a bit weird. I guess a weird good day. Felt a bit like a lonesome cowboy searching for home base but loves the freedom and non-committed directionless adventure. Going east to go west. Seeking human warmth and connection in a lonesome exploration. At awe. Go figure.

Music -

Combination of silence and my fusion jazz mix such as Manu Kache,  Billy Cobham, and some Miles Davis (ha, can’t say just miles in a travel blog).