Day 37: Winnett, Montana to Jordan, Montana

77 Miles (124 km) for the day, for 1498 (2411 km) total trip miles. I like the metric system, it sounds more impressive.

The morning started with a fierce thunderstorm about 06:00 am. I rolled over and went back to sleep. I don’t ride in lightning. Period.

Finally, the storm blew away and then I stopped at the diner for a light breakfast and headed east. There were two choices for destinations for the day, Sand Springs, or Jordan, Montana. I figured, with the late start at 10:00 am, I would certainly end up at Sand Springs, 44 miles (71 km), Jordan in 77 miles.

I’m noticing an improvement in the terrain. I’m still struggling with roller-coaster plains, but the climbs are getting more gentle. I’m downshifting less and using higher gears to climb. I’m also getting some tailwinds, once in a while.

The day was cool and mostly cloudy. I could see a rain storm following me about 30 miles (50 km) behind. When I reached Sand Springs it was little more than a gas station with a few food items. I quickly grabbed a frozen cheeseburger and cooked it in the microwave and downed a Pepsi and hit the road. I really didn’t want to spend the night at a gas station with no real food to be had. I will say, the folks working there were really nice and I enjoyed my short stay with them.

I had about three and a half hours until sunset and had 32 miles (53 km) to cover. I hustled. I rode into Jordan about a half-hour before sunset. Not too shabby a performance for a 69-year-old codger with an 85-pound bike.

The cafe coming into town was the first place I stopped, I was starved. I had a fish sandwich and salad and tried to connect to the WiFi there, but nobody knew the password. Of course, there was no T-Mobile service, so I had no way to let Jane know I had made it. The gal waiting on me offered her phone (AT&T of course) so I called Jane on it. I helped her out with a technical issue she was solving and then returned the phone to its owner.

Next, I headed down the hill, grabbed a motel room and called it a night.

Author: Dennis Blanchard

Dennis Blanchard was born in Bristol, Connecticut. He and his wife Jane moved to New Hampshire in 1980 where he has climbed thirty 4000-foot mountains, biked the trails and enjoyed the wilderness. Never living very far from the Appalachian Trail, Dennis was always aware of the seductive siren’s call to hike it. Dennis is an electronics engineer who has freelanced for amateur radio, technical and motorcycle adventure magazines. He now lives in Sarasota, Florida. View all posts by Dennis Blanchard