My isolation started as I rode out of Circle just past dawn. It continued mostly uninterrupted until Wolf Point, 55 miles later. Due North, to the Missouri, and civilization. Without the water, there is nothing.
I had a south wind, and tried to make as much ground with it as I could. My speaker was out of battery, so it was a silent ride. Very long, gentle ascents followed by long, sloping descents. Up and down these prarie rollers all morning.
After 30ish miles, I came into Vida. The name was somewhat ironic for the liveliness of the town.
I pulled up beside the bar, and sat on the crunchy grass with my back against the wall. It hadn't opened yet (said the door).
Am older man in jeans, suspenders, plaid shirt and red hat emerged from the door a little later, looked at me and said "Hello." I responded. He walked away.
Breezey felt like she was running dry, so I took the packs off, flipped her upside down and lubed the chain well, ran it through the gears, and wiped off the excess with my rag.
Some clouds had moved in while I did so. Figured I should use the shade while I had it, so I got going.
On my way over the crest of the hill where the town sat on, I saw cyclists. A welcome sight. It was a father-daughter duo on a tandem. Nice folks. They said, "good luck out there in those winds," and as they said so, I realized they had shifted since I stopped. Now it was a solid northwesterly.
The clouds brought in spots of rain, which hung like drapes over the formerly picturesque landscape.
I got a smattering of it later on. It was cool, and felt nice. First time I've had rain since I got those heavy-duty fenders in Minneapolis, and it lasted three minutes...
More traffic as I neared Wolf Point; A town of 2,000 or so, which is beginning to feel like a metropolis compared to most of the towns I've been going through. With the northwesterly, you can't hear the cars coming behind you. All of a sudden, they're right next to you, going 75 as I crawl up the hill in the headwind. When I ride in the lane (which is worn down smoother from all the tires) they mostly give you good clearance and pass you like any other car. But when I'm in the shoulder, they think you're fine there and whip past like you're not even there. So I ride in the road. However, some trucks feel as though its easier to lay on the horn for a quarter mile behind you than veer to the left to pass you. And when you hear that coming, you better get the hell out. Sometimes I yell as loud as I can as the semis pass. I find it soothes the sheer terror of a multi-ton 18 wheeler going 70, 3 feet to your left. It wouldn't be bad if it weren't for the sudden loss of wind they bring, causing you to flail, catch youself, and then get hit by the wind again after they're gone. Coming the other way, the wall of air hits you a second after. Sometimes it stops me dead in my tracks. But, I digress...
This sign, the first in miles, left me with a chilling feeling:
Over the last rise, the Missouri came back into view.
I had heard of another cyclist-only lodging house up near Macon, west of Wolf Point: Steamboat Dry Goods. I made my way there, sweltering the last mile. The place is a garden/ nursery shop that doubles as an outdoor store, and coffee shop. (Fewer dried goods than I had hoped, but I did get some beans). The owner was from Ohio, a staunch Ohio State Buckeyes fan, and lived in the back of the shop with her young daughter. She let me camp in the back yard, and use the shower and laundry, which I sorely needed.
It got to be 102 degrees around 2pm, which was too hot for anything other than hammocking, so I laid in the thing all afternoon and had a long nap.
Dinner was quinoa and paneer with tofu. Running low on food. Will have to stop somewhere tomorrow. Looks like easterly winds on the way. We'll see how far I can ride them.
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