Felt wore out from the very start. Didn't get much good sleep with the storm last night, so I slept till 6:30 and didn't feel much like rushing. It was peaceful on the resovoir after the ferocity of the night. Had breakfast and eventually Cody and dog roused from the van. He had moved it during the storm to behind a shelter. Proud of my tent for holding up through it all.
We chatted in the morning and he pulled out a little before I was ready. I think I hit the road at 9:30. Had to walk Breezey down the gravel road again towards sleeping buffalo. Filled my water at the bath house in town. Took a big gulp and remembered it was a hot springs. Foul with sulfur. Oh well. At least it was cool from the tap.
Wind was strong, as I expected. Sun was stronger. It was going to be a hot one. I was on highway 2 nearly the whole day. The shoulder came and went, and when it was there, there was broken glass from thrown beer bottles all over. Had to ride in the lane. Got a lot of mean honks and a got "coal rolled" a few times: a big black plume of exgaust from a diesel truck right in your face as they drive by. I don't drive a diesel so I don't know how they do it, but it's nasty. The smell stays with you a while. I used to flip them off but now I give em a peace sign, maybe that'll give em something to think about. But probably not.
Came into Malta 15 miles later. Breezey's chain and gears had been covered by sand during the storm, and I had cleaned it well, but I was looking for degreaser to give it a thorough cleaning. But, by the time I got there, she was riding fine and I decided I didn't need it. That bike is a real champ.
Stopped at the store to get carrots only. Cashier said "I wish I ate that healthy... but I get a discount at the bakery."
Used the wifi outside the county library. Even when they're closed, the wifi is still open.
From Malta, there was nothing until Dodson, and even there, there wasn't much.
I ate, and then sprawled out on the grass to nap. It was aleady 2, in the heat of the day. As I drifted away, I heared ootsteps, and grumbling. Saw a dog out of the corner of my eye.
Woke up with the train horn. There was an old indian man there with his dog. He was filling two clear bottles with handles that at one point held a much more potent liquid. He saw me and said in a heavy native accent "Hot day to be on the road." I said, yeah. He filled the second jug then turned to go. He walked like a drunk; stifly, cowboy boots pointed out, taking a break every 10 yards, looking up at the sun.
I left Dodson, knowing the next place to camp was Harlem, 30 miles from there, in the other side of the Fort Belknap Reservation.
The road was plain. However, I was happy to see my first western mountains from a distance: The Little Rocky Mountains.
The wind was getting stronger, I was getting more wore out, and the sun wouldn't quit. I made slow progress. Eventually my mind became numb, and my body slaved away mindlessly. Finally I saw a turn onto unsigned county road 6 (very few roads are signed on the reservation). I turned and suddenly my nose erupted with blood. I pulled over in a hurry and reached for some sage to plug it with. I had nothing else. I plugged, and I pushed and I thought maybe it had stopped, but the thing wouldn't stop gushing. I knew it was dry and I was dehydrated, even though I had been drinking like mad all day. You just can't keep up.
I sat there for a long time, and began to understand what it feels like to be roadkill; eyes glazed over, mouth open, flies on my sticky blood.
Not a car had passed since I had been there. Realizing if I stayed and kept bleeding I would be in a bad spot, I knew I had to go on. Got it stopped enough to get on the bike again. There was blood all over my clothes and hands and face. I knew I must look like a fool or a murderer.
The next stretch of road was perhaps the hardest I've done the entire trip. Wind so strong I was in my lowest gear. Sun so low and bright I just hung my head and made sure there was a yellow stripe on the left and a white on the right. It was endless. Found myself whispering to Breezey just to keep going. Every time I passed glass I just thought, please don't be flat, please don't be flat.
Beyond the point of recuperation, I got back on the highway and made my way towards Fort Belknap Agency, the town on the edge of the res. Trash lined the highway. I dodged used needles on the roadside. Pulled up to a gas station/casino to get water and lay my burden down. I was only 4 miles from Harlem.
Behind the station I sat on the pavement and melted. Indian man said how are you, I said not great. We talked, he looked spaced out, wide eyed. Couldn't tell if he was amazed at what I was doing or drunk or high or all three. His name was Sage. He asked me for two dollars. I told him I don't carry cash, but I'd give him a carrot. He didn't want it. He tried to get me to go into the casino. I said no thanks. Relaizing I couldn't leave my bike out here to go in for water, I sucked it up and made ready to go to Harlem. Another indian fella came up to me as I was leaving. (Sage left after I refused him 2 dollars). Other fella had on a cowboy hat and button-down untucked, unbuttoned except two in the middle, loosely blowing in the wind. He was incoherent, but I understood that he was sober last year for 3 months, he said.
I had to get out of there. I got back on and made a B line for Harlem. Found city hall, and the park behind it and I had made it.
Nose was still oozing. Two other cyclists there helped me out, and as I lay on the floor of city hall, bleeding slowly with paper towels and ice on my face, they gave me a popsicle. It was heavenly.
Managed to make dinner eventually and got to bed around 11. On 66 miles, but perhaps the hardest I've had to work to get them. Christ, what a day.
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