Circling the U.S. Chapter 31: Waterton Lakes, Canada

Tuesday, August 20 - Saturday, August 24, 2019

Rob loves telling the story about his experience with the "flight or fight" response. When three large German Shepherds took off after him, there was no fighting in his response. I heard him yelling, then he flew past me. I looked back and saw two large dogs, and I took off behind him, yelling, "Ride hard!"

The dogs attacked on our way to Mountain View, Alberta.

We left them behind, but the fear remained. For miles after, I had visions of what would happen if one of us were brought down by a pack of dogs. It wouldn't be pretty.

One stop shopping was all Mountain View had to offer. We stopped for the "Eats and Treats."

Rob says that the fight or flight response includes superhuman physical strength and, when the stressor is removed, a voracious appetite and extreme fatigue. When we stopped several miles later in the tiny town of Mountain View and found a cafe serving a modest all-you-can-eat breakfast, Rob went crazy. He ate four pop-tarts, four yogurts, a hard-boiled egg, an egg sandwich, a belgian waffle, a banana, and a blueberry muffin.

I didn't know about the four pop-tarts. When I came back from the bathroom, he had half of one sitting on the table. I said, "How can you eat that crap when there are home-made muffins?" Later, when Rob told the story to someone he admitted hiding the other three wrappers from me.

Following are pictures from the rest of the day's ride to Waterton Lakes National Park.

We've probably cycled past thousands of hay bales so far. I especially liked the photo opportunity these presented.

Both those cyclists are Rob. I discovered I can get him more than once with the panorama setting.

After 35 miles we arrived in Waterton Village, set up camp, drank the other two beers that Marlene had given us, went for a swim in the crystal-clear lake, and explored the picturesque little town.

The town and campground sit beside this lake.

Waterton Lakes is where bicyclists always take a day off; it's just too beautiful to zip by. As things turned out, we spent three days here, two more than planned. Wednesday, August 21, we hiked six miles, climbing 1500 feet, to Bertha Falls and Bertha Lake. The climb was gradual, the entire way through the burn area from the 2017 fire that took out about a third of the park.

Following are some pictures from our hike.

Bertha Falls

Looking down on Waterton Lakes Village and the campground.

Regrowth after the 2017 wildfire brought abundant wildflowers and abundant berries. The bears were happy.

Bertha Lake

Waterton Lakes wildlife.

We planned to spend one day in Waterton Lakes then head to Glacier. But then Rob had a different idea. When I woke up on Thursday, August 22, he was sitting outside the tent watching the sun come up and informed me that we were staying another day. He gave myriad reasons: the weather would be better tomorrow; we hiked yesterday and didn't get the rest day we needed for the climbing ahead of us; he wanted me to try to get caught up on my blog; he liked where we were and thought we should take another day just to enjoy it. Waterton Lakes is really a lovely place and my legs were tired from the hike and the weather did look a little uncertain and I did want some time to write. So we stayed another day, which turned into two more days.

I found a coffee shop where I sat outside and could work even when it rained, which it did intermittently throughout the day. We had pizza for lunch and walked up the hill to the Prince of Wales Hotel.

A friend told me that he thought Waterton Lakes was fake, but I disagree. Yes, it does swarm with tourists and touristy shops, but the businesses are, for the most part, small and locally owned. The young people who work there come from close by and far away. Many stay in the winter and work in nearby ski resort towns. We found several affordable places to get some good food, including 49 Degrees North Pizza.

Afternoon tea at the Prince of Wales would have been lovely, but the price was outside the parameters of our budget. When we're rich and too feeble to camp, I want to come back out west and stay in every grand hotel in every national park and have afternoon tea or a fancy dinner and sit in their lounges with a good book overlooking the beautiful scenery that surrounds them. But until then, I'm very happy with our low budget life on the road.

The view from the Prince of Wales Hotel.

Two views from our campground. We were surrounded by mountains, within walking distance of the small downtown.

That evening tragedy struck. Well, not really, but it was worrisome. Rob took a fall and banged his head. He didn't get knocked out but because he is on blood thinners, he has to watch out for a brain hemorhage. A headache is the first symptom.

After throwing away some trash after dinner, Rob missed the step on the dumpster and fell, banging his head on the outdoor sink on the right.

We stopped by the campground office to find out about getting medical assistance if we needed it during the night. Rob filled out an incident report. For several weeks afterward, he was in contact with someone at the park. He wanted to make sure they would do something to alert people about the step, like painting a yellow strip on the edge. They gave us a refund for our four nights of camping.

Rob also banged his knee when he fell and by the next morning it was swollen. We thought it would be prudent to stick around another day. I returned to my coffee shop and Rob investigated possibilities for something else to do. He found out about a bike ride up Red Rock Canyon, nine miles, mostly uphill, on a paved road that had been closed to motor vehicles. How can you turn down that opportunity? A lovely ride, then a one-kilometer walk to a waterfall.

We shared this beautiful road with just a few other cyclists. It was a bicyclist's dream come true.

About walking through all he burned trees, Rob said, "I feel like I'm walking through somebody's scalp. Now I know how a tick feels. The path is a crooked part."

Blakiston Falls.

Red Rock Canyon

Another view of the Prince of Wales Hotel

We finally left Waterton Lakes for Glacier National Park on Saturday, August 24. The riding was challenging, but beautiful. We had two long climbs, each several miles long. On the first one, Rob saw a black bear crossing the road. He yelled, "Oh, shit!" and the bear turned and started walking towards him. Then he yelled, more loudly, "Con!" I heard him and turned and saw what looked like a black shadow go into the woods. Rob was scared. I was jealous. I wanted to see a bear.

Later on, Rob was ahead of me on a downhill surounded by several large black animals. I thought maybe he was having a conference with some bears but when I got closer I saw that they were cattle. We were riding through open range. Rob said his eyes had been tearing from the downhill and he stopped because he wasn't sure what the animals were.

We found out at an evening ranger program that some of the black bears here will eat you. But they also eat berries, which is why some of the campgrounds are being closed to tents. Evidently the bears are stomping through tents on their way to the berries. We got into the campground the last possible night.

We started meeting other cyclists in Waterton Lakes, mostly groups. I've found that people riding in groups tend not to be as friendly as those riding as singles or couples. We met another touring couple at the general store in St. Mary, Kevin and Michele from Michigan. They were almost done with a month-long tour through the northern Rocky Mountain parks. They were our inspiration going over Logan Pass the next day.

Following are pictures from the day's ride.

Chief Mountain watched over us all morning.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 30: Riding for Beer

Monday, August 19, 2019

73 miles from Cut Bank, Montana, to Cardston, Alberta

Throughout the summer Rob has had a couple of treats he wants every day, ice cream and beer. The ice cream urge is generally easy to satisfy. If we can't find an ice cream shop, then every convenience store has a freezer with a reasonable selection. We are both especially fond of Magnum bars, but in a pinch just about anything will do.

Finding beer can be a challenge when we are camping. But Rob discovered back in Ontario that fellow campers, if they are also fellow beer drinkers, are understanding and willing to share.

At first Rob needed a little encouragement to get up the courage to ask. We had ridden 62 miles to Pintery Point Provincial Park on Lake Huron, both so hungry that immediately upon arriving at our campsite we set up our chairs and devoured all our snack food. Then Rob said, "How about we ask our neighbors if they'll sell us some beer?"

I said, "Go ahead."

Rob said, "No."

I called Rob's bluff. "You can't just talk about it. Go do it."

"Okay."

"Bring some money," I added.

He walked over to a neighboring campsite and I could hear him chatting with the couple over there. Then he walked back with a smile on his face and two organic lagers from Toronto, one in each hand.

"They wouldn't take any money," he said. I knew they wouldn't. He added, "They said they only brought six bottles."

Several nights later, a woman from the campsite next to ours came over and said, "You probably would like a beer. I have Bud Light Lime or regular Bud Light."

Then, when we were camped on Manitoulin Island, I approached our next-door neighbors, a German couple in a camper. The husband apologized and said he only had two that were cold. But later, as we were getting ready to go to bed, he brought over two chilled beers. Of course we had to drink them.

One of the best stories is when we were camping in St. Ignace. That was a day when we rode 50 miles from Sault Ste. Marie passing only one convenience store. We arrived at the campground with nothiing for dinner and figured we'd have to ride into town to find a restaurant because we were out of fuel. Then the woman who checked us in told us we could have pizza delivered. We called in our order but we still needed beer. I approached the couple camped next door. They apologized saying they had no beer but were going into town for dinner and would be happy to pick some up for us. I said, thank you but we needed it to go with our pizza and we'd be okay. Our pizza came and as we were sitting down to eat, a car pulled up and the woman handed me two beers. They'd stopped at the corner store a couple miles down the road and came back with the beer just for us before heading out for their own dinner.

Then, in Alberta, we met Marlene.

We were on the Adventure Cycling Northern Tier Route, heading northwest towards Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada. We were warned: "very limited services next 72.5 miles." Just after crossing the U.S.-Canadian border, in the town of Del Bonita, we might find a convenience store open. Maybe.

We expected headwinds, hills, and heat. A beer at the end of the day was not an option. It was a necessity.

We started early - 7:15 - which gave us 18 miles before the headwinds began. Then we struggled for seven, eight, and nine miles per with no trees to give us any relief from the sun beating down with the temperature in the eighties.

Our route took us on very quiet roads through arid agricultural land where the farms are thousands of acres. We could see the Rockies in the distance and we passed wheat and hay fields and cattle grazing.

We passed not a single place to sit and rest and when we stopped for a break we just stood at the side of the road and ate a snack. Bathroom stops for me were a prayer that no cars or trucks would pass by for a few minutes.

We crossed the border into Canada,

and shortly after arrived in Del Bonita, home of the convenience store with limited hours.

It was open. There was no place to sit outside so we asked Margaret, the owner and postmaster, if we might sit inside and eat our lunch. We sat by the window and talked with Marlene who had come by with her dog to pick up her mail.

Rob asked, "How many people live in Del Bonita?"

Marlene said, "Four." She and her husband and Margaret and Margaret's husband made up the entire population of the tiny town. Marlene said she and her husband came when her husband got a job working on a farm. Then after their children were born they both worked as janitors for the school which at one time had 80 students. Then the high school students were sent to a neighboring school and eventually the local school closed as farmers sold their land to corporations.

Marlene and Margaret were interested in learning about our trip and Rob shared our beer stories.

"I'm going to need a beer after today," he said.

"Well, you won't get one in Cardston," said Marlene.

"What do you mean, no beer?" Rob asked.

"The entire county is dry. You can get one in Waterton Lake because that's national park."

Rob looked crestfallen.

I pondered life without beer. "How do you get beer?"

"You have to drive 30 miles."

Several other local folks came in to collect their mail, which is delivered three days a week. Although only four people live in town, the post office serves the people who live in the outlying areas, about 40 in all. Not only a post office and general store, it is also a place for the community to gather.

We ate our lunch in the alcove. Marlene is on the left, Margaret on the right. The gentleman in the middle is a farmer who grew up in the area, went to school when Del Bonita had its own school.

Marlene left and we continued chatting with an older gentleman, a farmer who told us about the challenges of raising cattle in that arid land. The phone rang and Margaret went to answer it. Rob went to the bathroom to fill our water bottles and Margaret said to me, "That was Marlene. She said not to let you leave until she came back."

We packed our lunch bag and used the restroom, preparing for 30 more miles of headwinds, heat, and fields of cattle. And no beer to look forward to.

Then Marlene came in carrying a plastic grocery bag packed with something wrapped in newspaper. She handed it to me. It was heavy. I reached inside, picked up something hard and unwrapped it - a can of cold beer. There were three more in the bag. Marlene said, "My husband told me to take a six-pack but I told him four was enough. They have to carry them."

She was right. I wasn't sure about four beers since I would be the one carrying them. But I graciously accepted. How could I refuse such generosity?

Marlene took a picture of each of us as we left but Rob's didn't turn out. I look a lot happier here than I will after a few miles pushing through the heat and headwinds. At least I had a beer to look forward to.

The rest of the day was rough. I had been wanting a challenging day and, as they say, "Watch what you ask for."

We stopped often. I needed a break just to get off my bike, give my butt a break, give my hands a break from their tingling. I kept drinking water, but that meant I had to pee and that meant squatting behind a shrub when there was no traffic. It was too hot to even sit down by the side of the road. We stopped, took out a snack bar or a piece of dried fruit, and got back on our bikes.

We were both exhausted when we fiinally got to Cardston at 5:30. I knew what Rob was thinking; we didn't even need to discuss it. Neither of us could face setting up a tent in the wind and heat, finding a grocery store, and cooking dinner. We stopped at the first motel we came to, The Pink Flamingo. We checked in, unloaded our panniers, and Rob said, as always, "You can get your shower first." I didn't argue. And I didn't wait for Rob to finish his shower before opening my beer. I poured it into my camping mug, and added an ice cube. It was smooth and light, delicious. Rob came out of his shower and did the same.

"I can't believe Marlene gave us these," he said.

"Thank you, Marlene."

We walked down the street for a Chinese buffet dinner, the only choice in town that wasn't fast food. The food had been sitting out for a while. It looked tired, but so were we. We didn't care. We'd made it, our toughest day. And we'd had our beer.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 29: Glacier, Then East

A return to the Rockies always makes me joyful, a feeling of coming home to where I belong. This was my third trip to Glacier, but not the last.

Friday, August 16 - Sunday, August 18, 2019

By mid-morning on Saturday the rain had stopped and Rob and I took off for a ten-mile ride, unloaded, to Two Medicine in Glacier.

We finally had the opportunity to wear some of the warm riding clothes we'd been carrying for the last two months.

On the way to Two Medicine Lake we took a short walk to Eagle Woman Falls.

Two Medicine Lake was so calm and beautiful we rented a canoe and set out for a paddle.

About 15 minutes later the wind kicked up. Still, it was pleasant to be on the water, surrounded by mountains.

Our first night in East Glacier we stayed at Brownies Youth Hostel and Bakery. 

Many hostels have a private room option. They also always have a shared kitchen so we were able to keep to our budget by cooking breakfast.

I'd like to say we stayed here, at the Glacier Park Lodge, but we didn't. Saturday night we camped behind a low-budget motel across the street from Brownies Hostel for $10. What it lacked in ambience it made up for in price. But we still enjoyed the lodge. We caught part of a tour and sat inside reading and writing for over an hour. Nobody checked to make sure we were paying guests.

In order to connect with the Northern Tier Adventure Cycling Route that we would take for the remainder of our journey west, we first had to ride east.

Sunday, August 18, we set out for Cut Bank, Montana, 48 miles east on US Route 2 - 48 miles that gave us a taste of what we missed by taking the train - riding a major truck route on the plains. There was a rumble strip inside the white line on the shoulder the entire way. That rumble strip forced us onto the part of the shoulder with loose stones and broken glass, lots of broken glass. It's amazing we escaped without at least one flat tire. We were heading east with a tailwind so we fairly flew along, arriving in Cut Bank before noon.

Unfortunately my camera does not do justice to the colors in this scene.

I'm glad we came this way. The view of the plains was really lovely, stretching forever with a varying pallette of colors. But I imagine several weeks of it would get a bit boring. The other problem is that there is no place to duck out of sight if you have to pee, which I had to do for about 30 miles.

Cut Bank didn't have much going for it, just a few strip malls along the highway, so we settled into a McDonalds for a couple hours. It was air-conditioned and had wi-fi. But we did have one of our best camping dinners thanks to camping close to an Albertsons grocery store. Barbecued chicken wings, reheated in our skillet; mushroom and cheese ravioli with a sprinking of olive oil; and a bowl of fresh fruit - blueberries, pineapple, cantaloupe, strawberries, and grapes. At home we always have ravioli with spaghetti sauce but I am finding that eating it with just olive oil allows me to enjoy the flavor more.

Our campground was on the edge of town, perched atop this canyon. The ecosystem was very dry, hot, and windy. I felt like I could have been in a desert.