Two days ago we had a great ride from Harlem to Wolf Point, MT, a distance of 120 or so miles. We didn't even start our ride until after lunch (Andy had to hitchhike to Havre in the morning to buy a new bicycle tire for our rear wheel), but the wind was with us and we both felt strong. We cruised! We made it into town before sundown with our highest-yet avreage miles-per-hour (17.2).
Today was something of the opposite... with a strong wind in our faces, we spent the majority of the day battling our way from Culberston, MT, to Williston, ND, a mere 47 miles of pedalling. Our day's average speed was the lowest yet (10.5mph), even lower than the day we climbed mount Washington. Oh, we were exhausted, hungry, and grouchy when we rolled into town. Upon parking our bike in the city park, we immediately went into emergency resuscitation mode, which involved forcing graham crackers, chocolate chips, and water down Andy's throat, before taking him to the recreation center (yes, re-creation) for a shower and then hitting up the grocery store for a quart of chocolate milk and two corn dogs. He's in the park, now, rubbing his tummy and boiling brown rice (our real dinner) as I sit in the library across the street, uploading photos.
Let me go back a few days in time...
Last Sunday, just three days ago, we were merrily powering along toward Dodson, our tentative camping spot for the evening. We were in a bit of a hurry, because the sun was falling fast and we still had another 20 or 30 miles to go. As we cruised past Harlem toward the Fort Peck Reservation, Andy noticed a wallet on the side of the road. We went another thirty or forty feet before angling the tandem around and going back to investigate. As we pedalled back on the opposite side of the road, we saw a credit card, which we stopped to pick up. When we opened the wallet, we found several other ID cards with the same name as the credit card. Down the road a little further we found two more credit cards, a Fort Peck Reservation card, and, finally, off in the grass, a social security card.
We put all of the cards back into the wallet and stood by the road wondering what to do. We were already a mile past the town, but we didn't want to carry some stranger's wallet thirty miles before turning it in in the next town. After brief deliberation, we concluded that the only option was to go back and turn it in at the Harlem Police Station.
In town, we found two policemen vaccuuming their car across from the station. They accepted the wallet and told us the owner had reported it missing some months ago. Turning our noses back toward our destination, we pedalled down over the a low curb back onto the road. We hadn't even travelled a block before Andy pulled over. The rear tire looked completely lopsided. We pulled into the city park and Andy took the tire off for closer inspection. He concluded that our tire was worn too thin: when we rode over the curb, the air ballooned out on the side, where the tire was worn through the thinnest. It was too worn to continue using, so we hobbled back over the the police station and pitched our tent in the front yard.
We were fairly discouraged. Examining our maps, we saw that the closest bike shop was in Havre, whiched we'd passed through forty miles earlier. No more bike shops until North Dakota! We were stranded in a town of a few hundred people, and chances of finding a replacement tire in town seemed slim.
We thought we might have to take a few days off, but, as fate would have it, everything worked out in our favor. Andy caught a Fort Peck Reservation shuttle at 6:45am the next morning which delivered him to Havre at 7:45. He found the bike shop, which didn't have regular hours but did have a cell phone number posted on the door. The fellow arrived promptly and sold Andy a tire. The return shuttle to Harlem didn't leave until 11am, so Andy decided to give hitching a try. He stuck out his thumb and waited. After about thirty cars passed, one pulled over and offered him a ride. The two young women in the front seat were registered nurses on their way to a conference in Billings. They settled him into the back seat next to a baby in a carseat and gave him two homemade cinnamon rolls. When they dropped him off in Harlem, they both got out of the car and came over to see the bicycle. I was at the library, so I didn't get to meet them.
Andy fixed the bike and went looking for me. The librarian told him that she'd just given a blonde girl directions to the post office, and that's where he found me. We packed up our things and headed out of town.
Now we're in Williston, ND, preparing for tomorrow's 130 mile jaunt to Minot. Depending on the wind direction, we'll either make it or we won't. We might end up pitching out tent half way there.
Three states down, eleven to go!!!
~April
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