Great Falls to Stanford

Thursday, June 26 2003

Westbound: Lincoln to Great Falls Eastbound: Stanford to Winnett

I had breakfast at the nearby McDonald’s. I didn’t feel hungry after all the pizza and so settled for a sausage McMuffin breakfast.

By the time I was rolling it was after 9 am. Getting across the bridge to the larger part of Missoula was a little challenging. I was glad not to have tried during rush hour the prior evening. Thereafter South Tenth Avenue, aka US 89, was busy but comfortable urban riding. Perhaps two intersections challenged my still tender ankle with up-hill starts. At 10 mph, one can much more easily absorb the transitions along an extended business corridor. As I continued east, commercial activity tended to thin for a while and then there was the concentration of new construction in focused mall-type facilities. I liked the stuff closer to the river better.

And then, almost at once, I was out of the urban area and very soon on a nice divided highway. The new road didn’t last. Perhaps it was only to help commuters reach Malmstrom Air Force Base. Even the older road was more than adequate. There wasn’t much traffic and what terrain I faced was comfortable to manage. I settled in to appreciate the joys of flat land, I thought, down hill, however slightly, all the way to the Mississippi.

After the bustle I’d seen the prior afternoon, I hadn’t worried about where I might find lunch today. By 12:30, however, I was getting a bit hungry. I saw the sign for a small town—I think it was Belt. Almost immediately I was descending a steep hill whose end I could not see. I quickly decided that lunch would need to be particularly delicious to justify returning an unknown number of feet back up the hill. So I stopped, turned around, and retreated slowly—I hope with dignity but most assuredly slowly. That hill was steeper going up than I had realized. Yahoo’s Yellow Pages suggest that if I had continued the mile down to Belt, I would have found a café and a pizza place. But I did not know that then.

Upon getting back to the highway, I checked in at home by cell phone. I still had grapes and carrots from Lincoln so I was in no danger. After a chat and some more grapes, I resumed my journey.

Montana 200 near Belt

The variety between Great Falls and Stanford was quite interesting. The road is straight, smooth, and empty. It promises easy riding, and, with memory, looks both hot and thirsty despite the big clouds.

Still Montana 200 and only a few miles further.

Later I came to a large farm. As in Eastern Washington, the impact of irrigation can be startling. This is not the same country Lewis and Clark visited two centuries ago.

There was still the matter of lunch to settle. Ever the optimist—would a true pessimist get on a bicycle to ride across the county on a deadline—I hoped the next big intersection, where US departs MT 200 would offer services. Looking more closely at my map, I now see that Armington, the name of the junction, is shown in smaller type than Belt. Well, it was a busy intersection and, as I recall, the Highway Department might have had a facility, but I saw neither gas station nor White Castle. Onward I traveled.

Montana 200 East of Raynesford

The railroad soon became a neighbor to the left and together we entered a valley. Valleys collect what moisture the sky provides and this little area was greener and cooler than the higher country I had just crossed. Eventually, about halfway through the valley, a truck stop appeared. It didn’t have a restaurant, but it did have a convenience store with some variety, it did have a microwave for customers, and it had some tables in a side room where weary travelers could enjoy their repast. Or one’s hot dog as I did. The valley runs about ten miles and climbs about 400 feet in that span. If I hadn’t been hungry for the first half, it would have been nearly idyllic.

After exiting the valley, the road returned to the higher, dryer line. A series of three 400 foot hills provided some interest over the next 16 miles into Stanford. Unlike the descent from the pass, these hills gave clear sight lines and plenty of room for the traffic that never intruded. While I never broke the posted speed limit, I did let the bike out. I may be cowardly, but I’m not altogether dull.

Arrival in Stanford found a motel with no signs of ownership. It wasn’t abandoned but it was unattended. After sitting and reading for a bit, I remounted to see what else might be available. Down the road less than a mile—these are small towns—I came to the Runway Motel between the highway and the local airport. The lady in charge was more than glad for a lodger and had me in a very nice room at a good price.

We chatted for a while. She was interested in my tour and shared some of her experiences working for an airline. As I recall, she and her husband fly out of the local airport to catch their day jobs. Quite the contrast in modes of transport.

A bonus to the Runway Motel was Bubba’s Restaurant directly across the street. I was ready for a good hot beef sandwich, one of my dependable choices on America’s highways and byways. Nope, not available at Bubba’s. Instead, I had to settle for Chicken Cordon Bleu. No joke. And this wasn’t frozen—which would have been entirely acceptable. This was breast of chicken trimmed at the establishment and gussied up entirely to specification. I was more than satisfied and not a little impressed at Bubba’s vision for his place.

Bubba had only recently opened his restaurant. I remembered a fellow that opened an eatery on Jefferson Avenue in Detroit across from the Renaissance Center. Like Bubba, he had an eclectic menu reflecting what he liked to eat. I always enjoyed his Welsh rabbit. Month by month the choices he offered dwindled as he dropped what didn’t sell. Eventually, and all-too-soon, he closed. For me that story had a happy ending. I liked the rib place that took the site even better. Nonetheless, I was sorry to see the prior fellow’s vision fade away for lack of support. I hope Bubba receives the local support he and his efforts deserve.

While checking in at the motel, I had asked about internet access and the owner had kindly offered her daughter’s computer. Instead, I again could get a strong cell signal from Verizon and used my phone to call home and call the internet. Finally, I cleared the backlog of messages.

A shorter day, but in central Montana one embraces the stops as they come available. Stanford was an excellent destination.

61.80 miles in 5:29 on the bike for an average of 11.2 mph.

Westbound: Lincoln to Great Falls Eastbound: Stanford to Winnett