Missoula to Lincoln

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

Westbound: St. Ignatius to Missoula Eastbound: Lincoln to Great Falls

Yet another McDonald’s breakfast. I looked in the local Yellow Pages for something more like a café but found nothing nearby. The McDonald’s was next door.

Departing Missoula was simple. After coming all the way across town yesterday, I was on the east side, the road was wide, and I was running contrary to rush hour traffic, which had in any event, largely passed by already. I could have used I 90 for a short jog, but I preferred to see more and to avoid urban on and off ramps. MT 200 was pleasant all the way between the two interchanges with the Interstate.

Almost as soon as the road turned toward the mountains the ride became a struggle. At the time, I couldn’t decide whether (a) the slope was greater than it appeared, (b) the headwind was harder than it felt, or (c) I hadn’t eaten enough. Now, I suspect the major problem was the my rear wheel was again out of true and lightly rubbing my newly adjusted brakes. The other factors likely also contributed. The combination gave me one of the hardest mornings of the entire tour.

One plus was favorable skies. A second was little traffic. Much of what traffic there was included small UPS and FedEx trucks. Seeing each vehicle more than once brought back the imaginary wrestling match with temptation I experienced during my last marathon in 1979.

In 1977 and 1978 I had trained diligently for marathons and ran 2:57:15 and 2:46:26 in the two Detroit races in October of those respective years. In 1979 my new work as a consultant to the UAW on workers’ compensation law reform took away my training time and much of the emotional energy that might have sustained my training. By the time October and the race rolled around, I hadn’t run since a 10k in August and I hadn’t trained since early July. Nonetheless, I’d paid for my entry early in the spring and had nothing better to do that Sunday than go over to Windsor to try my luck.

Unlike the prior year when I had gotten myself reasonably close to the start line, I didn’t worry about losing time in getting over the start line. I just ran at a pace that felt comfortable and that turned out to be around 7:25 per mile. Not a sub three hour pace but not shabby either. We ran through Windsor, we went through the tunnel to Detroit, we ran down Jefferson toward Grosse Pointe, and I began, at seven miles, to doubt the existence of justice. How could I be doing this without the investment of miles of training.

Well that was at seven miles. By nine miles, I ran out of gas. But hey, I was that far out, I might as well keep going, now more like a 8:30 per mile, until the bus caught up with me. The bus was the city bus the race organizers hired to circle the route to bring drop outs to the finish line where they could connect with their transportation arrangements. As it happens, I didn’t notice the bus catching up with me. I suppose I could have tried to sprint to catch it, but sprinting to catch the drop out bus seemed like a contradiction. I also wasn’t at all sure in that instant that I could catch the bus. So I watched it waddle away and slogged forward.

I firmly promised myself that I would watch for the next arrival and not prolong this foolishness. The next time the bus came by was maybe around the 14 mile mark. Now I was more than half way and I wasn’t slowing down. I wasn’t going fast either but I’d stanched the losses.

When the bus reappeared, I simply decided not to get on, reserving the option for the next time it arrived when “I might really need it.”

Obviously by the third time the bus arrived, I was around the 19 mile mark and faced only another 10k or so. Only a wimp would fail to complete a short stroll like that. And so, through inaction, sloth, self-deception, and stubborn resistance, I completed the 1979 marathon in 4:01:03.

As I saw the delivery trucks I thought about flagging them down, shipping my luggage up to Lincoln and just getting me and the V-Rex up the hill. And I had just about decided to do it “the next time the truck went by,” but then I was further from the city and didn’t see trucks again. Consequently, having been spared further temptation, I virtuously persevered.

The valley I was climbing widened a but and there was a convenience store, bar, restaurant on the left. I stopped for lunch and to buy some beverages.

After lunch, a rest while reading, and a short call home I disconnected the rear brakes. I was going up hill anyway; front brakes would suffice. The afternoon was long but much better.

Although my research had not found them, I saw evidence of lodging between Missoula and Lincoln. There was a motel, if I recall correctly, at the intersection of Highway 83 at Clearwater and a B&B further on toward Lincoln. The motel was across the street from the large gas station convenience store I visited. I can’t say for sure it was open for business. For many tourists, it might make sense to inquire further. A shorter day from Missoula followed by a half day to Lincoln might well be more comfortable than getting from Missoula to Lincoln in one day.

I arrived at Lincoln around 5pm. Leeper’s Ponderosa Motel was on the right, looked nice with detached cabins, and had a vacancy. After cleaning up, I went across the street to the Blackfoot Market, a small food store. Again my room had appliances but not utensils. Eventually the proprietor Karen asked to help me find what I needed. Having prowled the entire store twice, I apprehended that I might well have looked helpless at best and suspicious at worst. By the time I explained what I was about she had further offered to lend me some pots with which to cook but recommended instead that I get a hamburger to go from the bar across the street. She gave me the phone to call in a take out order that would minimize my time in the bar exposed to tobacco smoke. Basically, she was thinking of solutions to every need I could express. That is putting the customer first.

I left the Market with orange juice, a tall can of beer, more grapes, carrots, and some other stuff, some of the best purchases I made on the road. As I was leaving, Karen gave me their business card and insisted that I send a post card upon my arrival in D.C.

For the balance of Montana, I tried to keep grapes in my seatback bag and for the balance of the trip, I tried to get a half gallon of orange juice at the end of each day. And for the balance of the trip, I did much better in the mornings. The tall can of beer was a less frequent purchase. At the end of the day, that much beer in a water deprived body tended to have a disproportionate impact.

76.07 miles in 7:30 on the bike for an average uphill of 10.1 mph plus meeting a new friend and learning better how to cope with full days of riding.

Westbound: St. Ignatius to Missoula Eastbound: Lincoln to Great Falls