Winnett to Jordan

Saturday, June 28, 2004

Westbound: Standford to Winnett Eastbound: Jordan to Circle

The next morning, I was up at a good hour and walked over to the café for breakfast. It was clearly a meeting place for local farmers to socialize, josh, and exchange info. I learned the extension folks were urgently recommending cutting hay before another wet spell set in. I also learned some allegations about a younger man that I have carefully forgotten. The rest of their conversations would have required an active effort to eavesdrop. More to the purpose, I had a pair of eggs with the full supporting cast and that meal served me well during the day.

After taking my time over breakfast and walking back to the motel, I slowly packed and readied myself for departure. There were two causes for delay. The morning had brought a little rain which I was in no rush to embrace, and days following centuries seemed to lack the full vim and vigor of some other days. By the time I was actually ready to leave around 9 or so, the rain had passed and the road beckoned.

About an hour down the road, I came to the top of a modest rise and wondered if I could get a better cell phone signal. I stopped by the side of the road, got out the phone, and easily established a clear conversation. My wife “could hear me now.” After only two minutes, however, I told I would call her back, for another cyclist came up the hill from the east.

Another adherent to RANS

Tom was from Big Rapids, Michigan and a member of the faculty of Ferris State University. As soon as his term had ended, he had ridden up to Ludington to take the ferry to Wisconsin and crossed Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, and Eastern Montana. He was bound for Missoula and nearly done with his tour. He was riding a RANS Stratus and camping most evenings.

He predicted that the next few days would be harder work for me, but that I would love North Dakota, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. We chatted for well over an hour about touring, about Michigan, and about teaching. At one point we were joined by the owner of the land to our south. He pulled up in his pickup to find out who we were and what we were doing. I thought the bicycles with their luggage gave a strong clue, but he may have been concerned about the possibility of unauthorized, road-side camping. In fact, Tom was heading for Winnett, and with his virtuous early start, he was almost there. I was headed for Jordan and had a ways yet to go.

Our host, however, like every other Montanan save one in Lewistown was friendly in fact. I remarked that everything seemed much greener than I had expected for late June. He said that spring had been quite wet and that this was the first year in at least five that he could get a second crop in following his hay. He confirmed the extension service’s recommendation to get the hay in before more rain arrived. He then needed to get back to work.

Tom invited me to stay at his home, only about ten miles off my planned route, when I got to Michigan and gave me his contact information. I took a couple of pictures and then had to move on.

He was right that the ups and downs would soon call for more work.

The other aspect of this section of Montana 200 was its emptiness. Between Idaho and Missoula, the highway had many towns, businesses, and other signs of human activity. Between Missoula and Great Falls, even in the less populated stretch between Lincoln and Simms, it seemed like there was more traffic. From Grass Range east, Montana 200 really seemed lonely. If a tourist seeks solitude with decent pavement, this is the route.

On the other hand, if the tourist seeks lunch, there are not many options. In fact, I had all my money on the one vendor Yahoo’s Yellow Pages had identified, The Sand Springs Store, about 44 miles from Winnett toward Jordan.

Having gotten a typical, not-too-early start and then having spent more than an hour with Tom, I was running later than I liked and getting hungrier as I approached Sand Springs, especially since “approached” means getting within 20 miles. Eventually, I did reach the store and found some good stuff for lunch. Other tourists should be aware, however, that the volume of business along this stretch of Montana 200 does not permit the store to maintain an extensive inventory of every possible treat. I also recall seeing a for sale sign so one might call 406 / 557 – 6164 (or such up-dated number as Yellow Pages may provide) before relying upon getting resupplied at the store.

The store met my needs and after a quiet rest, I resumed my trek with about 32 miles to go. While the route continued to go up and down, the last 25 miles or so had a net drop of about 500 feet.

While Jordan is a nice-sized town, it has only two motels. I stayed at Fellman’s Motel (406) 557 – 2209. Fellman’s and the Garfield Hotel/Motel are basically across the street from each other on 200 just past the center of town.

Upon arrival I had to prioritize. I needed to call home, obtain some beverages, get supper, and do laundry. Drinks were my first priority. Fellman’s hardware store, just down the block, had Gatorade and juices. I got some orange for the overnight and some grape for the moment. With it being Saturday, there was no need to wait till the end of the evening commute at home to call. To my rare disappointment, my Verizon phone could not find a signal in Jordan. The motel room, however, had a land line, and we achieved a connection in the “old fashioned” mode.

I then looked for food. There was a hamburger place across the street that looked ok. While waiting for my order, I met a family from a nearby ranch. They drive the 50 miles into Jordan whenever they need supplies or company. We laughed at the relative assessments of proximity, but it makes sense. They drive less than an hour. My wife’s commute often takes more than an hour. Time matters more than distance. I also learned the location of the local laundromat. What I didn’t learn was how much time I had before it would close.

I finished my meal, gathered my stuff to be washed, and headed over to the laundry. It was in a room behind the local supermarket, a quite good-sized store. The laundry had an extensive collection of machines but did not have the common vending machines for detergent and drinks. So I went back to the supermarket and found it closed. Rats!

An older gentleman, however, was closing up in his office, saw me, and let me in. I told him what I needed and he was super helpful. Here was the “problem.” Tide and its competitors usually come in very large packages. I needed to do two loads and not carry extra pounds of detergent. His solution was to sell me dishwashing liquid. I questioned whether dish detergent would suds up too much for a clothes washer; he assured me it would not hurt the machines. I reached for the national brand; he insisted on the cheaper, generic. Ok. I got the soap, some juice, and some grapes and went back to the laundry.

I was still a little uncomfortable about messing up the machines but loaded the tubs, poured the detergent, and inserted my quarters. Things seemed ok. Then fifteen minutes later, he entered to ask me to turn off the lights and latch the door when I left. I stopped worrying and felt even more grateful.

While my clothes were in the dryer, I tired of reading, found a broom, and swept the place. Once my clothes were dry, I carefully turned all the lights off, double checked the door and returned to Fellman’s. Even though it was mid-summer, by then it was dark. The two bars were active but not rowdy. I was tired.

Approximately 76 miles.

Westbound: Standford to Winnett Eastbound: Jordan to Circle