Today's Miles = 49.8
Average Speed = 8.1 mph
Maximum Speed = 36.5 mph
Total Miles = 3533.4

Despite not traveling as far yesterday as I had hoped, I started my ride today still intending to pile on the miles in order to make Missoula this weekend. Once again, I didn't get as far as I planned, but as usual it all turned out for the best.

Immediately after leaving Dillon I found myself climbing 1,600 feet to the top of Badger Pass. After days of mostly pleasant weather I was faced today with gusty winds that pushed me in and out of the shoulder, and a pouring rain that kept trying to turn into sleet. Apparently, Montana weather can throw out some chilly tricks even in the middle of July, and for the first time in many a day I had to dig out my rain gear to stay warm.

Yesterday a visitor to this site had left a comment suggesting that instead of looking for work when I get to Oregon I just keep on cycling and rely on web subscriptions to pay my way. Now, my ego isn't big enough to imagine that anyone would want to pay to keep me on the road, but the idea had been planted in my head and occupied my thoughts for most of the day. I think that, mentally and physically, I could go for quite a while longer. Certainly not forever, but for thousands and thousands of more miles. I thought about what I would do differently, what gear I would change, and what help I would need. There are differences between saying "I'm riding a bike for the next three months" and saying "I'm riding a bike indefinitely", but they aren't that great. I wondered about where I would go, and toyed with the idea of letting whoever was paying me to be on the road vote for my next destination.

I know that I'm not the first person crossing the country to start looking for ways to keep on going when the original destination is reached. I know that when I get to Oregon the first thing I'm going to want to do is rest. But I also know that I'm going to miss being on the road, and although relying on the donations of people who travel vicariously through me is a crazy idea, this entire escapade was a crazy idea to begin with.

My thoughts continued in this vein as I crested Badger Pass, descended 500 feet or so, and then started the 1,400 foot climb over Big Hole pass. I imagined myself riding down the California coast into Mexico, or turning back to the east and heading towards Texas. I thought of all the foreign cyclists I've met and imagined myself riding in Australia or Japan or Ireland. And as I was lost in thought I barely noticed the way Montana was changing around me. As I rose over the top of the pass I entered Montana's Big Hole Valley and suddenly I was in a whole new kind of country. Gone was the sage and pine, and suddenly there was grass and willow. Perhaps I had been overly comfortable with the landscape yesterday, but today I was someplace entirely new.

I stopped in the small town of Jackson (population 38) intending only to have a quick meal before heading on and found that by coincidence there were six other cyclists in town, all of them having arrived in separate groups of one or two. With myself and the later arrival of Albert and Sophie, there were nine of us total and it was an easy decision to call it a day and enjoy the company. There was a married couple from Cincinnati visiting Montana, a pair of sisters about to part ways as one headed home and the other headed to Virginia, a solo cyclist from Britain, and a solo cyclist from Colorado.

As the evening wore on everybody slowly wandered off to their tents or cabins, until it was just me and the Belgians left in the bar. Albert motioned to the shuffleboard table and asked me if I knew what it was, so I naturally volunteered to show Sophie and him how to play the game. Now certainly I'm no shuffleboard shark, but somehow I managed to teach them the rules and beat them in our first game by one point. Afterwards they retired as well and it was down to just me and a dozen or so locals.

Although it isn't something I've been explicitly looking for, as I've been traveling west there have been a handful of towns along the way where something intangible told me that this would be a place where I could see living for awhile. As small as it was, Jackson was one of those places. Jackson is neither growing nor in decline, it simply is. The people I talked to were happy to be there and happy with their quality of life, happy to be able to hunt and fish, to ski and snowboard and ride their snowmobiles, and wouldn't trade living in the delights of their valley for anything.