Three Wheels North: Crossing the 49th

 

After breaking camp in White Sulphur Springs and puttering off around 7:00, I crossed the Continental Divide at MacDonald Pass, west of Helena, MT.  As you can see, the day could not have been any clearer!

Ural had been struggling more than usual to keep its engine temps down, however - especially when climbing.  From my first stretch of open road the day before, I'd noticed it was running about 10 degrees hotter than on previous cross-country trips.  The only thing I could think of that had changed was the valve adjustment I had performed recently.  All but one had been out of spec, and I'd remedied that.  But the engine light had not come on, so I presumed all was still well.  Maybe it was just that, on average, I'd been gaining elevation from the Great Plains to this point.  Maybe now the trend would reverse.

Sticking to secondary roads, I made my way towards Kalispell, while aiming to largely bypass the heavily populated Flathead Valley.  To accomplish that, I meandered through the mountains to the east.  I'd passed a no-name gas station in Elliston, thinking there'd be a name-brand one at the junction in Avon.  There was not.  The next likely spot was the junction of 141 and 200.  It was on the route to Missoula, so my chances would be better there.

Strike Two.  By the time I got to Ovando, I was a little concerned.  I'd assumed I wouldn't have trouble getting fuel until Canada, so both 2.5 and 1.5-gallon jerrycans were still empty.  Talk about a rooky mistake.  I certainly should have known better!  

I pulled up in front of this restaurant that appeared to be the only business in "town".  It didn't look like they had gas, but they'd probably know where the nearest station was.  It was closed.

But there was some activity out in the parking lot.  A couple was circling their RV, preparing to leave, it seemed.  I walked over and called out to the older gentleman.  While not locals, they were somewhat familiar with the area.  Between the two of them, they decided there was most certainly gas at the next junction to the west - about a dozen miles away.  That would work.  I probably had enough for twice that.

Ovando had been Strike Three, but I was not quite out.  I had something I didn't have before - hope!

The kindly couple was correct.  I filled up at the south end of Highway 83.  And this time, I also filled the steel jerrycan strapped to the sidecar!

But only a few miles later I was stopped again - road construction.  An overhead light was controlling one-way traffic on a temporarily unpaved section of the normally paved road.  

Soon, a group of three bikers pulled up behind me.  They'd come from one of the Carolinas (I don't remember which one) and were headed to Glacier National Park.  They must have been tiring of their journey, because they asked if the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road would be worth the trip.  Having been there multiple times, I assured them it was!

I didn't really need a break, but it was a pleasant spot to be delayed.  When it became clear that it might be a while, I got off the bike and stood in the shade.  I think that's Salmon Lake, but it might be Seeley.  They're not far apart.  When a long line of southbound traffic finally began rolling by, all four of us remounted in anticipation of the green light.

The rest of the road was engagingly winding and tree-lined.  Traffic got bad as I neared the park entrance, but once I turned west again and passed through Whitefish, tranquility returned.  

This is Eureka, MT.  I'd never been there before but had heard it was a nice little town.  Six miles from the border, I'd planned on pausing here to call my wife - before my phone quit working in Canada.  After that, I'd be relying on a satellite texting device and motel/campground phones to keep in touch.

The city park would be the perfect place.  It was late afternoon, and while temps were significantly higher than I like, cooling shade was now abundant and expansive.  Besides checking in with Kim, I also wanted to give the sun more time to descend, in case there was a long line with no tree cover at the border.

I needn't have worried.  There was only one vehicle ahead of me at the window when I arrived at the 49th Parallel.  After a relay of documents and a brief chat with the official, I was through - and free to travel about the country!  It was probably the quickest crossing of any international border I've ever experienced.

Immediately, the road got nicer and the speed limit dropped - two welcome changes for Ural and me.  At Elko, British Columbia, I turned northwest onto Highway 3/93.  Less than an hour later, I pulled into the Fort Steele Resort.  There really was no town, just an historic tourist attraction of some sort (which was closed) and this RV park.  I guess the gas station and store (out front) and the swimming pool (behind) earned the place its "resort" status.  I had thought there would be a hotel - was counting on it, actually.  I asked about cabins and there was one.  But it was taken.  The woman behind the counter thought there might be a hotel in Wasa, twenty minutes farther.  But she wasn't sure.  There wasn't even a restaurant.  Guess I hadn't read their website all that carefully before I left South Dakota.  Or maybe the restaurant was in the closed area across the highway.  

I decided to pay for a tent site in the trees anyway - and call it a day.  I'd come 410 miles, much closer to my goal of no more than 400, and didn't want to ruin it.  I certainly didn't want to go on to Wasa, only to have to come back.  After gassing up, I motored back behind the store, found my site, and set up the tent.  Walking back, I claimed this picnic table with my jacket, and went in to get whatever supper I could find.

That was when the evening turned around a bit.  There was no hot food, but some amazing-looking locally prepared sandwiches filled one of the coolers!  I chose turkey and cheese, with lots of fresh veggies sticking out from a large fluffy bun.  It was such a responsible adult healthy choice.  I was pretty proud of myself - and it was quite tasty to boot!  I then realized one other big positive.  The night before, in Montana, had featured large and rather numerous mosquitoes.  But there were none here at all!

I sat there at the table for quite a while, finished my dinner, then poked out a few texts on my GPS device.  I figured it might not send under all the tree cover at my camp.  It's certainly not an efficient way of communicating, but it works from anywhere you can see a good chunk of sky.  And it's got an SOS button, should I ever need to contact emergency services.  How cool is that?

Back at my site, the guy I had talked to earlier, who was going to set up next to me, had evidently changed his mind.  Too bad.  I kind of liked him.  In his place (to the left of this photo) were a father and son.  They were fine, but not nearly as interesting.  In fact, I couldn't get them to say much at all.

Just before dark, they began rapidly packing up.  The guy said his boy was feeling sick, and they were heading home.  Was it something I said?  About that time, several families in a group site to the right turned on their music.  And their music was not pleasant.  By 11:00, all was quiet again, however - and I ended up sleeping fairly well.

Three Wheels North

 

Yes, Ural and I have gone north before - to the Dakota that sits atop the one we now call home.  But the goal for this journey was to expand my three-wheeler's range significantly farther in that direction!

To that end, you'll notice not just the standard spare wheel on the sidecar's trunk, but an additional tire strapped to it.  Indeed, there is brand new rubber installed all around as well, but the one on the rear of the bike is for longer wear with street use.  When the pavement ends up in the Yukon, I'd switch to the off-road tire mounted spare.  The same tires, when in the front and sidecar positions, last three times as long, so they aren't an issue.  The extra extra (the fifth in total) is for emergencies.  All clear?  It was the best way I could think of to deal with tires that only last around 3,000 miles - on a 6,200-mile trip!

Also of note is the package wrapped in a blue tarp, mounted under the spare tires.  It's a box containing my battery-powered pump for transferring fuel from the jerrycans to the main tank - for the 260-mile stretch with no gas stations between Dawson City and Eagle Plains.

If it sounds like I've been there before, it's because I have - sort of.  I made my first attempt at riding to the Canadian Arctic village of Tuktoyaktuk (on a different motorcycle) way back in 2018 - five years ago!  I reached the southern border of the Yukon - then turned around and went home.  Long story.

The following year (2019), after making a few critical equipment changes, I returned and made it through 240 miles of gravel to Eagle Plains.  A handful of miles later, I turned around again.  Even longer story.  

2020 was COVID.  2021 was learning to ride the Ural off-road in Idaho.  2022 (last year) was the move from Oregon to South Dakota.  "Tuk", as it's affectionately called, is 320 more gravel road miles past Eagle Plains.  2023 will be my third attempt!

Belle Fourche is only about an hour from home.  It's the last town in South Dakota heading northwest along 212.  Next you cross a small corner of Wyoming, then enter the great state of Montana.  East to west, Montana is enormous.  When your 1940's technology engine limits you to around 60 miles per hour (on the flats), you start to think it might go on forever.

But it didn't - at least not the part I was traversing that day.  After passing through Billings, I turned north on Highway 3, then west again on 12.  White Sulphur Springs, population around a thousand, is about 2/3 of the way across the state.  This is not the campground I'd found on the Internet, but it was quieter-looking, and not right in town.  The old house that doubled as an office was intriguing as well.

The man you see walking away on the far left (in front of the car) was coming toward me when I first parked.  He was nice enough, but was sorry to inform me that this was an RV only establishment.  I hardly ever run into that sort of thing in Canada, but it's quite common here in the Lower 48, for some reason.

Back to Plan A - a hot springs resort that included a motel, RV sites, and tent spots.  Unfortunately, the woman who checked me in said the new parking lot behind the Ural had severely restricted the tenting options.  And a soak in the hot pools inside would cost me $10 more.  We'll see how things go.  

I set up my trusty blue ultra-light home under the shade of a beautiful spreading tree and decided to ride downtown to check out the supper options.  Being the weekend before the 4th, I figured other campers might show up, and I wanted to have first pick at a site. 

Stageline Pizza caught my eye on the first pass - and there was an available parking spot right out front!

They took my order right away, but it was so hot inside that I went back out to wait on a sidewalk bench.  It wasn't exactly cool outside either, but the awning's shade made it tolerable.  I chatted with a few locals as they came and went - and learned the place was really backed up that evening.  It might be a while.

But what else did I have to do?  I texted some family back home and answered questions about the Ural from passersby.  I was glad I'd already set up my tent.

About an hour later, I had my personal pan sausage and bell pepper pizza!  I found a more tranquil place to eat it, a few steps up the street, and dove in.  It was well worth the wait!

I wrapped up the last piece for breakfast and motored back to camp.  My spot was closer to the highway than I'd prefer, but I had good ear plugs for that sort of thing - and it was not a busy route.

I extracted my bed roll (sleeping bag, foam pad, and pillow) from the sidecar and got everything situated inside.  Then I took my toiletries bag into the bath house to prepare for a good night's sleep.

That done, I settled down on a closed food truck patio on the far side of the parking lot.  It appeared to be only a lunch place, so maybe I'd have a chance to try it on my way back through.  As the sun set, I reviewed the day and previewed the next.  I'd planned on this being a longer than average day.  I figured I'd be fresh, and I could handle it.  Beginning tomorrow, I'd stick closer to 400 milers, but Day One had been 470.  Still, it hadn't been that bad.  I could do without the afternoon heat, but I'd made it in less than 12 hours.

The plan for Day Two was to continue across Montana, then turn north and enter British Columbia.  My pre-trip research had turned up another motel/camping resort about an hour north of the border.  There, I'd try to get a room and start an every-other-night camping routine.

Time to hit the sack!