Previous entry: "Townsend to Martinsdale" | Next entry: "Martinsdale to Lavina" 07/03/2007 Entry: "Townsend to Martinsdale, and alternative tale" So, I started off biking out of Townsend, but my achilles tendon was complaining, the terrain was hilly, there was a strong sidewind, and I was worried about negating the progress my ankle had made towards healing. So I gave up, stopped, got off and stood by my bike and said, "I'm hitchhiking" to Minwah as she passed. Not more than 10 minutes later I had my first ride of the day. The driver was a civil engineer in the Army Corps of Engineers and was heading for a 4-5 day trip canoeing on the Smith River. He had a canoe attached to his roof and stuff piled inside, but nevertheless we just managed to fit my bag and all my stuff in the car. The driver he took me through was absolutely gorgeous, as beautiful or more so than our ride through Idaho, and I regretted not being able to bike this section, but we had a nice conversation about this area of Montana. He dropped me off at a junction, and a few minutes later I had picked up a ride with a middle-aged woman, a rancher, in her fancy truck, who "never picks anyone up, but you looked so hopeless". I don't really know that I looked hopeless as I had been having a nice conversation with Orian when she picked me up, but I must have looked that way to her, but it got me a ride to the next junction. I waited at that junction for 45 minutes or so, and then caught a ride with a sheepherder, Vern, who was my favorite driver of the day. Vern had just gotten back from herding 4 days alone in the mountains. We put my bags in the trailer behind his mule, Ollie, after cleaning the manure out of the back, my bike on the flatbed, and me in the cab. As soon as I got into the cab I saw .45 caliber bullets, two pistols, a hunting knife, and a nice rifle, "to protect the sheep from things that want to eat them". Vern took me the rest of the way to Martinsdale, and entertained me with a discussion of how mules are better than horses, what to look for in a mule, etc. When I got into Martinsdale there was no one around. I had expected a "community with services" but the mercantile was closed and the gas station was manned by a napping alchoholic named Kurt. I didn't know whether the inn I saw was still in operation, but I had heard of the Bair family museum from all three drivers, so I rode my bike half a mile to see that. It is a mansion in the middle of ranchland full of fancy antiques, including some doors with 24-kt doorknobs with diam. as big as a tea plate, and a bathroom with matching fixtures. Quite the place. As I got into town so early I thought I should find us a place to stay so I asked around the museum. I met a lady there, a tour guide, who said we could camp in her backyard. Later, I went to hang out at the Crazy Mountain Inn, which I heard was in fact still in operation, and Cheryl, the owner, offered to let us crash there.

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