Day 2 - Shelby, MT to Blackfoot, ID (752 kms)



We woke up thankful to be alive and not stuffed.

I headed over to McDonalds on a solo trip to acquire morning provisions; a couple of nice, greasy, American-made Sausage and Egg McMuffins. On the way back, I made a quick stop at the gas station to fill up the bike where I accidentally dropped one of the sandwiches on the ground. I carefully dusted off what I could, picked off what can only be described as pubic hair from the cheese, and put the egg, sausage patty, and buns back together, re-wrapped it, and headed back to the hotel. Needless to say, Kane ended up with the "crunchy" sandwich.

Apparently there are missile silos all along the Interstate between Shelby and Great Falls. We didn't see a thing but considered pulling over to see if those cows were really cows and not military personnel in disguise, waiting for a preemptive strike order from Bush. Those things are so old that if set off, they'd probably malfunction and create the next big US tourist attraction... "Crater Alley".

So to get to the point, there was nothing really exciting or great about the ride down to Great Falls. What's the deal with Great Falls anyways? A google image search of place pulls up modest looking falls at best. Great is kind of stretching it don't you think? I guess not too many people would want to live in a place called "Average Falls", "Your Boat Will Probably Get Destroyed in This River", or "My Uncle Once Took a Dump in That Creek". Everything in the US has to be "Great", "New", "Grand", or... "San"?


Google Image Search result for Great Falls

We entered town and pulled over to top up the gas tanks, take in the view, take a leak, and take a McDump. Great Falls had a car/motorcycle show going on that weekend in town, which was kind of cool but we didn't stick around because we wanted to make good time. Too bad because there were lots of sweet rides.

South of Great Falls, the hills started to turn into little rocky knolls as we slowly crept towards the Southern portion of the great State of Montana. The sudden change in rock formations looked pretty fucking cool.


Somewhere in Southern Montana

The road started winding around these knolls and we were relieved to finally be hitting the first twisties of the trip. The bikes were now pretty much fully broken in and blasting along at 130km/h on the Interstate through Montana's beautiful rocky outcrop. We alternated leads but when we hit long, uphill stretches, Kane would leave me in the dust. We agreed it was because his bike had been broken in better but we both knew deep down that my fat ass was the reason that I'd always disappear from his rear view mirrors on those lengthy inclines.


Self-Portrait

The hills tapered off just north of Dillon, Montana (aka Shithole #2), where we stopped for a beer at the local pub. This town was straight out of Deliverance. No shit! Hicks abound, we managed to get a hold of a couple of pints of Moose Drool and celebrated the internationally-recognized and culturally-shared hobby of beer drinking with the locals, most of which would probably never travel outside that particular town block, let alone the actual town. The bartender, a female rendition of Joe Dirt, tried with all her might to play matchmaker between us and her daughter. I suppose it was the town's attempt to re-introduce a fork to its family tree.


Friendly Locals at The Moose Bar in Dillon, MT

It was at that time that we decided it best to be on our way and leave the town of Dillon behind for some other unlucky bachelors to discover.

We crossed into Idaho and the ride turned into what can only be described as an isolated journey through a moon-like setting seen in those shitty quality Apollo mission videos. But don't get me wrong, it all looked pretty fucking cool... and in HD.

Interrupted only by girls in a car driving next to us who waved but wouldn't show us their tits, we made a gas and piss stop in an old coal mining town just South of Spencer, where the only store left standing now served as the town's only gas station, grocery store, restaurant, jewelery store, casino, fire station, and public outhouse. The gas pump was likely remnant from the medieval ages and required the wisdom of the old wizard-like shopkeeper to operate.

After a piss and dropping ass once more, we were off and ended up setting camp in a town called Blackfoot. We managed to score free camping in an RV park that was located in the middle of some suburban area next to a parking lot that looked like a small, decrepit swamp. The people from this town were friendly and the gas attendant who recommended the RV ground told us where he lived in case we needed anything.

We drank some Corona's and set up camp at Suburbia RV Park and that's when I realized that I hadn't tested my electronic tire pump prior to the trip. I figured that it would take a good half hour to blow up my mattress. Oh well, drinking beer seemed to help pass the time... along with watching people BBQ in their backyards. We got bored of each other when the beer ran out so we decided to call it a night. The first night camping of our trip was spent closely next to my pocket knife. US murder statistics flooded my mind and I felt the need to protect myself against whatever weird shit the US and A might have in store for me that night. Sleep overcame me quickly though and an uneventful night of sleeping in the middle of suburbia ensued.

(stay tuned for Day 3)

Day 3 - Blackfoot, ID to Kanab, UT (789 kms)



We woke up figuring we'd stick to ritual since everything had gone well so far. This meant McDonald's yet again for breakfast. It wasn't too long after until we found ourselves tearing down South again on I-15. Just North of the Idaho/Utah border, the landscape turned into beautiful, tall, green rolling hills. Having watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy some time ago, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the small communities we rode through and Peter Jackson's rendition of the Shire. No hobbits were to be seen though. They were probably all spending Sunday drinking until they couldn't feel feelings anymore at the local pub. I've got to say though, it was all pretty awesome to take in.

We crossed the Idaho/Utah border and into US State number three of our trip!

There was an interesting stop at a gas station in Northern Utah worth mentioning. We rolled in to fill up and ran into a van full of Canadians heading to Vegas for a bowling tournament. Unfortunately, I don't follow the bowling circuit so I can't tell you how they did. That'll be the mystery of the ages I suppose. At this same stop, Kane managed to find a way to drop his bike against the filling station. Fortunately, there were no explosions, only concerned looking Mormons.

We stopped at a Wendy's in Salt Lake City and admired the scenery... and saw more Mormons. Motorcyclists in this state seem to have no regard for their safety. The preferred choice for safety gear in this State seems to be flip flops as well as shorts for guys and two-piece bikinis for girls.


Self-Portrait in Salt Lake City, UT

I had planned on making a quick stop at Rocky Mountain ATV to buy some hand guards in case I ate shit riding the dirt down in Marguerita land but as luck would have it, everything is closed on Sundays in Utah... except for some hole in the ground corner store where some mouthy Mormon teenager proceeded to provide us with a wealth of information on state drinking restrictions. Poor, sober Utahns.

We were making great time and ripping South on Highway 89 when the mother of all 10-minute rain storms unleashed her fury upon us. We had but only a few minutes before the storm hit to pull over and jump into our rain gear...

...roll back the clock to a week prior to the trip...

The setting is at some random Canadian Tire store in Calgary

Kane: Hey Ryan, how much did you pay for your rain gear?
Ryan: Oh, about $50 or $60 bucks.
Kane: Check mine out, this thing is only $7.99, who's da man?

...roll forward to Day 3, seconds before the storm hits...

So where was I? Oh yeah, we jumped into our rain gear, hopped back on our bikes and at just about the time we reached highway speeds, the storm hit. My rain suit seemed to hold fine. Kane's... well, it probably enjoyed a horrifying 7-second life before losing its structural integrity and ripping to shreds. For the next 10 minutes, my experience can only be described as riding through Haley's comet's debris trail. The rain was pounding down so hard that I could barely see 10 feet in front me. I knew Kane was still ahead of me somewhere because I kept dodging small chunks of shredded green rain gear that seemed to be aiming directly for my helmet visor. Eventually, however, the storm dissipated, the sun re-appeared, and Kane had somehow managed to remove his rain gear without pulling over. Thankfully, none of us were worse for wear... well, except for Kane's rain gear, which was spread over an 8-mile stretch on Highway 89. R.I.P. $7.99 rain gear.

The riding on Highway 89, just South of Sevier and I-70 was nice and windy and followed a canyon river for a good 15 kms.

About 20 kms further down South, we took a quick break and stopped at a beach at the North end of the Piute Reservoir where we found ourselves having a conversation with an older American couple who were RVing around the country. This place was calm and quiet and we left before further disturbing this couple's place of Zen.

The sun slowly began to set and the canyon walls leading to Kanab began to glow with an orange hue. It was definitely one of those "Forrest Gump sequences where he describes what he'd seen while running cross-country to Jenny" moments. Even closer to Kanab, the canyon walls started filling with caverns that made you think Native Americans were going to jump out and shoot you with their bow and arrows. Pretty cool stuff.

As with every beautiful place, Kanab wasn't without its armpits. While eating dinner at a Mexican restaurant in this charming little town, our server, a girl in her mid teens, insisted on sharing her and her friends' favourite pastime; bunny bashing. She went on to describe this sadistic, extra-curricular activity, which involved pickup trucks with oversized spotlights and nail-studded baseball bats. Fucked up! The decision was immediately made to leave this fucked up little town at first light the next day.

That night, we camped in a small campground in the middle of town, regretting not having gone with Kane's suggestion to pick any spot minutes out of town that would have given us breathtaking views of the cavern-riddle canyons when the sun would rise the next day. Then again, had we chose to do that, I'd probably be up all night keeping an eye out for nail-studded baseball bat wielding teens.