Can it really be snowing already?

   By: Jacob 

   We woke up to flurries outside the town of Lincoln, MT.  Our streak of big clear Montana skies was broken by the slushy accumulation on top of the endless fences sprawling along the countryside.  These fences are the only thing larger than the skies in this country, sprawling out like the suburbs of Los Angeles, in their own subtly insidious manner. 

       We have enjoyed the luxury of camping on the side of the road for a good 3000 miles, and have now found ourselves caged in by fences all around us.  Finding a campsite can become an ordeal for tired bodies hosting a healthy respect for Montanan property rights.  Our efforts to avoid any conflicts over the matter has reached hours of exhaustive post-sunset riding.

     Our time in Lincoln was uneventful except for the conversation with a crystal miner/logger in a tired old trucker café.  Every time he mentioned crystals his eyes lit up as if they were gems transferring the entire light spectrum wherever they looked. And his smile shone with the brilliance of freshly polished opals.  He proudly plopped down a small bag of crystals he just found pokin’ around in the last two weeks. He told us how he’s been in the area for over 13 years before he found his salvation searching through old mine tailin’s to uncover the undiscovered treasures of semi-precious rocks of insignificant monetary value.  He don’t give a hoot if they ain’t worth nothin’ to nobody but himself, but he’s sure pleased as a peach to find a quartz crystal that’s been around since the dinosaurs.  His enthusiasm practically had me trading in my bike for a pick and shovel.  After receiving the last glitter of his presence, he offered us one of them small crystals in the bag if we like as we headed out the door.

      This was to be our first continental divide crossing in the United States, one of about 29 to come, weather permitting.   We approached with little comfort as the voice of the waitress settled in our stomachs claiming they were to expect two-three feet of snow.  In fact, it settled in my stomach about as well as the corned beef hash and biscuits n’ gravy, which seemed to contort my bowels into shapes unintended by nature outside of a truck stop.  The elevation profile of the divide crossing on the map looked nearly vertical, and the narrative claiming that the super steep 4.4 mile uphill might warrant a longer, but more reasonable detour. 

      The hill starts out with a vengeance, rutted by four wheelers that plowed the path into narrow channels. Stripped even further by the erosion of time, washing the dirt down, leaving behind loose rocks and unearthed roots to complicate our ascent.  Snow was falling lightly, melting into the developing streams gurgling down our trail. 

      As we began to rise in elevation, the snow began sticking more and more, decorating the trees with a light frosting and accenting the landscape with a touch of Jack Frost who molested the furious yellow leaves into depressed foliage drooping with the weight of the snow.  Streams spilled onto the trail, flooding it with icy patches and muddy bogs that would reach its grimy hands into our bike’s components like a monkey wrench.  The pulleys on our rear derailleur would instantly seize after being splashed by the slushy water.

       We struggled up the hills, watching our bike computers fluctuate between 0 and 2 miles per hour.  Cautiously cycling up, delicately balancing our weight to avoid the rear tire from spinning out and forcing us to re-mount our ride.  The second I step down, the cleats on my shoes get caked with snow making it difficult to re-clip into the pedals.  Only through a precarious maneuver involving hitting my shoes against the frame while simultaneously pedaling the bike to keep momentum was I able to get going again.  Most cyclists have experienced the difficulty of getting their feet into rat-traps or clip-ins on a real steep incline, it can be quite frustrating. 

     After a good two and a half hours, we reached the top of the divide.  We tallied a grand total of 4.5 miles for about 3 hours of the most laborious cycling we’ve ever encountered.  In light of victory, we took some quick snapshots to document the insanity of the event and see a huge storm brewing on the horizon, with the wind headed straight towards us.  Fearing the 2-3 feet of snow predicted and the total loss of sensation in my feet, we quickly descended.  We still had two more divide crossings to cover before we could refill our dwindling food supplies in Helena, MT.  It was surely not going to be an easy go.