Km 5213
Traveling by bicycle, one can see things in a completely different way from the other transports...in a car you are always in a compartment, and because you are used to the car you don't realize that everything you see is just "more TV". You are a passive observer, and the landscape goes trough the window like if you where seen it on a screen.
On a bicycle the screen disappears!
You are in total contact with the landscape that surrounds you. You are part of the landscape, not only watching it. And the sensation of presence is fascinating. The asphalt is only a few cm from your feet and its real. Its right there, so distorted that you can't focus it, however you can stop put your feet on the ground, and feel it, at anytime, and everything, the hole situation is never far from immediate consciencialization.
I was already on my 6th day in the united states. The landscape remembered me of the western movies I used to See when I was a kid on a black and white screen on Sunday’s afternoons.
The traffic on highway 200, known by the Blackfoot Indians as cokahlarishkit, or river of the road to the buffalo, was light. It was a dark day, an autumnal gray, the light breeze refreshed my face. I let me self be absorved by the images immortalized by Hollywood, and spent all afternoon on a cycling dream, where me and my iron "burra", invaded Indian territory.
This was the road south and I couldn't avoid it. I was crossing the valleys of black foot and Seeley Swan, east of Missoula, theater of conflicts between the local Indians and the European colons in the beginning of this young nation. I could feel them observing me from the top of the hills, in a cliff, waiting for the right moment to ambush.
I hear the sound of a coyote. Or was it the chief of the tribe? I watch them coming down the hills in their war gear, screaming, in their horses leaving a trace of dust in the horizon..
Furious combats against the invasions of the white faced. One more defeat. In a war never won.
They where decimated like bison.
It started to cool a bit and the sky got darker, a sign that it was time to start look for a place to camp. I cut trough a gravel road on my left, went a bit up hill and in a small narrow valley found the perfect spot for that night. It was all very fresh in my mind, the events of the previous night and How I ended up spending the full Moon night sleeping on a ti pi in rattle snake, in the suburbs of Missoula.
I met Gordon in the center of the beautiful town of Missoula, home to the Montana university, and with a very relaxed, hip and edgy atmosphere. Missoula is also home to the American adventure cycling association, and the all town has a bike friendly vibe.
I was looking for a bike shop, because, after a few bad nights sleep with pain in my back, and numb hands from long hours of ridding, made me think that there was something wrong with my relation with my partner (bike). A visit to the doctor was out of question, as it would be a slash on my travel budget. Probably before I could meet the doctor, would have to leave 200 or 300 dollars with his secretary, plus exams, medication...So, I decided for a self diagnostic that reveled that there was nothing wrong with me, but with the bicycle.
Gordon indicated me to a bike shop ironically called "doctor bike", and invited me to stay the night at his house, or better, his ti pi.
I lifted up the hand bar to a more comfortable position and put a new set of sidebars.
The house of the Opel family was situated in rattle snake, a narrow valley just 15 minutes out of town. It took me quite some time to fall a sleep that evening, looking at the voyage of the stars through the hole of the ti pi. The moon illuminated the night with its cold rays reveling all the Indian history and their universe.
On the next day I continued my ciclonavigation of the curvature of the earth.
I was heading once again into the rocky mountains. One more pass over the continental divide, the Mac Donald pass, at just over 2000 meters and already covered with snow. Day after day the temperatures where falling and the roads rising.... The downhill from the pass left me with my fingers numb from so much cold, and the road didn't go bellow 1300 meters. The first of a serial of valleys that I was going to Cross, which theirs altitudes would increase with the crossing of each pass, until I reached the entrance of Yellowstone national park, at the small village of west Yellowstone, at 2295 meters, where I am now.
Trough those valleys I passed ranch upon ranch, with a lot of cattle, thousands of them. The livestock ration per person in Montana is 12 to 1, in the 4th biggest state of the nation but with only just over 1 million inhabitants. In one of those valleys where the confluence of the rivers Jefferson, Madison and Gallatin met, creating the headwaters of the Missouri river (the longest in the states with over 3800 km), sits the small town of Manhattan, with the same amount of inhabitants as Monte-Redondo (the village where I was born, in Portugal). It would go unnoticed in my map if wasn't for the great hospitality of the Mac family, that invited me for the night at their home (in a contact articulated from Portugal via New Mexico).
I'm loving this side of America. The side that the media doesn't show back home in Portugal or anywhere else, for that matter. The true, rural, simple and hospitable America. The one without the cities with buildings that reach the skies, without the gun yahoo's, the violence and the political wars. The one of common Americans in their daily lives.
I arrived early in the town of Manhattan and because I arranged to call only after 5, I looked for the local library (Internet in the public libraries is free!), nested inside the local school. The head teacher showed me the way for some news from the family and friends. I was watching this very same site, when a young and timid girl approaches me and asks me for my autograph.
In the beginning I didn't understand. My autograph? Why?
Obviously the head teacher has exaggerated on the content of out conversation.
I showed the Young girl the itinerary of the trip, which resulted in the increase of curious students and of the number of papers in the table to sign. I found the situation a bit uncomfortable and finished my session on the net and left the school.
The Mack family took me out for dinner at a local restaurant, where I indulged myself with a local specialty: cowboy Burger with chips and tomato sauce. Probably the best American contribution for the world's gastronomy, and more commonly known as ketchup!!
On the following morning I said goodbye to the very hospitable and friendly Mack family and continued my journey. The sun melted away the frost and slowly warmed up the autumnal morning.
2 days later I was at the gates of the Yellowstone national park in this small mountain town.
Traveling off season, some times bellow zero, has it's discomforts, but at least I will have the peace necessary to enjoy the beauty of this park that for many is an icon on the natural beauty of north America.
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa in West Yellowstone, Montana, USA
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