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Ranier near White pass
looking west from highway 12 in washington This morning I woke up a 26 year old man, lying on the floor of an outhouse near the Clark Fork River in Tareko, Montana. To some people this may seem like a revolting way to begin a birthday and a low point of life, but I was actually quite thankful for my stinky, but dry little shelter. On the day prior I had climbed up from the St. Joe river in Idaho over the Bitteroot Mountains to an unknown elevation. The sky was darkening and grumbling as I reached the summit, where I met Montana at a gravel road. I decended slowly for fifteen hand-clenching-brakes miles to the valley floor into a dissipating thunderstorm. I waited for it to pass and carried on toward Missoula in the sunshisne, on frontage roads along I-90.
Hours down the road, the sky over the mounatins began to darken, becoming almost as dark as Dick Cheney's heart, as another thunderstorm slowly encroached on the valley. I stopped to plastic up my valubales and sleeping bag and kept on down the road at an accellerated pace toward a campground. I somehow missed a turn and continued on down the interstate. It began to pour.
No shelter could be found so I rode on. Eventually I found a highway over pass and smoked some damp cigarettes and watched the rain continue to fall. It was getting dark. Eventually, I got back on my bike determined to find shelter. I turned down a forest road, following a sign that proclaimed fishing access and decended in the mud toward the river. When I saw the outhouse at the bottom I was rather elated. There's nothing worse than setting up a tent in the dark, in the pouring rain.
A shitter in the middle of nowhere, with enough room for both me and my bike: The best birthday present ever.
I ate a can of cold chili and quickly fell asleep to the sound of the rushing river and the buzzing of a few shit-eating flys.
Montana? Wait a minute!! Hold the fucking boat here!!
Many people believe, I am currnently in Europe. Wrong!!
It seems that I subconciously booked my flight for a month later than my thinking mind had intended. Jun 27 Jul 27, what's the difference? I guess not som much, when you're burnt out from organic chemistry homework, sleep
deprived, coffee crashed, at 3 in the morning typing you debit card number into a computer. Anyhow, I have beat myself up bloody over this grave error and called my self many names. But that is over now. I had to leave either way, and so I did. In this way I was allowed to do the bike trip I had planned to do last summer and have more money for my two months in Europe.
I'm in Missoula, Montana now, 760 miles from home, on my way to Glacier N.P. in northern Montana. I'm riding back through northern Washington and the North Cacades in time to get on my flight to Paris on July 27th.
Its been a good ride, but rather hot. Well over 100 degress for 4 days in washington. Many more stories, but not enough time. More to come.......
Steve
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tim coughlin
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you crazy bitch
del fav....you are a nut job! but i'm impressed none the less!!!