I awaken at the usual time, the CoB, but as I am waiting for a call at 1000 from a guy in the Pacific time zone I putz about a bit, and catch up on the Blog. Call takes 30 minutes, then I leisurely pack the bike and we depart at 1100ish. The first thing we notice is that it is very smoky, and perhaps a bit overcast and that is really keeping the temperature down to reasonable levels.

Bill says this (ominous foreshadowing) "Boy, I sure like how overcast it is!" I file that comment away for future reference.

We are still on highway 93, which was kind of a bummer as both Bill and I, both separately and together, have driven 93 numerous times. Yes, I know, it is a first world problem; wah, I have driven this highway on a motorcycle vacation too often. Nonetheless, there are few routes as convenient, or as spectacular, as The 93.

In one form or another The 93 starts in Nevada and ends in the Mountain Parks of Alberta, wending through Idaho and Montana along the way. It has too many varieties of scenery and road type to even begin to list. If you want to see all of what 'Merica can offer, drive The 93.

Today we are headed to Missoula, which involves crossing several mountain ranges. Sometimes the road snakes between two ranges, once it was a freshly paved and painted 2 lane divided lifted from the pages of a motorcycle magazine running through rolling hills. Other times it was extremely twisty in the heart of a range with 20 MPH switchbacks. A challenging road to say the least.

Although we were in the Sun for sometime, we always seem to find cloudy/hazy sections, and then a strong headwind started, blowing easy 30 MPH straight at us. One year coming home through Wyoming I had a 45 MPH headwind, as noted by the highway message boards. When we crossed into Montana I hoped the geography change would also change the wind. It did, it was now 55 MPH. It was like driving against a hard, form fitting piece of foam plastic.

30 MPH was better, but still challenging, especially when a semi would roar by in the opposite direction, him with a tailwind, and pushing a big bow wave of air in front. It would push me all over the road and make my head bounce up and down for 10 seconds.

Our luck with dodging the rain was still holding out. All day we be headed for an obvious rain curtain, then the road would turn at the last second. Our hopes were kept up with small clearing patches ahead, but by the time we got there they'd have been replaced with overcast. When the wind is blowing that hard, things change in a hurry!

Bill had put his rain suit on during a fuel stop some time ago, at that time just as another layer for warmth. I believe my cocky smart ass comment was: (ominous foreshadowing) I don't know why you are doing that, we'll be riding in the sun in 30 minutes.

We were about 150 kms from Missoula, in a steep twisty range when suddenly I noticed I was shivering violently, it was very cold out. I had activated the heated grips long ago, but had nothing for my torso. There wasn't really anywhere to pull over, no shoulders or rest stops, but we made do. I put on a long sleeve shirt I carry with my rain suit.

I also, 2 weeks ago, had unzippered and removed the gaiters of my gloves which then allowed cool air to flow up the sleeves of my jacket, refreshing ventilation in the desert. Today the extra airconditioning was not welcome. I was shivering so hard it was quite a challenge to manipulate the tiny zippers to rfe-attach the gaiters, it was also very dark out, despite only being 1645, so I was doing it by the light of my headlamps. Bill mentions it is 12 degrees.

Bill suggests I put on my rain suit, at least as another layer, but I refuse. We have missed the rain for the last 18 days, why would that change now? I do, however, put on my black leather dickie, which protects my throat and neck. We take off and in about 30 seconds are inundated with torrential rain.

Hard, Twacking Rain, sheets of it, blowing sideways, getting smacked into your face. It is running down both the outside and the inside of my visor, I cannot see anything. I slow us down to a crawl so I don't lead Bill off the road and down a cliff. I open my visor and futily wipe the inside with my soaked glove. It helps for about 15 seconds, then fogs up again. The only place I can see through it is where the water runs down through the fog.

For a very long time I navigate by staying 2 feet to the right of the centre yellow line, which I can see if I crack the visor open slightly and peer down to my left. I pray there is nothing in our lane or I misinterpret the direction the line is going. I can feel water running down my back, down my pants, into my shoes, collecting in the elbows of my jacket. It is cold rain, like Alberta rain, not like, say, Gulf of Mexico rain which is like being in a hot tub.

Eventually the rain abates enough that I san see a little better. The road also descends to a lower altitude, speed goes up but there is a new problem, there is water pooled several inches deep in each wheel rut, when you hit it there is considerable chance of aquaplaning. Also being at the bottom of that summit I am worried about flashflooding.

We come up on the town of Darby, MT having passed into the state at some point during the deluge. The first mo'tel has a bar & grill attached and a gas station across the street, but today the TriFecta is secondary, today it is First Shelter. The nice lady says she only has one room available due to a group of 4 rooms very recently booked.

As we are standing there dripping wet, the group of 4 shows up, but shows no pity for us. The front desk lady calls her friend who has cabins a mile away, confirms she has rooms and send us on our way. I had seen a Billboard advertising a Quality Inn in the next town of Hamilton, but Bill balks at the idea of continuing on.

As we are headed towards the cabins I see a dump called The Budget Inn and pull into it. There are 2 reasons for my madness; 1) it is within a stones throw of 3 Saloons, 2) a cabin is only going to have a small hot water tank. I need a full size mo'tel with a Military Grade and sized hot water tank for the shower I am going to need to thaw out!

The toothless front desk guy could not be more unsympathetic to our condition. He gives me the reg card to fill out, but my hand is a soaking wet meat claw. I childishly scrawl my name and what passes for a signature and hand it over with my ID and credit card. He gives it back and says I have to fill it out, I show him my claw and he backs down.

I ask him about wifi and he shrugs saying; just took over last week, don't know how anything works. I shrug too, until my basic human needs are met, email is pretty far down the list.

Some other guy wanders in looking for a room and mentions some witty remark about it raining outside and us getting wet. I resist the urge to unload both barrles of sarcasm on him as I am focussed on one thing; hot shower. So myoptic is my focus that when I get my key I leave Bill standing there and head straight to my room.

The toothless wonder has put us on the second floor, but I do not complain. I make the 4 trips it takes to load in to the room, then start removing layers of wet leather, denim and cotton. I was soaked through and through. Usually at this point I would turn on the AC, then go get DustBusters, but today I turn the heater on high.

I get in the shower and turn on the hot water as hot as I can stand, it takes me 5 minuters of warming up before I start shivering again, mild hypothermia! I stay in the shower turning the hot up and the cold off until there is no more hot water, prolly 30 minutes. Then I go out and sit in front of the heater under a blanket for 30 more.

I am reminded of something I used to do when I was a young boy. We never got driven to school like kids do these days, we walked, no matter what the weather. My Mom never even got her license so when Dad left for work, that was it. Some winter days when I would get home and be very cold (days before global warming) I would take a quilt, drape it all around me and sit on a furnace register!

I am back in the land of the living but tomorrow is another day. I push one of the beds closer to the heater and put the desk chair on the bed, leaning it against the heater, creating a rack of sorts. My schaps will dry themselves overnight, always do, but riding pants, shirt, socks and gaunchies all go on the drying rack in the warm airflow.

Bill and I go for dinner at a nearby Saloon where I have lovely Mussels, and a 18 oz New York steak, well earned BTW, plus numerous Tasy Adult Beverages, strictly for their medicinal values! When I return to my room it feels and smells like a CHinese laundry, hot and humid. The items on my drying rack need to be turned and adjusted, but they are coming along nicely.

I sleep the blissful sleep of eating over a pound of steak in one sitting, and wake up just before 0100. All of the items are dry, I now work on my gloves and shoes, which requires a modification to the drying rack but works out well. 4 hours later I wake briefly to check progress, turn and tune. By morning everything is bone dry, except my jacket, which is about 90% dry. My jacket takes a few minutes to become soaking wet, and if left on its own, days to dry.

I am thankful I am not starting out the new day wet!

Day Eighteen

Twin Falls, ID to Derby, MT

465 kms