invasion of america - day who cares....

Lewiston, Idaho - Butte, Montana
354 miles
42 degrees standing still... 10 degrees moving along
Skies filled with smoke and ash. The sun is a funky black-red color behind the dark-smokey clouds on the horizon.

A River Needs No Man.

Mike and I headed out around 7 in the morning as we were told that we would need to be in Butte, Montana by 3 for a radio show. I called the station before we left to make sure that they knew we would be on bikes and might not make it before 4. They were cool with it and we took off. I know we have enough time even if we went really, really slow, but I don't want to have to concern myself with it. That and we lose an hour in the time change. Highway 12, as it travels through Idaho, is very curvy and dangerous. It's hard on even the most seasoned drivers in the most ideal conditions. It leaves Lewiston and for the next 170 miles will only straighten out for less than a tenth of a mile at any one time. It skirts the edge of a beautiful glassy river that cuts through a towering moutain range on either side of it. It's basically a huge canyon with walls over 400 feet high and with little variation in drop. It's straight down - both below you and above you. The distance that the wilderness allows for traffic to flow through it between the river and the canyon sides is very, very thin. It's barely enough room for a trailer truck and a small car to pass each other and narrowly escape touching. Mike and I took that pass at 80 miles per hour most of the way and we rode pretty reckless for people trying to take their time. We could have been safer, but that canyon - it was just ideal for riding a motorcycle. Every rider lives for curves, especially the ones where the odds are against you making it out the other side.

In hind sight, it was probably not the best place for ripping around corners so fast. BUT, it wasn't totally are fault. We really didn't want to miss the radio show. Well, Mike didn't want to miss the show - it would be his first "radio" show and if there is one thing that can be said about Mike, Mike loves Mike. For me, I would love comedy more if I didn't have to do radio shows. They suck as a general rule and they can be pretty painful. The radio DJ's think they're funny and they're not. They don't give you any REAL time to get your message across and your left feeling pretty empty inside. A lot like a one-night stand when you're drunk. Coulda been, shoulda been - but it wasn't.

The other reason that it was such a bad idea was that the weather was very shitty. It was really cold even when weren't riding and I don't really have the best cold weather riding gear. It was just cold, cold, cold. Perhaps it's a good thing that this problem showed up now and not later when I got into a position where it really got bad.

We pulled into a lodge at the top of Lolo pass and had a quick cup of coffee and a brief downloading session of what we had just ridden through. Both of us agreed that riding Lolo is what made this whole trip worthwhile.

The rest of the ride was downhill and we were close to 100 mph cutting up the sides of that mountain pass. Miraculously, the weather improved for the better and it made the ride a bit more tolerable. The high speed curves were a bad choice. (Honest moment number one - No helmets....)

It was 2 when we got into Missoula and I called the radio station only to find out that the radio station no longer does interviews with the comics and that there is no reason to rush at all. ANYONE! ANYONE could have told us this at several different moments during the day. NOT ONE person involved in this matter, did. We killed ourselves getting to Montana and passed up a lot of great "stops" only to find out that the booker - David Tribble of Tribble Run comedd - had fucked us. He didn't want to tell us because he just wanted us to get there. He felt that if he had told us, we might have taken our time and missed the show. He's a notorious Fuck, so I'm not surprised.

We pulled into Butte at 5 and went our seperate ways. Mike and I touched base briefly before the show, and again briefly afterwards, but basically our goodbye was a casual, "see you at the show" and another, "good working with you" and that was it. When I woke up on Friday, he was gone. No hugs. No words of widsom.

So many things to learn along the way and so many things to remember. Today is the first real solo day and it's everything I wanted it to be. It's pretty emotional all the way around. It could be because Mike's gone or because the four people that said they were coming out to see me over the past three days - didn't. Or it could be that I fear not being prepared for this (both flashbacks of a time earlier this summer)

I am headed to Billings from here. Then hopefully, to Glendive, Montana before it gets too cold. There are fires everywhere in Montana and the sky is thick with smoke. This is driving the temps down and it also means that I can't have a campfire if I camp out like planned, so I need to think of alternatives pretty darn quick.

OH YEAH... Originally I meant to write about the relative nature of man and river. To show that though everyone associates themselves nogstalically with a particular river, no river associates itself with one particular man. To each man there is a river. To each river there is but one goal and no man can stop that purpose. (That sort of thing)

Anyway... It was a good thought but it was ripped out of my head by the ten degree wind chill. I'll try to be cleaver next time.