I spent most of the morning with Jon and Christian sitting in the Twin Bridges general store, leeching off their WiFi and eating multiple $2.50 breakfast burritos. Both the WiFi and burritos were good, so we got a late start. I sprinted ahead, and besides encountering them again at a bar waiting out some minor showers, I didn't see them again all day.
The traffic grew noticeably heavier and more bike-oblivious as I approached Virginia City. Upon arrival, I discovered that Virginia City is a preserved wild-west style tourist trap, situated on the western approach to Yellowstone. This explained the traffic. I talked to a guy with a Wayne-and-Garth vibe who carried a guitar around and seemed to be excited to see a guy on a bike. I realized this guy was probably another cyclist's weed hookup, and let him know that I wasn't the guy he wanted. With nothing but tourist trinkets and weed to keep me there, I left to attack the climb between there and Ennis.
The climb was pretty standard, slowly grinding away in the shoulder while getting buffeted by the wakes of passing RVs. The view at the top, however, was like nothing I'd seen. The climb put me on about the same level as some building thunderclouds above Madison Valley and Ennis, and I spent a good half hour just sitting and watching them drift by before launching myself downhill at 40+ mph. In a reversal of the usual situation, I actually had to slow down behind a truck full of logs.
I made it to Ennis on the residual adrenaline, and headed straight to the local distillery on a tip I had received from a westbound cyclist. I camped for free in their bread-scented yard, set up my tarp against their building to brace for thundershowers, and left to find dinner. I found the Silver Dollar Saloon, probably one of several hundred with that name, which was empty besides the bartender and one patron. The patron explained that she had to work tomorrow and shouldn't be there. She also stayed for at least another hour. The woman behind the bar seemed pretty happy to have me there, and started handing me free drinks. We talked about being atheist and feminist (or feminist-supportive) in a place like this, and she became my guide to local life over the next few hours.
First, a very happy couple came in and claimed that "mama" had cut them off while drinking nearby. They played video poker while the bartender explained that Mama was a tough old broad and her role model. The couple left, we talked about the Orlando shootings and how the bartender had dyed her hair pink in response, and then Mama showed up. I shared the happy couple's accusation and, like a good journalist, got Mama's side of the story. Apparently, one member of the happy couple had spilled a few drinks and refused to drink from a sippy cup, so she stopped serving him. Mama said I was a lot better than the bartender's last boyfriend, then left. I got more free drinks, and we talked about the bartender's past as an exotic dancer and biology student. The next guest was Lou, a small woman in her 70s and the bartender's other role model. She had a very annoying habit of working up to what seemed like a profound point, and just before making it, stopping to look at me knowingly instead of revealing whatever it was she was building up to. She almost told me about how the youth and new technology were destroying this country and I almost gave some interesting counterarguments. Satisfied with our conversation, she left. I have no idea what was communicated.
Finally, a very small, very low-key bachelor's party came in to play pool. From the bartender's reaction, this was the worst possible thing to happen at the end of a night. I didn't mind, because the longer this bar was open, the longer I got to avoid the thunderstorm that had let loose with rain and hail outside. I offered to help close up, but got more free drinks instead. I didn't even get to pay for the drinks I had initially ordered. She also offered me a ride home, and insisted even after I explained that I was camping behind the distillery about one block away. Bemused, I accepted. She drove me one block, took twice that amount of time to convince herself that yes, I really was sleeping underneath that tarp over there in the rain, and then drove away. And then drove back, offering me blankets or something to help keep me warm. I assured her that the offer was very kind, but I would be just fine. I slept to the sound of rain bouncing off my tarp amidst rolling thunder.
Here's an attempt to capture the view from the hill before Ennis - it doesn't do it justice, but I can't talk about how great it was without at least trying to give an example:
Here's my very comfortable campsite, braced for wind, that the bartender couldn't believe I was actually sleeping in:
Finally, here's a little brook I liked on the way to Virginia City:
No comments:
Post a Comment