“A great blue heron!”
“My dad says they’re good luck.”
Indeed, we did have pretty good luck. Riding without a bike pump, we were tempting fate. But there were no flats on our four-hour ride to Clinton and back.
Sarah and I originally had planned a longer bike ride to Alberton on Adventure Saturday, which would have put us at 65 miles for the day. But the weather forecast predicted hot temperatures, so we set our sights on Clinton. No, not that Clinton—the town of Clinton, MT, about 20 miles east of Missoula.
We met at 9am at our office and started heading east. Our first short stop was so I could view what I had been calling “the gay wedding altar,” which ended up actually being a memorial to two teen girls killed in 2009. (Oops. My bad.) It was easily the most extensive roadside memorial I’d ever seen, with a cement patio, two benches, a decorative street lamp, pink petunias, metal artwork, and a large stone pulpit with their photos and story. After leaving Bonner/Milltown, we rode the adjacent multi-use path for a few miles, but then got back on the road until we got to Clinton. In Clinton, we hitched our iron steeds to the horse hitching post and visited the local market for refreshments.
This was the first time I got a close look at the unusual billboard outside Clinton, advertising their annual Testicle Festival. Another first: riding on a two-lane road with no shoulder that had a really high speed limit. Because there wasn’t much traffic I often found myself riding beside Sarah so we could chat as we rode. Gabbing away, just as I noticed an approaching car behind us I would try to fall back and—too late, they had already passed. The cars were going too fast for me to do onesie formation. I guess this is why people wear eyeglass mirrors. Fortunately since there was barely any traffic, all the cars passed us in the other lane, and only one gave a honk. Not even an aggressive honk. Maybe this rural road riding doesn’t have to be so bad after all.
The day brought a couple other discoveries. First: my sunscreen has been really useful this summer. How do I know? In my morning rush I hadn’t put it on, and I don’t tend to stop for such silly trifles on the road. Back at home I discovered my face was rather pink, my tan arms stung, and a clear line dividing cherry and porcelain skin was visible on my lower thighs.
The second discovery? Look at the photos: I thought the blue wicking shirt, being looser than a regular jersey, would be more flattering on my body. Nope! This is why being Lycra Grrl is kind of a big deal: as a person who does not have what people think of as a cyclists’ body, form-fitting clothes are scary. Sarah was wearing a skinsuit, and we talked a little about the Sweetpea Ladies’ Auxillary skinsuit. Her thoughts: Want it so much! But it’s so expensive. My thoughts: Uh, not even an option. Can’t even pull off lycra in a two-piece format!
Once we were approaching Missoula, Sarah suggested we race back to the office before the Saturday greeters closed up shop. Then we could get immortalized on the wall for our big tour. Paul and Tom had already locked the door, but they let us in anyway and shot our photo before heading out. Rather than partake of the free ice cream at the office we headed over to the Big Dipper on the other side of the river, where a helpful mother volunteered to memorialize our post-ride gluttony.