| Author | Message | ||
     Rek |
I've tried to post these pictures three times this morning and keep coming up w/ empty screens. This time I'll try them one at a time. Montana Hwy 200. 9:00 AM, 36 degrees and nine miles to the first curve, a 1/2 mile sweeper followed by six more miles of straight.  | ||
| Rek |
75 miles later I arrive at the show.  | ||
| Rek |
This mother/daughter shoeshine team accosted me on the first lap for a "free" boot shine.  | ||
| Rek |
I sit down and the daughter says, "wait a minute, these boots go all the way to your knees! (MX boots)  | ||
| Rek |
Mom says, "That's okay honey. You want me to do your leathers while I'm down here? The crotch looks like it could use a little work."  | ||
| Rek |
I turn the corner and stumble onto this. A 180hp VRod built by Rough Rider HD/Buell in Mandan ND.  | ||
| Rek |
I sign up for the poker run and the guys at the table convince me to enter the S3T in the sport class. I took 2nd out of 3 entries.  This funky-chicken radical custom was just down the line from my bike. Notice the Buell forks, engine, and front and rear rotors?  | ||
| Rek |
This bad boy won the radical custom division.  Watching this bike leave the parking lot was too funny. Once they finally got it started the builder (A big ol'bad-azz biker boy)sputter out into the road w/ his knees hitting the handle bars every time he moved.  | ||
| Rek |
I thought this one should've won something, but it didn't.  And this one is a brand I've never heard of and the model is Montana.  | ||
| Rek |
I had a lot of fun, met a couple of guys from Miles City who ride Buells, so now I'm not the only one in MT anyymore. A local rider sent me to Makoshika State park and I finally got to ride on some true-blue twisties (yee-frick'n-haw). Sorry I didn't get any pictures of that, but you know how it is when you've got a death-grip on the handlebars and your camera is in the fairing bag... Rob | ||
| 12bolt |
Great pics Rek! Love the story about the shoe shiners! | ||
| Rek |
Those gals were pretty fun, cutting up and drinking these funky double shot glasses of two different kinds of booze. They made enough money on tips to stay about half-tuned all day. They're talking Sturgis next...make the big bucks. LOL. Rob | ||
| Tbear |
Hey Rek, Glad ya finally found some twisties.  I think I would have needed to use the Snooze Alarm on those roads.  Really Great to see your bike in the show ! Love to see real "Riders" instead of all the un-rideable customs and the "Trailer Queens". Now just give me a chance at that V-Rod and THAT would be an incredible ride for sure. If ya ever get down here to Colorado we could show you your fill of twisties and put some wear on the side walls. Keep the rubber side down, T-Bear | ||
| Rek |
A "qualifier" before I begin my latest tale. You do know the difference between a Fairy Tale and a Biker story, don't you? A Fairy Tale begins, "once upon a time..." Oh nevermind, you'll see what I mean. So the other day my buddy Pat gives me a call. I know it's him even before my wife hands over the phone. She's got that look. The look that says "it's your worthless no-good friend." She doesn't think much of Pat. He's a divorced, forty-something single father who fancies himself something of a Casanova and rides an 1100cc Honda quasi-cruiser. Pat can be rather condensending to women, especially if he thinks he might get laid, and the vibes he sends off put my wife on full-alert. Pat's like, "Dude, you gotta help me man. I'm in one helluva bind and you gotta come bail me out." "What's going on?" I ask all innocent, even though I know just by the tone of his voice it can't be good. Turns out Pat has cornered what he considers to be an absolute too-hot cutie down at the local watering hole. He's been plying and trying to convince this young lady that the best thing that could ever happpen would be for her to go for a ride with him on his fancy motorsickle. The only problem, she's got a friend and won't leave the bar without her. (insert explaination for the young, dumb and full of that substance produced by too much testosterone; single women always travel in pairs for their own protection) Pat begs me to come down and give the friend a ride so that he can continue his pursuit of the other. I hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, mostly to agravate Pat, then finally consented. My wife rolled her eyes at the story and pointed out that if I wasn't back by nine there'd be a whole lot more trouble than just missing supper. Meanwhile down at the bar, Pat's lubing his new sweetie for a booze'n cruise while I take the young lady assigned to my bike aside and show her how to roll a pair of ear plugs and fit the helmet correctly. Soon enough we're good to go and I ask Pat where he thinks this circus is headed. He suggests a bomber route that essentially provides a straight line shot to the next town and back again. "Aint happening," I tell him. "You just hang on and follow me." You've got to remember this is eastern Montana and curves in the road are about as common sneakers on a snake. I do however, have a couple of fun little rides up my sleeve, and one of them started just a few short miles away. It's a series of 90 degree turns conected by short straight-a-ways that meander twenty-odd miles in a northwest oblique from the little town of Cartwright, ND to Williston. You won't find it on a map and only a few years ago it was gravel. Most of the locals don't even know it exist. It's called McKenzie County Road 16 and is a favorite of truckers doging the scale in Trenton. Keep that in mind. Anyway we're cruising right along, really blasting through those ninties. I get to feeling a little froggy, maybe even showing off a bit for my passenger, and I bump the throttle up to 80 mph for a set of three connected corners I know pretty well. The exibition of speed appears to work as the young lady clutches me tighter and I can actually feel her suck in her breath on the second turn in the series. All of a sudden there's a loaded grain truck coming around the third corner and his tag-axels are drifting a good foot across the center line. I lightly touch the brake and re-adjust mid-turn and we miss him by at least two or three feet and continue on as if life were good, which it was. A couple miles down the road though I can still feel my pasenger shaking, and a little after that she begins to tap my shoulder in a frantic sort of way. I can't realy turn around and see what's going on with her, but in the mirror I see her eyes wide as saucers. So I pull off at the next approach, which happens to be a ranch access into some farmer's pasture. Willa (for that's the young lady's name) hops before I've even shut off the motor and hobbles toward the wire gate like some kind of stick figure contortion. I'm thinking, "good Lord woman, riding a bike don't hurt that bad." Then I notice the large dark stain extending from her hip pockets all the way down to her knees and I realize she's gone and wet her pants. Poor kid. I almost suffocated myself laughing before I could get my helmet pulled off, and by this time poor Willa's in tears. Not the quiet "I feel so sorry for myself" kind of tears either, but great big gulping sobs. She gathered quite an audience during the process, at least ten or fifteen Angus cows wandered over from the stocktank to have a look at what was going on. By the time I'd gotten off the bike she'd settled down looked a little sheepish. We put our heads togather and decided the best option would be for her to climb on in the stocktank, jeans and all and rinse the offending urine out of her britches. So I held her shoes and sock and fended off the cows while Willa submerged herself in the lukewarm water. The next thing I know Willa is handing me her sodden blue jeans and asking me to wring them out for her. Up to this point it's all fun and games and I'm actually getting a kick out of the whole situation. But if my wife gets wind of the fact that I'm out here cavorting with single young women in sopping wet underpants it's all over. And believe you me, in a town this small she'll probabley know before I get home. Anyway, long story short, Willa decides she can't wear her wet jeans for whatever reason, and now I'm really starting to panic. If I show back up at the bar toting a young girl wearing nothing but a pair of panties I'm liable to wind up 6' under, cause my wife aint gonna put up with none of that nonsense. I put the ol' brain into double over-time and finally hit a solution. Not a horribly good, one mind you, but you do with what you've got in the situation. I dug my old leather work chaps out of the saddle bag and stripped off my T-shirt and just wore my leather jacket. Willa wrapped the shirt around her like some kind'a funky hippy skirt and put the chaps on over that. Right about then my buddy Pat cruises by doing a studly 40 mph and doesn't even see us. So we tie Willa's jeans on the back and take off after them. Believe it or not I did tell my wife what happened, and all it did was reconfirm her belief that my buddy Pat is persona non grata in our houehold. Poor guy, no matter what I said she didn't beleive he had nothing to do with it. So just remember, ride smart, ride safe and for God's sake always pack an extra set of leathers! Rob } (Message edited by rek on July 26, 2005) | ||
| Spudman |
Rek, Wow what a great story! Thanks for sharing that adventure, your oratory wit is superb. My wife would not have be so understanding of the situation. But where are the pictures of your leather clad passenger? | ||
| Rek |
But where are the pictures of your leather clad passenger? What, you want me to be in divorce court next week?  Seriously I should pack a camera w/ me more often. That would've made for a cute set of pictures. She is a very sweet girl and was horribly embarassed by the whole situation. notice my little pun?) Rob | ||
| Rek |
I'll admit that I sometimes get to feeling a little sorry for myself. Being stuck out here in the boonies a million miles from all the fun stuff I see happening on the web get my feel-bads all sticking out and i ffind myself mopeing around like a little kid sometimes. Then I remember that I actually get to take a trip on my S3 nearly every single week of the summer, most of the time it's 1,200-1,500 miles at a whack through all sorts of country. The following is the first inspection tour I've packed the camera along and just a typical sample of my weekly rides. 7:00 Monday morning, all packed and ready to head for Big Sandy, MT where I've got 5 farms to inspect. I've got my laptop on the back, my clothes and coffee making supplies in the saddlebags and the paper work is in the tank bag.  Top of the rise a couple hundred yards down the road from my house. The thriving metropolis of Lambert lurks 2.5 miles in the distance. Total business infrastructure consists of one bar, one post office, a grain elevator, a mechanic shop and the museum and Sr. Citizens center. My wife tells me that photos w/out a person in the frame are useless, so I’ve included my silhouette ala Evelyn Cameron (a famous historic Montana photographer).  Welcome to Enid Montana, eleven miles west of Lambert. Once a serious contender for the Richland County seat (circa 1918) w/ 1,100 residents, the usual array of businesses and two grain elevators.  Now-a-days the total population consists of one, Alan Grow, a 93 year-old Norwegian bachelor. Alan fills the duties of town council, mayor, chief of sanitation, Enid et al in a hillbilly layout that includes his family’s abandon general store.  The only other structures remaining are the old school and the concrete vault left over after the bank burned down.  | ||
| Rek |
I cruise west down Montana Hwy 200 and 25 miles later we come to the next little town, Richy, pop. 500. This photo is a veiw of Main street looking north from the highway.  57 miles west of Lambert I get sticker-shock when I buy gas in Circle Montana.  ~20 miles west of Circle the landscape transitions from farmland to prairie. Can you spot why this scene is noteworthy? I mean other than the herd of antelope off in the distance. How about this; the photo was taken on August 23, 2005 and the grass is still green! A typical year sees the native grass stands dormant and brown by the end of June, so what’s up w/ that? 14”of rain from the 2nd week of May through the end of July will do it. Our annual average is 12”.  My favorite section of Hwy 200, where the short-grass prairie begins its transition to badlands. The road becomes more interesting at this point as well, as it curves and climbs along the natural contours of the landscape and hills.  This bar is a local institution in Jordan Montana (90 miles west of Lambert). Betty, the owner, is remarkable as a bartender for never forgetting a drink. I only make it in there once or twice a year and w/out fail she has my favorite brand opened and on the bar before I’ve taken a seat. Jordan gained a certain notoriety a few years back w/ some Johnny-come-lately residents decided to take on the ATF, IRS and several other federal agencies in a multi-day armed standoff. They lost of course, but the intervening influx of national news organizations and LEO’s resulted in a mini economic boom of sorts for this remote community that has some residents wondering if they shouldn’t stage another quasi-coupe just to jump-start their economy once again.  | ||
| Rek |
I took this picture 15-20 miles west of Jordan, where a lonely gravel road heads off to the north. This sign is typical of many areas in Montana, where the 4H kids post markers at the head of the gravel roads, detailing the distance and direction of their homes.  This old sod-roofed bunkhouse is alleged to be the oldest ranch in Montana, established by Texas cattlemen in the 1830’s  I’m cruising along one of my favorite sections of Hwy 200, where the badlands gain 3-400’ of elevation and the road winds sinuously through fragrant lodge pole pines. Suddenly up ahead this appears. I’m like, “WTF?”  I haven’t been this way since the previous September, but it didn’t exist then. I draw a little closer and realize it’s a fancy-smancy tourist oriented rest stop. Oh my God. What’s this world coming to? Jordan is 50-odd miles behind us, Lewistown 90 or more miles ahead. (Message edited by rek on August 26, 2005) | ||
| Rek |
The facility comes complete w/ eight individual fully automatic restrooms (4 men, 4 women).  handicap accessible covered picnic areas and a designated doggy-doo area.  Doggy-doo area? For crying out loud, this is Montana. We have fifty bazillion acres of wide open space, especially created by the Almighty just for doggies to doo in, and they have to spend tax-payer dollars on this crap? (pun intended) What’s next? Winnebago friendly highways? Regularly maintained secondary roads? Increased LEO and EMS service? Trash pick-up and streetlights. (Cue music) “It’s the end of the world as we know it…” It might be time to move to Oz.  While I'm lamenting this abomination of tax-payer dollars a friendly couple from Washington comes by to ask for directions from one of the "locals".  (Message edited by rek on August 26, 2005) | ||
| Rek |
Winnet Montana. If you didn’t get fuel in Jordan (60-odd miles east) you’ll definitely need it now, although be warned there’s no premium and the $2.75 regular is 85.5 octane.  The character of Hwy 200 alters dramatically after crossing Hwy 87, most notable is the increase in traffic. The previous 200 miles I met less than a dozen vehicles and now suddenly there’s a dozen in a single column speeding towards me in a space of less than a mile. This is the first view of the Little Belt Mountains just east of Lewistown. Isn’t there a song about this? Purple mountains majesty ‘or amber waves of grain, or some such nonsense. It’s just another sh*ty day in paradise here on the northern plains.  and looking back to the east from the same spot  13:00 hours, boy these photo opportunities sure cut into your travel time. I should’ve been this far by 11:00. Time for a caffeine fix in the form of my personal favorite, a double-shot in the dark (two shots of espresso in a 12 oz cup, topped off w/ regular coffee and just enough half & half to change the color) and a sandwich. Yum Yum. Stop by Crabtree Coffee in Lewistown and say hi to Cindy, she’s a real cute-heart and makes a killer roast-beast sandwich. Followed by a view of downtown Lewistown from the west. Real antiques down there, nearly every building erected before the turn of the century.   | ||
| Rek |
Eddie’s Corner, a local landmark for more than 50 years. The obligatory bar and casino, mediocre food, tiny motel rooms and the cheapest gas for 20 miles in any direction (i.e. the only gas for twenty miles in any direction).  I turned off Hwy 200 and headed north on Hwy 80 at Stanford MT. I'd gone less than 20 miles and was just dropping down into the breaks where the roads starts to get a few curves, and was having some fun! Then this sign suddenly appears.  I drop 'er back to about 60 mph because you never know what to expect on these back country highways. I thought it might be something like this.  You know, one of those "rough" patching jobs. Or even something like this.  Which is not entirely unreasonable given the heavy grain trucks that ply these ways. Even something like this would not have been unexpected.  But what I encountered nearly took me down! Like I said we'd slowed 'er down to about 60 when the pavement just ended. the pavement restrated and I grabbed some more brake and was seriously slowing down when it ended yet again. The front wheel skidded, I squirted a few twinkies out the backside and finally recovered enough to ride it out.  | ||
| Rek |
The next stop was Square Butte. The old stomping grounds of C.M. Russell (Charlie to us Montanans)before he became famouse.  A lot of the rim rocks and buttes in area appear in his paintings. If you ever get to Great Falls his gallery and old home place are a must-see. Fort Benton, MT was my next stop. At one time Fort Benton was the end of the line for points west, the terminus of the Missouri River steam boat traffic and jumping off point for all trade west of there.  The teepees across the way can be rented for a paltry sum and provide a less than stellar “native” experience, including hot/cold running water and electricity.  But the Union Hotel provides a much more comfortable experience (Est. 1832)  Good ol’ shep. The plaque tells one story, a couple hundred yards west the museum tells quite another.  To the effect that the dog actually belonged to the stationmaster and had never seen a sheep, let along a shepherd. Who do you believe? The city fathers of course, it has to be true if they spent all that money on a statue, doesn’t it? | ||
| Rek |
Day one of the actual inspection tour. 6:00 am, looking to the west. Tell me, ominous or threatening? Ominous I decide and leave the raingear home. Turns out to be a reasonable decision, no rain that day.  Dinner that night at Pep’s Bar, Big Sandy MT. An original “New Brunswick” bar-back. Transported up the Missouri River in 1860, then 50 miles overland to Big Sandy. The lady running the place told me she bought the bar several years ago, and then sold ½ of the metal ceiling tiles to some tourist from California. Made enough money to pay for the bar. Sweet. Notice the mahogany bar and white maple scrollwork.   Ominous or threatening? Day two of the inspections and it rained all night. Not good for someone who’s facing 32 miles of gravel first thing in the morning. Again, I opt for the superior qualities of leather (even if it is wet) and leave the raingear in my room. Silly-silly me.  | ||
| Rek |
The end result of threatening versus ominous. Notice the mud packed around my rear sprocket. A true testament to the durability of the new Uly belts. The rear sprocket was so packed w/ mud and gravel the belt was as tight as a banjo string. I couldn’t get a centimeter of deflection, and yet it didn’t break or even deform! Wowser.   I headed home Thursday night and stopped off in Hobson to visit an old friend and have dinner at one of the efinest resturants I've ever dined in. Outstanding cusine, excellent wine list and a better than average staff. Not bad for the boonies, eh?  And a view of the namesake hanging on the wall.  and then on Friday morning I got up early and bombed for home. I hope you liked the report. Rob | ||
| Dave |
Excellent report and pictures! DAve | ||
| Henrik |
Very nice report, Rob. Thanks for taking the time and posting. Henrik | ||
| Pdxs3t |
Very nice, THANK YOU! | ||
| Blake |
Very nice! Thanks for sharing Rek!  | ||
| Captpete |
First time I've logged on in a while, so I'm a little late catching this. Great narrative, Rek! Keep writing!!! Capt. Pete | ||
| Thansesxb9rs |
Rob, Eddies Corner is a landmark when heading to Billings, and I always seemed to need gas when I was there. Great stuff, miss the old state. | ||
| Buellgrrrl |
Thanks Rob- I've crossed Montana on the High Line and Low Line, but next time I'm takin' 200! |
