Day One - Bozeman to Salmon Lake

I get pretty excited before big trips.  Excited enough that I have a hard time sleeping, and my paranoia gets the better of me.  The night before we we’re set to leave, I spent an hour carefully selecting tools to bring along, noting which ones could double as levers and drifts in the event that I needed to change a wheel bearing or rebuild a transmission on the side of the road.  Of course, you never end up needing the tools you bring.

Our original plan was to leave early Saturday morning.  I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to sleep much Friday night, and it would probably be best to just get going after work on Friday and sleep off the excitement in a tent.  I “pulled the plug” on work around 3:00, and when Kait came back from work around 4:30, the BMW was packed and ready to roll.  A few quick checks and some high-fives, and we rolled out of our driveway.

A quick 150 miles later and we found ourselves at the Salmon Creek campground just south of Seely Lake.  Unfortunately all the regular campsites we’re taken, and all the bigger RV spots we’re reserved.  I don’t believe in “reserving” campsites.  The concept of camping to me is ease and simplicity.  Making reservations seems like it defeats the purpose.  I suppose if your looking for a place to park your 50 foot land yacht, it probably makes sense.

We asked the park ranger about just pitching our small camp on some flat patch somewhere and he kindly found us a reserved spot that would be open until 1:00pm the next day.  Jackpot.

Some boil-in-a-bag Pad Thai and hostess pies and we crashed rather quickly in our tent and slept like logs.  This was our last night in the United States for some time.  Tomorrow we’d be sleeping in Alberta.

Kait’s been talking about riding since I met her.  For any early birthday present, I decided to get her the gift of an MSF class.  Two days spent sweating on the pavement and listening to instructors ramble on?  Yes, I’m just a born romantic.

Here is the end result.  Kait rides motorcycles far better than I did when I started out;  clearly the MSF course teaches brand new riders the good stuff.  To those of you guys out there with ladies who want to ride,  be a man.  Don’t try to teach her in a parking lot somewhere with your tricked out gixxer.  Spend 175$ and have someone else teach her the right way, while you watch the MotoGP races on the couch.

Just don’t be upset when she starts riding better than you.

And one day, spring simply came.  I’m not talking exclusively about weather.

Looking to the Crazies..

I found myself ill-prepared for it.  Excursions into the sport of hockey over the winter had essentially taken most of my free “fun” time.  Coupled with some other rather significant events, little time was to spare for the turning of wrenches and bolts.  My motorcycles sat un-winterized and un-loved.  The road grime from their last foray into the wild still clinging to the engine cases.

For the first time in my mechanized life, I didn’t stress over it.  No midnight scrambles to get oil changed, valves adjusted or bearings replaced.  I just rode.  For three weekends in a row.  Hours of trails, bumps, and tight technical turns.

The hockey skates are starting to collect some dust in the closet. I’ve got clumps of dirt on my garage floor.  The moto goggles are speckled with run-off mud, and my riding boots are baked with it as well.  Spring is here.