Hog Log; 8/19 and 8/20:

When I left Minot, ND at 9am it was a beautiful sunny morning ... a bit chilly but blue sky and the sun shone down. I brought my saddlebags out, took the cover off the bike, folded & packed it to strap on the back, and drove around to the entrance to load the large heavy backpacks on. Once secure, helmet on ... gloves & glasses on ... and I was off. Cruising at 65mph west on Hwy 2, 70 miles out of Minot, all was right with the world ... until I had this horrible, sinking feeling that I couldn't remember loading the saddlebags. I pulled over at the the rest stop 2 miles down the road, jumped off the bike and tore open the saddlebag cover ... nothing. My heart sank. Opened the other side ... again, nothing. I rummaged through the large pack trying to find the paper I'd written the motel's number on. Found it and opened my cell phone ... no service! Damn Sprint! Then I noticed that there was a pay phone in the rest stop. I called the motel, the whole time wondering what I was going to do with no computer and no toiletries. But the clerk said that I guest had been waiting in the parking lot for her husband to check out and had found the bags sitting on the curb in the grass ... right where I'd left them when I pulled the cover off and packed it. Thank God for honest people. Of course, I still had to drive the 70 miles back to Minot and then another 70 to get back where I was. About 4 hours lost. Still, it was a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky. The temperature had risen considerably too. The road was good and there was hardly any other traffic on the road. And the North Dakota scenery began to get more interesting as I neared the Montana border. There were actually hills now where before the landscape was dead flat! From the moment I entered Montana I knew I'd like it. Immediately you can see why they call it Big Sky Country. The vistas are stunning ... no pollution and it seems like you can see forever. The landscape reminded me a lot of Northern California ... just bigger. Hwy 2 passes through several Native American reservations and in most of the small towns I passed through, the faces were Native American. Mostly Sioux tribes. I was 20 miles away from Glasgow, MT and about 100 miles away from my final destination of Havre, MT, cruising at 70mph, when disaster struck .... my rear tire blew. Without reliving the gruesome details, I wound up in a ditch by the side of the road but with no injuries to myself or the Harley. Still I had to lift the Harley upright -- no mean feat for one man with this 700lb+ Hog -- and get it up the grass embankment -- an impossible feat for one man. I did manage to lift it upright and climbed on. It started so I drove it up the embankment, flat tire and all, and parked it on the very narrow shoulder with the hazard lights on. I got out my address book to get the # for Roadside Assistance, pulled out my cell phone ... no service! Damn Sprint again! I called 911 and told the woman what happened and where I was. Where I was, was nowhere! Any direction you looked, nothing but fields and hills. No houses, no livestock ... nothing. She said she'd call the number for me and call me back to let me know. 30 minutes later I was still there and no calls. Also no other traffic. I began to get a bit worried when a young woman stopped .. Gwen, bless her heart. She was the first of many good Samaritans who showed up to offer help once they found out I was there. Some were Harley riders, some were not. They couldn't understand why I was so surprised that everyone was so willing to help. That's what people do, they said. They've obviously never been to DC. I was overwhelmed. They soon had me hooked up with my Roadside assistance, who sent a local driver to pick me up with a flatbed trailer and drive me to the nearest Harley dealer, over 500 miles away. Gwen and her husband Dean were disappointed that they couldn't feed me a home-cooked meal and put me up in their guest room. Not only Big Sky in Montana but Big Hearts as well. I would never wish a blowout on a motorcycle on anyone, but if you must have a breakdown, have it in Northern Montana. Harold, the 65 yr-old driver, delivered me to a motel in Great Falls, MT and insisted on sleeping in the truck where he could keep an eye on my Harley until we delivered it to the dealer this morning. The people at the Great Falls dealership were just as nice as everyone else I've met here and they had me repaired and back on the road in no time. I'll remember these people and this place.

Tomorrow I head south, toward Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons!

More later....