Glacier National Park

Calgary. My first meal since "The Denise - Party Birthday Cake" - and its about time. My evil plan is to jump down to the USA about at Glacier Park. Food just doesn't interest me though. The city is friendly, the weather holding fine, and at least mentally the slope is nice and gentle.

Let's GO. Calgary is a big place. Heck, its really big, and the traffic just occupied my attention at 5:00 PM. Since my belly and tank are both full, and the change from Canadian "1" to Canadian "2" was a considerable improvement, I decide to motor with the traffic and head South. Not too far, there is a big old WWII bomber in the middle of a town. Heck it starts me getting all sentimental about my Dad again; until I stop and figure out it is just my poor memory of airplanes, that thing is a Lancaster, not what I was thinking. No, I won't tell you what I thought it was, my brother would laugh too loud. Yes, I figured it out by reading the sign. That hurts. Let's move on...

Now I know why I love this place... Just tooling along, thinking about, well you know, and here comes the legendary Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump . Its not really that expensive for a tourist trap, when you put in the perspective of the buffaloes that gave their all to make our older relatives happy and well-fed. {I won't bore you, but yes, this is another roll of expensive film through my expensive camera that turned out to be totally wrecked. Airplane, scenics, and the buffs. My fault, stone sober, and therein lies a lesson. We'll take it up later.} I had heard of the 'Jump, back when my reading tastes were eclectic, and never thought for a moment I would ever see it. Yes, you guessed it, I never did remember where it was, and just ran into it with the serendip as my guide. Go see it, on the way to somewhere else...

As you hit Fort Gavin MaCleod, you can choose between the 'real man' route down to Cardston, or hook a West out and down to Waterton, or your other choice is to stay on the big road "3" down to the US and Montana. Hang in there, you're not tired. The big road is where the Mounties would be anyway, so we keep on "2" to Cardston. Very nice choice. Not at all a problem, and traffic is light and courteous. The guy said Waterton Lake is great, but I just felt the Glacier was calling me.

When the Park of the Block Mountain

Banff is behind, the horizon opens up, the feel of the air hits the carb differently, and the memories are just as vivid as the view over the handlebars.

Remember the waterfalls, glaciers and Ferraris? They are there, but this is here.

You just can't stop looking at the power of that rock. What kind of square block jumps up from the earth like that?
What kind of erosion decides to build an edifice like that?

You guys who feel the geology move in your understanding do impress me, but I beg you: do NOT write and tell me how this happened... I need to carry the kink in my neck, and the awe in my head, just letting it be what it is.

I'm riding with my head turned to the right so long, I think the bike is out of alignment.

Motoring is smooth, light is gently fading. What's this? Now, all I need is an excuse to go on a rant about taking a leak on the continental divide. Those pages in my little book - where the Arctic Circle tried to influence my appreciation of the Continental Divide in the Northwest Territories even confuse me, so I will let you make up your own about this.

Not to work on you too hard, but isn't Hudson Bay hooked to the Atlantic somewhere over by Greenland? I'll run right home to Valpo and check.

As you can see, the shadows are getting longer. Moreover, my steady Southerly cruising has easily returned me to the land of days and nights again. Small blessings, but I'm regaining control of my circadian rhythm, finding fatigue when it is normal, and noticing a great change waking up refreshed at the morning. Sweet. I'll enjoy my rest tonight, it has been a long, fun-filled day....

Picking up the pace again. No traffic, chilly, and getting tired. Dark soon, precious little photography ..

Ergo, no scenery, no pictures, no guilt. Press on, full sail, and let the bears keep back from the big noise. How's that for mixing you up some metaphors?

As I speed along the macho highway, and pay attention to not missing the signs for Glacier, I get a sudden feeling of dizziness and disorientation. I know I'm tired, but this is something wrong. I start to fight vertigo as I slow down and wonder what the hell is happening to me. I don't need any medical emergency. I am on a really lonesome road and everything is getting fuzzy. We don't need no vertigo on this damn bike. I slow down even more, and stop. This is bad, since I'm closing my eyes and the world is wobbly as I kill the engine, shake my head and try to think. I pull up my helmet shield to get some air on my face, I take the helmet off and as I tilt my head back, I hear this little tinkle. It is the lens from the right side of my eyeglasses, falling from my neck-scarf down to my gas tank. I take the glasses off and my dizziness goes away within a second or two. No movement. It is seriously dark, and my headlight is pointing just about the opposite direction from the fuel tank, so I can't find the lens at all. I just shut everything off and think. This isn't too bad now. Forget about thinking, and just take the gloves off and feel around. No luck. I'm afraid of moving my feet, or even putting out the kick stand, at risk of smashing that lens. After a while, I put my headlamp back on and used my palm to reflect some light back toward me. There it is, right-hand side and about a foot in front of my boot. I put the bike on the stand and retrieve the lens, and just meditate at how the little things can go wrong and goof up your whole outlook on life.

Someday, you should try it. My vision is corrected about 85 diopters, and each and every one of them is pointed in random astigmatical directions. Having just one lens unbalances what little stability I have. When both eyes get treated the same, I just loose some resolution. When just one is corrected and the other is on its own, the old computerator just can't deal with it. Rats. I can easily snap the lens back into the steel rim, but I don't dare ride that way, it will blow off. Heck, Glacier can't be too far, lets just do it without any glasses at all. Think about luck though. I'm belting along in the wind (and maybe some vibration) and when the lens finally dropped tonight, it found its way into the gray-beard tangle held in place by Judy's scarf. I must live right.

I do have to moderate my speed. Sorry.

I poke along quite conservatively and find the Park hidden near Babb and St. Mary. No, I could not find a place to glue my glasses back together. Its at least 10:30 PM, and to my chagrin I have to pay $12.00 to sleep on a splintery picnic table. You can look it up, I wrote check #2043 to the US National Park Service on 13JUL96. Yes, the fatigue has just hit me, and with a nod to the already set-up neighbors in camp, I just stretch out for a moment before I set up the tent. No fire, no meal, no tequila. I just need to relax my back and loose this headache from straining my eyes. I look up at the stars to test my eyesight. Quite nice but with some light clouds coming in over the ridge. The next thing I know, the sun is coming up and I hear people talking. I've told you before, but here it happened again. All that clothing I have on (hiking boots, jeans, chaps, sweater, leather jacket, scarf, helmet and gloves) is completely 'broken-in' and comfortable. With the helmet on, you don't even need a pillow, and the face shield keeps the dew off your face. I slept like a baby and woke up refreshed.

The people just down the way had coffee going and invited me. I said 'In a minute' and went to wash up. As I shambled along, not quite awake yet, I was struck by how each and every little campsite I passed had normal looking people, who just said "Hello" or a small comment, but friendly. Now that is nice. Not to be petty, but there was not one Ferrari in sight. I suppose I was still carrying the awkward thump of the main street in Banff, but then too, this was the United States. I'm sure it wasn't completely deserved, but the pride did put a smile on my face. I'm sure too that that coffee was delicious, and the conversation with toast and jelly was top notch. During that social exchange, I learned that I had been observed lying down on the table, and one campsite inquired of the next " - 'Wonder if he's all right?" because I suddenly stopped moving around and hadn't taken off any of my gear. They actually thought about coming over to check, when all their fears were allayed as I started to snore. I went totally crimson when one little guy said "You know, your snoring is louder than when your bike makes noise..." I laughed so hard, I could have swatted him. Remember, dear reader, that when I came into camp I just let it idle in first gear, so the 1200 CCs were barely audible at all. Indeed. Hrmpfff.

I never did make camp. I hadn't seen any of Glacier Park yet, and I was eager to do so. I checked over the bike, and went stem to stern over every detail. Nothing wrong at all, I just felt like I had neglected the old horse a little. No leaks, not one fastener or fitting loose. I made sure. Then came the camera, too. I cleaned it up and packed it in my jacket, which made me notice the chill in the air again. With the necessities taken care of, I bade the folks from that camp 'So-Long' and putted quietly out the gate. Thinking back, the honor system and the $12 dollar check were just the appropriate thing for that night.

They called it the 'Saint Mary' Campsite. When you come in as I did, you cross a stream/river that connect the Lower (downstream) Saint Mary Lake, and the Saint Mary Lake proper. We're not up too high, like about 4,000 feet, but the thing is all that water doesn't go to the Atlantic OR the Pacific. This is breakfast conversation with my momentary neighbors. Nah, I have to stop and think back to the Triple Witching Drainage Sloper... . More later.

This is a wake-up to be thankful for in anybody's book, spiral bound or not. St. Mary's lake, peaceful enough to drink nourishment into your soul.

It is a chilly morning, but the prospects are good for a sunny warmth. Just a few yards, not even enough to get the engine fully warmed, we are given "Goose Island" - now I was prepared by one statement back at camp: "The most photographed place in the Park" so my humble effort here will be shamed by all the other images you will see.

Can I whine a little? You don't know how I long for my 4x5 Horseman view camera. I would happily lug the hundred pounds of gear, al told, to do justice to the little goose.

The setting is, admittedly, touristy in a WPA sort of way. The road is so well maintained it makes you think a small nick of pain about all that whining you do when you pay your taxes. There are huge old English looking double deckers, and some no doubt pricey saloons, again recalling London taxicabs, with well groomed and air-conditioned hairdos inside. But they keep their distance and know their place. I pull off the face shield and just use sunglasses, everyone is going slow, just like it ought to be. I don't know precisely if I'm in the US or Canada. I don't care. This park is done with such professional subtlety that if it is a cooperative effort, we have to send Thatcher a Thank-You card.

I was going to title this one "Twin Peaks with Twin Waterfalls" but as I studied the valley, I found several little cataracts. Two are in sight, but not really too obvious.

Now if I adjust my vantage, and screw down the thought process, you can see a couple of those same waterfalls, and one of the more flattering self-portraits of my shadow.

Look closer, I'll help, the same peak, the same waterfall is fed by a little stream up there, and supplemented by melt from lower down, to make the nice fall in the foreground. Not to belabor what you are well aware of, but this is July, and I'm sweating in the sun.

Bear with me here, we have gone just a matter of a minute, and look how that valley unfolds.

If I'm not mistaken, this was carved by long-gone glaciers, and it seems to have recovered nicely.

Does it hurt yet?
I'm blown away with the day, and it is only just morning.

I told you I was too warm. I found this one, and you know what I did..

Just a second of that water on my feet turned them white, numb; and as they dried out, I had some Norwegian Sild Sardines; it is breakfast time, you know.

Shade your eyes, squint a little.

Climb around and even get a little wet.

Nobody cares, but it is so cold!

Did you think we were done with the wildlife? Sheep in Glacier

No mistaking their intentions. They sniff around the road-grade gravel and chew it up. I caught glimpses of them a few curves in the road ahead, and parked the bike to stalk up closer. While I was smugly congratulating myself on my stealthy hunting prowess, one of the clanking tour busses came by, and they totally ignored it!

I'll show them. All I need is to think of a plan.

I got it, an Idea...

So with my best silent move, OOPS, we have action:

This big boy wheels out, squares up at me, and I'm sure he's going to paw the ground and charge. Well, maybe you have seen those clips on TV where the ram charges about fifty feet and bangs heads with his rival, then bounces about five feet in the air... I have. My plan was to get upwind of this herd, and teach them a lesson about how power bikers smell after a month, but all my courage just evaporated. I can see brains flying about ten feet in the air, mine, since my helmet is back hanging from the rear-view mirror.
Even worse, now the plan I had (getting upwind if you recall) starts to happen anyway, and there is nothing I can do to stop the breeze from shifting and - they are gone. You can't believe the reflexes, they just decide to be gone and in two winks they doink-doink up the hill and vanish in those trees. Wow, I know just a little about traction in the gravel, and even the moose didn't move that quickly. I had thought it might happen, and was ready with my camera, but the shot I took had only one of them (the big horny one) and it was way out of focus. In defense of my Neanderthal tendencies, with a camera you have to zoom, focus and shoot all at the same time for a moving target. With a 450 Casull, you just cock it, lead and squeeze off the ... oh well; some other time... It was just the adrenaline of the moment, but I'm sure he was going to butt me, up to the time he got a good whiff.

Make some miles. The stops that make up the gestalt add up to an entity that is just gorgeous. That's how the little 50 mile road goes through here. But, many of my infantile attempts to record the scenes will not be presented. I'm an OK critic of my stuff, and it was plain no damn good. Did I hear a groan? OK, I'll refund that portion of your advance payment. Pro-rated for mileage.

They call it Glacier. But it isn't all ice.

Peaks, trees & Rocks

Just happen along, and the little trees seem more charming, the valley behind seems to put them in the perspective somewhere out to the Moon's distance.

The air is quiet, the shade feels great, the engine is gently clicking as it cools down.

Yeah, I skipped a lot. From the little posies at my feet, to the breeze behind my ear, to the almost suction of the drop-off to that river.

The noise is felt, that peak is twisted as it holds on as best it can against time and the digging at its base.

Take it in, through me in a faint inkling, better with your hand shaking trying to hold the camera, or even trying to remember to shoot once in a while...

The return to the bike, the road, the adventure, so much more easily sensed than described: That complex entity is my natural habitat, I carry it with me day and night as easily as it, and I, can be...

.

Time to go. I'm lonesome. The valley has more, but I don't just now. Let's go.

My my, we're almost there..
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