We arrived in Great Falls Montana to a delicious lunch From my Grandma followed by the "Official Tour of Great Falls". The tour ended at the Roe River. A spot I had visited as a child to watch and feed the trout at the fish hatchery. At 201 feet long, the Roe River is the (disputed) shortest river in the world and flows into the Missouri River...The longest river in North America. The Roe originates in Giant Springs. Here is me and Gram checking out the trout in Giant Springs.
After a good stop in Great Falls, we pressed on toward Glacier National Park. It's hard to make a plan just to pass through Glacier because there is so much to see and explore. We weren't on a tight schedule but had a rough timeline that we had to stick to. We made the most of the day and did a little hiking, fishing, and a lot of waiting in a line of traffic through road construction on Going to the Sun Road.
For some reason I have this strange gift of being able to attract butterflies. It happens often enough that I have many pictures of it in many different locations. Glacier National Park was another one.
I'd shake it off and it would land on my shoulder. I'd shake it off and it would find a spot on my head...strange. I've never been accused of being sweet so that can't be it. Onward.
We made our way through the park in one day which felt WAY too rushed. After camping in West Glacier, we decided to drive back into the park to explore a little bit. We decided to float around Lake McDonald in our bada$$ whitewater raft (eh hem....pool toy) affectionately named "The Bird Hawk". Hey, it rolled up small and provided an aquatic point of view of our surroundings.
And after a sore elbow...finally manually inflated.
After a refreshing paddle and swim we made our way West.
Driving along the shore of Flathead Lake, I impulsively tested the stopping power of my brakes because of a roadside gem. As I'm skidding past this gem on the side of the road I'm already looking for a spot to do a U-Turn anticipating the molten rubber between my tires and the asphalt to carry me well beyond my intended stopping point.
The aforementioned gem was a 1969 BSA 441 Victor. I imagined some old widow wheeling it down her driveway in hopes of freeing up some space in her garage to store the garbage can. Unfortunately the owner came out and knew what he had. After exchanging too many motorcycle stories and trying to work out a partial deal (nearly successfully) for my Suzuki, we had to move on. The next 500 miles of the drive were full of regret and U-Turn considerations.
