After yesterday's events and the concerns I had over having to replace the engine compensator on my motorcycle, I was up quite early and was ready to head to the H-D dealership just before 8:00 a.m. because I expected them to be open at 9:00 a.m. but when I arrived shortly after 8:00 the service writer and a mechanic were already there so after doing the paperwork he took the bike into the shop to begin work on it.
When he opened the primary case he saw that the original compensator had been replaced with the upgraded one and as far as he could see there was nothing wrong with it. I, not knowing anything about the inner workings of Harley engines could only tell him what the technicians at my regular dealership and at Crowsnest Trail H-D had told me about having to replace the compensator. The mystery deepened though, because to my knowledge the compensator had never been upgraded.
When the technician in Great Falls began to check other things he found that the timer cover was loose and when he tightened it, the noise stopped. Because the work was covered under warranty I escaped with a fifty dollar bill. Good news for me.
After a stop at Starbucks and a grocery store, we headed south on Highway 89 to White Sulphur Springs. Again, heavy crosswinds pushed us around as we rode, not a pleasant experience but we made good time. However, when Garry gassed up in Great Falls the station was extremely busy and instead of waiting for a pump to come free I didn't gas up because I had just under half a tank of gas and would gas up on the way out of town.
There was one problem with that thought. There were no more gas stations on the way out of town and, unless you've been here before and realize how sparsely populated this part of Montana is, you wouldn't realize that gas stations are few and far between. When we left Great Falls my gauge showed that I had enough fuel for 150 kilometres. However, after a lot of climbing and descending the gauge began to revise its estimated downward very rapidly and while we still had more than eighty kilometres to the next real town my gauge was reading ninety three kilometres and we were really at the point of no return.
Fortunately we passed through a small town named Niehart where they had two pumps so I bought enough gas to get me to White Sulphur Springs. On the way there we passed a small valley with a small stream and an rail bed which had been built in 1890 and abandoned in 1945. Each year the train would bring milk cans full of small trout to release into the Belt River to stock it. Even today as we stopped we could see a man wading in the river, fly rod in hand. It was said that at one time the Belt River was one of the best trout streams in the United States. Further south there is also a ski hill named Showdown where we stopped for a few minutes to take in the view because we had just crested a pass at an altitude of 2250 metres (approximately 7425 feet).
Belt River with abandoned Northern Pacific railbed below the cliff.
Valley near Showdown ski hill.
After my close call we were able to fuel up and then head east on US 12, but again the winds pushed us around and in spots where we took long sweeping curves in open ground wind gusts hit us and really threw us around.
To take a break we stopped at an old railway town named Harlowton, MT. From 1915 until 1974 the Milwaukee Road ran electric locomotives from Harlowton west to Tacoma, WA, until the railroad was sold and the new company discontinued using them. One of the last two electric locomotives in use is preserved at the entrance to the town. In 1980 the tracks were torn up and Harlowton went from a vibrant area with several thousand people to the estimated eight hundred that it has today. As we rode west for almost the remainder of today we paralleled the abandoned rail line for more than two hundred kilometres almost all the way to Forsyth, MT.
Milwaukee Road electric locomotive built in 1915, Harlowton, MT
Explanatory plaque with the locomotive
Because we had a late start, we made a stop for lunch at a local bar. When we entered an old gentleman named Otto spoke to us about how hot it must be riding motorcycles in the heat of the day. It turned out that Otto was a retired postman from Billings, MY who had moved to 'Harlo' as they call it, with his wife to whom he has been married for sixty-eight years. He served in the US Navy during World War II and had one brother who died of wounds suffered in Belgium after he returned to the US, and another who was killed during the Korean War. He said that he would be turning ninety-one years of age on November 17th so I wished him an early 'Happy Birthday' as he left the bar.
Otto, the friendly almost 91 year-old World War Two veteran
We talked to the bartender as well. Tiffany, who says she's the only person in town with that name had moved to Harlo with her girlfriend last October from Las Vegas where she had lived for eighteen years because she found it impossible to get a job. Apparently employers are hiring Mexicans, paying the less than minimum wage, and paying them cash so they can avoid paying taxes and benefits. It lowers their cost and makes them a lot more money than they would make if they did things legally, but it really nesses up people like Tiffany and her friend who are squeezed out of the job market by those practices. I find it duplicitous that Republicans complain about border security while at the same time engaging in labour practices that draw illegal immigrants to the US to work in those jobs.
Tiffany, the bartender in at the Stockman Bar in Harlowton, MT
The old building that house the bar had a back bar, that's where the alcohol is kept and included mirrors and fancy woods, that had been built in 1902 and it had spent its whole working life, one hundred and thirteen years to date in this small establishment.
When left Harlowton it must have been well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, heat that just sucks the moisture out of your body. We made the seventy miles (110 km) to Roundup, MT without stopping but took a few minutes to refuel and rehydrate before leaving town. Garry met and talked to a guy from Alberta who had been in Sturgis this morning but was clearing out before the big crush started on Sunday. He had been on the road for six weeks and was now heading back to his job.
East of Roundup the country opens up more and if you have ever experienced it, the name 'Big Sky Country' that is used for Montana is easy to understand. In some places the highway runs straight for many kilometres before taking a bend, almost always running alongside the old railbed of the abandoned Milwaukee Road. The rock formations along the highway are curious and in some places it appears that small hoodoos are being created by weather and wind. At one river crossing on the old rail line a steel bridge had been knocked off its supports and twisted like a child's toy. It appears near the end of the following video.
Big Sky Country
About thirty kilometres west of Forsyth we came across several abandoned building near the highway. The most imposing structure was the abandoned schoolhouse along with several other dilapidated buildings. The village of Vananda, MT was established as a watering stop for steam locomotives on the Milwaukee Road. Homesteaders flocked to the free land after the railroad was built but the land was too arid for intensive agriculture so the population dropped, and when the line was abandoned in 1980, so was the village and its schoolhouse. There are many of these abandoned places along the now defunct Milwaukee Road.
Abandoned school, Vananda, MT
Abandoned house, Vananda, MT
Fence section made from rail ties. The metal plate has the date '79'. How long has that boot been there?
After riding almost 550 kilometres we arrived at the railroad town of Forsyth, MT near I-94, putting us a relatively easy day and a half ride to Sturgis. Outside our motel are is the railyard of the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad (BNSF). In the short time we have been here one train left heading west and another train, this one with a load of coal headed east, so this is a busy railroad place and it has been since late in the nineteenth century.
Tomorrow we plan on riding the 210 miles to Gillette, WY, which will put us about half a day from Sturgis. The ride is going well, and except for an errant screw in my tire and the resultant expense, and the stress caused by a non-existent problem we are having a great time.
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