I scoot on across the street and limp hunchbacked into the Antler Tavern to in fact find the coldest bottle of Rainier I'd ever experienced. And the pizza was some of the best.
Introductions are made, and a couple fly fishermen are eyin my pizza something fierce. I ask the barmaid if she'd mind if I shared (didn't want to steal another order from her) 'cause I'd never finish it all. She says "sure hon, and anything that's left I'll wrap up in case you get hungry later." Turns out in some parts, a couple slices of pizza trade staight across for your entire bar tab. Karma. So with a belly full of pizza and free beer, I head west towards the Big Hole battlefield (at the suggestion of aforementioned bartender). Even making allowances for politics and "white guilt" I felt a little like a German citizen taking a tour of Auschwitz.
Down into Salmon, and other than awesome scenery along the Salmon river, nothing really to write home about.
On the way down, I'd spotted a great little spot to camp along a creek. So as the shadows grew longer, I found it again north of Gibbonsville. Put ol Wilber up for the evening and sat with a couple Budweisers to evaluate the direction the trip had been taking.
Dawned on me that this trip to Sturgis was much like the rendezvouz of the fur trapping era. Maybe it was too much time spent in the mountains of Montana, but it seemed a pretty good parallel. Hairy men on horseback coming out of wilderness isolation to whoop it up for a little while before heading back to the mountains.
Realizing this, I decide that what we need is a little less reminiscing and a little more celebrating. I'm 2 days ride from the biggest modern assemblage of fat hairy drunken misfits and topless squaws. By God, it's time to get goin!
After a restfull night tucked back in the pines it's up at 05:30 for a breakfast beer. And with a dip of Cope and a smile on my face I'm back in the wind and heading for my last stop before Sturgis -Red Lodge, Mt.
Stay thirsty my friends.