As I'd mentioned, the Metlin no longer rented rooms, so at about 1am I was left looking for a place to crash. Thought about runnin south to a big resevoir that was sure to have a campground, but a quick assesment of my bac revealed that I'd better find someplace closer to sneak to. Find this little motel about a mile away and after waking the gal up crawl into bed a little disappointed with my return to Dillon.
Bright and early, I'm going over my map and decide to take a side trip over to Salmon, Id via Lost Trail pass. My Grandfather grew up there and it seemed a shame to be so close and not go see it. He'd come from an Irish family with the last name of Gibbons, and I saw that there was a town about 20 miles north of Salmon called "Gibbonsville" -wondered if maybe there was a connection. Came to find out later that mercifully there wasn't.
So I'm heading west up into the high country, it's about a hundred degrees and looking more and more like a western movie set.
There's a place along the way on the backside of a low pass before you head up to Lost Trail and the Idaho border called "Wisdom". Seemed like a good place for gas, lunch and a little refreshment. Besides, it's called wisdom! Maybe a little something'll rub off.
The road takes a turn and runs north along the floor of a high valley with farms along the side and big 'ol mountains all around. Bikes running well despite the elevation, weather's awesome, scenery's great -you guessed it, I was due for nature to give me a kick to the groin.
Ridin along with my t-shirt tucked in, I feel something punch me in the side of the neck. Quicker than I can relate it, it's like someone put out their cigerette right between my shoulder blades and then began tattooing some kind of tramp stamp down where my shirt is tucked into my jeans. So there I am at 65mph rippin my shirt over my head and steerin with my knees on the tank. The sound of a grown man screaming like a little girl still echoing in my ears, I get everything brought to a stop on the side of the road to figure out what the hell happened to my little slice of heaven. Start investigating and find something like 9 different lumps starting to swell up on my back. After yelling "OWWWWWWWWWW!" to nobody in particular, I decide to pop an allergy pill figuring a little antihistamine couldn't hurt. About now, Wisdom is lookin better than ever and I roll in to the town's only gas station and ask a grizzled old biker where a guy could "cut the dust" so to speak. He points to the Antler Tavern across the street and tells me they have the coldest beer and the best homemade pizza in all of Montana. We get to bsing and he tells me "that's why you never ride with yer shirt tucked in -give the little bastards a quicker exit that way." 5 minutes in Wisdom, and I've already picked up a little pearl.