Baldy

 

I have always been fascinated with maps.  Now, as I plan my trips, I study the routes and the special geography of the areas I plan to visit,  My first two days plan was inspired by a dark green “outcrop” on Googlemaps south of Havre, surrounded by what appeared to be the vast plains of Montana – locally called the “golden triangle.”

The Bearpaw Mountains and Mount Baldy was my destination.  This is the plains, how high could they really be compared to the Rockies?

Certainly, I could have made Havre to Fort Benton in one long day, but why just race there?  I could have been picked up at Havre by our guide service.  Exploration of new, out of the way places, is what intrigues me.

 Departing early Monday morning, May17th on a beautiful day, I almost immediately started a long 34 mile climb, estimated by my cycling website as about 4000 feet.  And it never seemed to end.  Indeed I could see Mt Baldy from the distance in a few spots, but it was nestled within the rest of the Bear Paw terrain and not always easy to spot.

Up and away!

The climb largely follows Beaver Creek, and along many miles of this route, there a campgrounds sponsored by several organizations along the creek, such as one of two I stopped at (to rest) supported by the Lions club.  Quite empty.  Had my lunch, and since it was quite warm and my quadriceps talking back to me, I found a small stream pool, stripped down to soak my legs in the ice cold water.  It was actually was quite therapeutic, if only momentarily.

I continued to climb and after many twists and turns, found myself at a long awaited crossroad at the northeast base of Mount Baldy, now in soaring view.  I had two routes to Big Sandy – one that shows up on some maps and not others skirting the north side of the mountain past the Bear Paw ski slope, and other encircling on a more well used gravel road around the east south and southwest side of the mountain. 

Naturally, I chose the road less travelled by – Whitman would not be pleased to know that this was a very poor decision.  The road became gravel, very steep, and eventually became a very rugged Jeep road whose steepness and rockiness required me to push my bike up, trying to reach the pass and my certain expectation of a very long down hill stretch to Big Sandy.

Now with areas of patchy snow, laboring like a mule (ass?) to push my heavy bike, I gave up.  I turned around and decided this was not the way to go.  I walked back down the mile or so of my error and happened upon a campground that was completely empty, and found the spot I had been hoping for –with a perfect view of the mountain.  It was 3:30.  I spent hours climbing – I knew when to stop.

Where I gave up walking

How majestic this peak is.  Yet once I entered the Rocky Boys Indian Reservation, I took note of a sign disallowing any visitors within ½ mile of the summit.  The Rocky Boys reservation was started in 1916 for the benefit of the Annishinabe Ne-i-yah-wahk, the Chippewa Cree.  For them, the mountain is sacred, and the half mile limit was established so the tribe can conduct their vision quests on the mountaintop to enable 16 year old boys to become men.  They climb the mountain with no food or water for four days in pursuit of their vision.

And I could now see why.  In this tribal campground; alone, I could enjoy the splendor of the peak and imagine the view from the still snow-capped summit.  And I nourished myself from the waters of Beaver Creek, now just a small stream, as I had consumed a vast amount of water just to get here.

Mount Baldy from my campsite

Spending a cold night without the tarp on the tent, I was witness to such a starry display over various moments of wakefulness that could easily have kept me awake all night, but the fatigue of the day had caught up with me.  My expectation of a small climb to the pass and then a nice long downhill to Big Sandy seemed a cinch, even though it was all gravel.  My legs and my mind were refreshed, after all. There by lunch and could possibly make Fort Benton another 34 miles down the road.

Wrong!

That misleading imagery of the map showing great plains emanating from this small mountain range does not reveal the true topography – a roller coaster of very steep downs and very steep ups on a somewhat rough gravel road surface, totaling another almost 2000 feet of climbing.   The geography of undulating hills dipping through creek draws and back up to running ridges meant I was not able to “let it roll” to power up the next small hill as I was squeezing the brakes.  And the steepness of the hills became magnificently tiring, requiring me to shed my shame for pushing my bike up many of the them (that's exercise too, right?).  I had visions of simply tipping over I was grinding up so slowly. And I almost ran over several snakes!

But the scenery of these undulating hills, of evergreen forests transitioning to rolling plains, was spectacular – “God’s country” according to one rancher that stopped his ATV to mention that he has only ever seen one other bicyclist make this route through his enormous ranch.  But as I slowly descended below the evergreen treeline and into the grassland I was hit with an enormous headwind that further complicated my travel and made the stretch very difficult, nearly blowing me over a few times (later reported to be as high as 40mph). 

The long and windy road, past those distant buttes

Finally, I crested a ridge and could see the small town of Big Sandy in the distance – way in the distance – and through this treeless plain with a full frontal assault of wind, I slowly made my way there, only to finally be stopped a few miles from town on a stretch of road whose gravel was like riding on ball bearings – very unsteady and sure to tip my rig.

I gave up again – I walked for a good mile or so along this road pushing my bike in the wind – Big Sandy so close yet so far. And then came Rusty, rancher of the X-Ranch I had just passed.  He offered and I accepted tossing my bike in his pickup bed and rode what turned out to be only a mile to paved surface, and two into town.  In that short period, Rusty told me about the Golden Triangle – the great plains that produces huge amounts of grain – bordered by Great Falls, Cutbank and Havre, even promoted on my Mountain Man beer can this evening.  He dropped me at The Motel (its actual name) where a shower, a room and meal in this tiny town was reward enough for two days of a most beautiful grind!

Baldy inspired my journey, as I suppose it still inspires native boys on theirs! No regrets.