We’re leaving Missoula before all ambition is lost and we are caught in its vortex forever. Thanks again to Jenny & Don for hosting us on our long layover! On the way out of town we stop at Taco Del Sol for some last chance fish tacos. We determine that our friend Mike is correct in his comparison report of tacos vs burritos:
“a taco is the best delivery vehicle for seafood based mexican treats as it establishes the prefect ratio between fillings and tortilla.”
The bikes are heavy with gear, fish tacos, and the weight of our reluctance to leave. We stop by Adventure Cycling Association for a picture and weigh-in. Scott’s bike weighs 108lbs, mine is 100lbs. I carry most of the food and we did some serious restocking in Missoula. I chuckle to myself, realizing 4% of my total weight is in peanut butter pretzel trail mix.
After cycling the peaceful streets of Missoula, the four lane US highway 12 is a shock to our senses: too many vehicles, too fast, too loud. We find a bike trail but it ends abruptly.
Rolling along, we realize we crave nothing. We are clean, rested, and have eaten and drank our fill of everything. In fact, I’m feeling a little “beered out”. Blasphemy! I mentioned to Jenny & Don that I might go on the wagon. They laughed and asked me to text them when I fall off, probably expecting a message by this evening.
With the last of our ambition dried up by the sun and swept away with the wind, we turn onto a forest service road to make camp, 6 miles from the top of Lolo Pass, which we had hoped to summit today. We strip down and wade into the river, our overly tan extremities contrasting sharply with our snow white torsos. We’re still slightly in view from the road, but it’s 90 degrees, we’re overheated and sticky with salt, and way beyond the point of modesty.