Ft. Collins to Edmonton

We headed north the next morning from Ft. Collins. We dressed for the cold and rode toward Wyoming. The mountains rose up on our left, gleaming in the morning light, and for a moment I wished we weren't headed for the Arctic Circle, but instead riding to the top of the Rockies. Ascending to the uttermost pinnacle then looking out on the mottled country stretching as far as the eye can see. We made good time, the roads were nearly empty, and the Colorado farmland slowly gave way to the rugged outcroppings of Wyoming. Near the border, set way up on a steep hill was a huge buffalo cameo. Huge, untamed, and a little sad, it marked the spiritual border between the states.

We passed a Budget truck not far into Wyoming, and as I got closer I noticed that the warning labels on the outside were unusual. Instead of flammability signage or compressed air, this truck was radioactive. Who carries nuclear fuel rods in a rental truck?

We passed through endless, rolling, rocky fields populated with cattle and sheep and solitary pronghorn. The mountains faded out of sight to the west as we shot past them, we wouldn't see them again till we turned west in Montana. The terrain softened as we approached, dark outcroppings turning to peaked green waves.

We passed a sign for South Fork Crazy Woman. I was worried for a moment, would we have to drive around her? Would she have an pitchfork? Or an axe? I was less worried when we crossed the bridge for Middle Fork Crazy Woman. There was no North Fork, I hope she's not lost. Mental illness is no joke.

Montana sets an easy rhythm, ascending the high green hills then roaring down again. It started to cloud up around Billings, so we pulled over to get our rain gear. Part of the city is built several hundred feet over the rest on a Mesa, and we road up it to continue our journey. It was an astonishing sight, the view from the right was grey rain-washed prairie, to the left was a sheer drop over the city below.

We were lucky, this storm never got us, but north of the city the prairie turned it an inland sea. The grassland had been converted to endless shallows. Motana is incredibly flooded, rivers running fast and brown have jumped their banks and in places it had obviously been over the road. I was happy to be out of the lands after a few hours. We approached another storm, and this time we weren't so lucky. It didn't have a quarter of the force of the last day's weather, but we still got some rain. Our gear kept us dry and comfortable this time!

The last leg of our journey took us through the valley of Otter Creek. It was beautiful green country, and the serpentine route made for a pleasant end as we approached Great Falls.