This was another short day — only 50 miles — but I rationalized it by saying that I’d do 80 miles tomorrow, and count the two short days as one rest day.
John and his father had a debilitating effect on me; I didn’t get on the road until 9:30 a.m., and then finally with the tacit understanding that we would go our separate ways.
Again I had little energy. I listlessly pedaled toward Old Faithful, then found that the post office, one of my mail stops, was closed. Finally, put off by the crowd of tourists waiting for OF to erupt, I decided I could do without witnessing the geyser, and moved on.
Sick of r.v.’s and tourists, and feeling generally physically weak, I didn’t ride well, but managed to make West Yellowstone by 3 p.m. There, the guy in the bike shop (the first decent such shop since Colorado) diagnosed my problem. I needed a new chain, as well as a couple of new rear sprockets. That did seem to make riding a whole lot easier.
From there it was a short ride to the campground, a spread-out tourist trap. After scouting out campgrounds in the area, I decided to pay the exorbitant rate of $6 for a miserable plot of grass. There were benefits; I camped next to Jill and Margie, on vacation from California, where beautiful Jill managed two women’s clothing stores and Margie was an accountant.
Jill and I walked uptown for an ice cream, and it felt nice to have a date, no matter how innocuous and meaningless.
And, oh yes, today I entered Montana, my eighth state.