Lima, Montana
The tour has been cold. On April 29, 2023, Johnny and I set out for a bike tour from Salt Lake City to Bozeman. Johnny will fly back to Denver from there and then on to Banff, solo over three weeks, for me. It’s been snowy and due to the high snow in Utah and Idaho, Johnny and I have had to drastically change our tour plans. We finally hit the continental divide today.
I’ve sat here in this restaurant so many times. Jan’s of Lima, Montana, on the ol’ Tour Divide route. I’ve shared the table With old flames, with new friends and now, with Johnny, the love of my life.
Before we arrived I was enthusiastically reminding Johnny, “there’s a restaurant there.” Days later, I’d tell him, “there’s a hotel there.” Some hours after, “there’s a store to refuel there!”
After more time of daydreaming on my bike, I realized I had to tell him that these were the ONLY places in Lima. I’d made it seem like a bustling hub.
In a sense it is though, in the prime weeks of the 2700 mile Tour Divide race, and for those who tour the route on their bikes throughout the summer. This year, we were greeted by John and his wife, “you guys on pedal bikes?”
“Yup. “
“You’re the first ones this year. It was snowing this morning.”
I’d wondered if we were going to be, the first ones, that is. It was sooner than I’d ever toured through the area and in 2017, the server who helped Andrew and I told us we were the first that year. It hadn’t been nearly as cold as this years adventures.
After talking a little while, they told us that they got more snow this year than in the last 30 years of living here. “The snows melting fast though.”
I believe them. The ditches have turned into streams and the hillsides looks more like a cow; white spots on their green hides.
Johnny and I ordered our suppers. I gushed about all of the memories flooding my consciousness. It seems real again. I’m going to race along this route; a dear old friend.
One year, 2018, Laura was hot on my chase and I was racing the rain. She was a meager 35 miles behind me and I knew if I could just make it over the pass, I’d be out of the death mud and Laura would be trapped. I summited with just enough time to make it into Lima before the gas station closed and resupplied. I promised myself I could get a hotel room and in the lightening rain, I wandered over to the hotel.
They were all booked up for the night. I darted over to the cafe to see if they had any cabins open. Booked. And I sobbed. I was so cold and knew there wasn’t much for dry camping ahead. There was going to be more mud and I was exhausted.
A fellow was eating up his meal at the bar and said, “you can split my room with me.”
His name was John Wright and I ate a can of chili while he gave me Trackleaders updates. I zonked and blasted off early to try and keep my lead.
I’m so grateful for once strangers, turned friends like John. I would have melted without that warm bed And grateful to be able to slow down in places that reveal to me just how much I’ve grown since my first time eating here in 2015.
I’m a different woman today; I wonder who I’ll be when I pass through Lima next.
