Helena – Canyon Ferry Lake – Three Forks – Bozeman: 204 km  

Marijn and I have made up our minds. We are definitively getting off The Great Divide. It was too hard on our bodies and setups. Our bikes were not handling it well, our tires too narrow, our bags too heavy. Wanting to cycle from San Francisco to San Diego along the Californian coast, we were never planning to ride it all the way to Mexico, but we’ve decided it’s been enough for now. We’ll make our own plans, create our own route, get off the beaten gravel path. I’m somewhat disappointed because we just got a taste of what The Great Divide provides; meeting other cyclist and encountering surprise cycle infrastructure. On the other hand, we have but 90 days on our visa, making the detour towards the west, we do need some of that fast-rolling asphalt. This decision also frees us up to see and do what we want. We don’t have to diligently hold on to the route. We decide to see as many national parks as we can.

First on our list: Yellowstone. But before that, 4th of July is coming up, America’s birthday! Not too sure what to expect, we decide to try to be in Bozeman on that day. It’s a somewhat bigger city, and we’ve heard it’s a nice place, big enough to have some fun. It’ll take us a couple of days to get there. First on the menu; Canyon Ferry Lake. It’s in the middle of public lands, so dispersed camping is easy and allowed. The ride over the asphalt is smooth as can be, the route straight as an arrow, the infamous yellow lines in the middle of the road. On these unremarkable rides I feel America the most. These quiet roads, ranches every few kilometers, kettle in-between, mountains in the distance and views for days and vast landscapes make me feel I’m truly in The States.

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I’m fulfilling my dream of The American Road Trip. I’m checking off a highly ranked item from the bucket list. Yet a new feeling is slowly growing, taking hold inside me. A feeling of wanting to go home. It’s not a longing yet, it’s less strong than homesickness. But it’s there, nagging ever so slightly. I’ve figured out what I want to do when I get back, I made up my mind where I want to live. Slowly, I’m getting ready, even excited to do that. I’m somewhat surprised by myself. I did not expect this. I’ve always believed that I’d ride until the money was gone, or until external factors would make me go back home. Yet, I’m not afraid of what I feel. It’s actually quite welcome, a natural way to end this grand adventure, not forced but from within, intrinsically. The only thing that creates tension within me is between what I still want to see, and when I actually want to go home. I want to see central America, we’re relatively close. Actually, it might take the better part of six months to get there. I decide to see how these feeling develop, no need to make a decision now. Maybe it’ll pass, maybe it’ll grow. We’ll see. In the meantime, let’s do some cycling!

It’s busy along Seeley Lake. Americans like to camp too. They camp American style: the biggest mobile homes I’ve ever seen, tugged along by huge pickup trucks, unimaginable by European standards. We find a spot somewhat away from most of them, but their generators are humming not so faintly in the background. We cook one of our staple meals: sausages over the fire. It’s one of about five meals we often make; pasta with tomato concentrate, tuna salad, burritos and instant noodles. The view over the lake is nice, but we can’t fully enjoy it because of the mosquitoes. This is where mosquitoes are born, where they come from, the epicenter of their existence. At the end of the night we’re half human, half mosquito bite.  

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In Bozeman we have a Warm Showers host lined up. They let us know their door is open, but they will be rafting for a couple of days. Hmmm… rafting sounds nice! We ask what river they’re on. Madison River, they reply. That’s where we are, basically. They’re rafting up and we’re cycling down the Madison. We agree to meet in the middle and we’ll hop on. They’ve come prepared! They’re with eight (and two dogs), divided over two big and two one person rafts. We soon learn that rafting is not what we’re doing. We’re floating, here and there a peddle stroke to not hit the shoreline, a beer in hand. Marijn and I have been talking about doing an overnight trip on a raft, and now, randomly, it’s happening. But the weather is changing rapidly, both our first and second day start out sunny but soon turn into monsoons with heavy winds. No place to hide on the water. We packed fast and I’ve forgotten to take either a jacket or long trousers. Especially on day two I’m freezing my ass off. I don’t want to complain. Once my blue lips get noticed, I’m quickly wearing somebody else’s clothes. And that’s what this group of friends is all about. They’ve welcomed us into their boats like we’re long-lost family, even offering their house when they were not around. They adopt us into their group naturally and seamlessly, like it was the plan all along for us to join them on this trip.

Back at their house. They all live together in an apartment block of four. Marijn and I hop from place to place for chats, food and drinks. Fourth of July. We soon learn that this day is all about barbecuing, fireworks, and drinking in the garden. So that’s what we do. Friends come and go, hotdogs are passed around, fireworks are exploding over our heads. We find a huge American flag, funnily in the English guy’s apartment, and hang it from the house’s roof. The others are somewhat ashamed of this exuberant utterance and proudness of (very debatably) ‘the best country on earth’. But Marijn and I are ready to be uncompromisingly immersed into The American Experience. Once it’s up, cars honk at us as they drive by. As afternoon turns into night the front garden gets strewn more and more by the empty beer cans that we traditionally throw on it. Neighbours and friends come and go around the campfire. Marijn and I check out the nightlife, dance a little, make new friends. Kilometers are a worry for tomorrow.