The alarm yanked me out of a dreamscape of winding roads and open throttle—way too early for my taste. Sunrise in Rapid City means it’s time to pack up, caffeinate, and get the iron horse ready for the long haul west. First order of business: strong coffee. Second order: more strong coffee.
We rolled out, heading for Billings, MT. The day started with the kind of roads that test your patience more than your riding skills—straight, flat, and endless. Interstate to warm up, then highway, and a pit stop at the Montana state line for gas and snacks. US-212 for most of the day: no frills, no thrills, just the hum of the engine and the search for the right playlist to keep the mind from wandering. These stretches are the price you pay for the good stuff—sometimes you just have to cruise and let your thoughts roam as free as the landscape:
Ashland threw us a curveball. Not the ice cream, but a buddy’s bike decided to turn every start into a gas geyser. Quick fix: a slurpy straw, a cup, and some fast siphoning before the plastic melted. It worked, and after a twenty-minute pit stop, we were back on the road, grateful for small victories.
We paused at the Little Big Horn battlefield—a reminder that history isn’t always written by the victors, and sometimes, the bad guys get what’s coming. Custer got Siouxed.
Billings greeted us with dark clouds and a sprinkle of rain. Our motel, the “Dude Rancher,” was a masterclass in false advertising—filthy enough to make me consider bailing for another spot. But hey, it’s all part of the adventure. A great dinner downtown made up for it, and exhaustion won out over complaints.
Next day, I led the group east of Glacier National Park. Eastern Montana is as straightforward as it gets—literally. The roads are so straight you could ride them with your eyes closed (don’t). Dark clouds and distant lightning kept things interesting, and we raced the weather to Great Falls, dodging storms and roadwork. We made it, sunny and dry, with flood warnings chasing us from behind. Lunch was a rare, leisurely affair—warm sandwiches and a chance to relax before heading north.
The landscape started to shift—greener, but the roads stayed straight. Gas up in Browning, then a dry weekend on the reservation (no cerveza, no luck). We lived off our reserves and looked forward to the next day.
And then, Glacier National Park. This is what you ride for. The mountains rise up, blue lakes shimmer, and the roads twist and turn in ways that make your heart race. Saint Mary Lake, Logan Pass, and the legendary Going to the Sun Road—pure magic. A black bear sighting (from twenty feet away on a bike!) added a dash of wild to the day.
We stopped for the obligatory coin photo at the pass, wandered a bit to soak in the views, then dropped down into the valley, grinning like fools.
Leaving the park, we hugged Flathead Lake, stopping in St. Ignatius for gas and the Huckleberry Jam Factory—shakes, ice cream, all the essentials. Missoula, then Lolo for the night, where Lolo Peak Brewing delivered the goods.
Lolo Pass is a rider’s dream—twisties for miles, the pull of home growing stronger with every turn. Another coin photo at the pass, then lunch at Mr. C’s Burgers in Orofino.
Almost in Washington, we hit the Old Spiral Highway north of Lewiston—a must for any rider.
Colfax at the end, and a final sunset stop at Steptoe Butte for a panoramic view of the Palouse.
In the morning, the group will split, with two heading for Seattle early. The last night together was all about drinks and stories—one final celebration before the road called us home.
The final stretch was bittersweet—through the Palouse, toward Leavenworth, and after one last gas stop and ice cream, we said our goodbyes at a rest stop. The invisible force of home pulled hard, and the ride over the pass was pure joy. I split in Sultan. Home, sweet home. 4016 mi of adventure.
Roaming Cage Free 
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