A new tire, a bad bearing, and Philipsburg

This morning I parked by the service entrance of Big Sky Motorsports, the Missoula BMW dealer, fifteen minutes before the shop opened. There was a new R1200GS water-cooled bike already there, and the owner and I talked about our trips until the shop opened. They put my bike up on the rack right away, and about half an hour later the service manager told me that the mechanic had noticed that I had oil seeping from the pivot bearing area on the rear drive. This is something that could last another 5000 miles or it could fail in the next 10 miles. I asked if they had the parts in stock, and if they could do the work. He said that they probably didn't, and that they were heavily booked for the day, but he would check. It turned out that they did have the parts, and he was able to squeeze me in between other appointments. It saved a little time since the bike was already partly disassembled for the tire change. They even had time to balance the throttle bodies. I was back on the road at 1 PM and noticed a big difference when shifting and rolling off the throttle - no more jerk and clunk from the rear end. I also noticed that the bike was slightly smoother (throttle bodies). I really should have noticed myself that the play in the rear was getting worse, but the shop where I had a major service done a month ago should also have noticed the problem. So, props to Big Sky!

This bullet-nose Studebaker was parked a couple of doors down from Big Sky

 The unplanned half-day in Missoula meant that I wouldn't be able to visit Bob in Big Sky in the afternoon like I'd wanted to, but he said that Friday morning would be fine. Missoula is a town that grew too fast, and the main thoroughfares are congested. I got out of town and onto I-90 and cruised along at the 75 mph speed limit, enjoying the big sky scenery.

After about 50 miles I exited south on MT 1 towards Philipsburg, an old mining town. If you ever read James Crumley's novel, The Last Good Kiss (and if you haven't you should), then you will know that the book is dedicated to the poet Richard Hugo, from whose poem "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg" the title of the novel is taken.

You might come here Sunday on a whim.   

Say your life broke down. The last good kiss   

you had was years ago. You walk these streets   

laid out by the insane, past hotels   

that didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try   

of local drivers to accelerate their lives.   

Philipsburg is no longer a run-down mining town, but has become a touristy and quaintly restored old town. Gem stores, jewelry stores, a huge candy shop, and various bars and restaurants compete for the traveler's dollar, but the town stops short of being tacky. I'd hoped to find out what, if any, connection Richard Hugo had to the town, but the museum closed early, and I didn't want to interview every shop owner who looked old enough to have been around 40 years ago.

Downtown Philipsburg

One of the old buildings - now a brewery

Back on MT 1 I headed south to Anaconda, which, although the huge mine closed in 1980, still looks like an old mining town, at least judging by the enormous mound of tailings outside the town and the large number of bars in the town.

The face of the building shows why the Club Moderne was so named

Back on I-90 I rode east over the Continental Divide and Homestake Pass (6300 feet) where there was a brief sprinkle of rain and the road was wet from a previous shower. It had been 95 degrees when I left Missoula, so the little bit of cloud and rain brought pleasantly cooler weather, at least until the road descended to a lower elevation. I'm spending the night in Three Forks, MT, where I'd hoped to stay at the Sacajawea Hotel, but it looked rather expensive (and full), so I'm at the Broken Spur Motel instead. Just as well, because it turns out that Sacajawea did not actually stay at the Sacajawea Hotel, and indeed had no connection to the establishment.

Tomorrow I'll visit Bob and Sylvie in Big Sky, and go into Yellowstone. If the weather is good I may ride the Beartooth Highway.