Back in the USA

Hey everyone,
Finally got some Internet access at our home for the night, a motel in Whitefish, MT called the downtowner. Tonight we sleep in the lap of luxury, two to a queen sized bed. All is well on the trip, and boy do we have some stories to tell. Lets start in Troy, MT:

So we biked from Creston, B.C. across the border and onto US Route 1, then on down for lunch in Bonner's Ferry, ID. Lunch was at a gas station/cafe that sold Operation Iraqi Freedom hats, and on Mondays they have all you can eat pasta, salad, and garlic toast for $5.95. I had three helpings of each and the biggest slice of apple pie in the world. After lunch we made our way along Route 2 East until we hit the aforementioned Troy, MT and started looking for camping. As we mosied down the main drag a truck pulled up next to us and the driver kindly pointed us down a road towards a possible campsite. Before we were going to camp, however, we needed a nice american-priced pint to wash down the 73 mile day. As we follow the directions to the riverside campsite we were all instantly drawn to a lovely little establishment called The Home Bar. As if the name did not sound welcoming enough, there was also a sign that stated "Campers welcome. Patio Party All Summer." Our choice of bar was clear. A strange series of events follows.
We go into the bar, effectively doubling its patronage, and order a pitcher. Not three delicious sips later a man named Bruce introduced himself as the owner of The Home Bar, and after I told him about our little journey, he immediately led me outside and told us we could pitch our tents in the plush backyard of the bar. That was the first in a series of conveniences this town held for us.
The second convenience was that pitchers at The Home Bar were $6. In Canadia pitchers, or "jugs" as they call them, cost at least $12. We were in heaven. The bartender, Rick, even gave us a pitcher for free because it had too much foam on it. Sparing the gruesome details, the events that followed at that bar made the following day a short bike ride (starting at around 2pm).
The third convenience came when we noticed that Beau had broken a spoke. But not just any spoke. He broke the dreaded Rear Wheel Drive Side spoke, a fix that requires a tool that we did not own. Upon overhearing our misfortune, Bruce pointed us two blocks away to a man named Dennis. Dennis is a retired teacher of forty years in Troy who, it just so happens, fixes bicycles. He was a kind man that sported a Tshirt stating "Nothing scares me, I'm a teacher". His shop is the garage of his home and he had us up and rolling in no time for only $8.
All in all troy was amazing, and to anyone there who helped us, talked to us, or drank with us is reading this: Thanks.

Our short day (explanation above) landed us smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. We thought we might find a campsite along route two between Libby and Kilaspell, but we were mistaken. So with around two hours of light left we decided to knock on the door of one of the farmhouses in the area to see if we could pitch our tents in their lawn. The first house was a bust, there were dogs. The second house, however, was a dream come true.
Chuck and I bravely strode up a gravel driveway towards a beautiful old A-frame log cabin. Although there was a dog at this house, it was far too small to scare us down the road again. Before we even had the chance to knock on the door, a man came out on the porch, smiled and asked "What can I do for you?" We explained our situation and he said he'd be happy to have us stay with him. We dragged our bikes up and were introduced to quite possibly the kindest man on earth, Dennis Frank. Before we knew it he had brought us out a couple beers and some food to snack on. After helping us build a campfire he set up some chairs and we chatted for a couple hours. After it got late he went back in the house, only to emerge five minutes later to announce that he was cooking us breakfast the next morning. And what a breakfast it was. He made us coffee, eggs, blueberry pancakes, and slow roasted pork ribs. And he made a ton of food. Being the polite young men we are, we did our darnedest to finish the food he cooked. For me that meant eating 5 eggs, 5 pancakes, a slab of pork, and to wash it all down 4 cups of coffee and a glass of V8. As if that wasn't enough, he also sent us off that morning with homemade venison sausages and the reassurance that we all possessed the character trait known as Gumption. Oh yeah...he's gettin a postcard.

Yesterday's ride was our longest, but totally boring. 78 miles of the country none of you need to visit. Today we had a hot and flat-tire ridden 20 mile ride to Whitefish where we now reside. This weekend we are doing a slow tour of Glacier National Park, partially because we need some recovery time after 12 straight days of riding, and partially because we arent allowed across the Continental Divide at Logan Pass until it reopens on Sunday.

A couple Shout Outs:
Mom and Dad: Everything's great. No bear sightings yet.
Mia: Miss ya.
Chappell: Get a road bike.
Adam: Get a road bike.
Stan: I heart You.
Marge: You have to find us on this trip, not the other way around.

Keep up the comments everyone, its great to hear from all of you, we miss you too.

Tall Man out.