Today is our last day of cycling. The thunderstorm of yesterday afternoon has blown through and this morning I’m looking out over a Western landscape that makes me want to sell the car, buy a horse and ride the range.

We are at the Russian Olive B&B in Arlee, Montana. I am alone in the dining room, seated on a big old sofa, looking out the window to a flowering tree that is massive; a tree that speaks of a homestead that has been here for decades.

Deb is sitting to the right of that tree, alone in the early morning sun with her coffee. Her posture suggests worship; her cup the communion, her tipped back head, the prayer.

The rest of the Stupids are still sleeping in all the rooms tucked away in various corners of this large home.

Yesterday was a hot, long day of cycling against a headwind, with threatening thunder and rain in the afternoon and another pickup rescue. Susan got a nasty flat tire and was at the back with Karen. As soon as they stopped, Don from the Salish & Kootenai Tribal Police pulled up, flashed them a badge and saved the day. He drove up the road to let us know he was taking them the last ten miles to Arlee. Yet another saviour on Hwy 200.

Apparently Montana has a bunch of white supremacists and other kooks with outrageous theories on life. (There was also the pickup truck that roared by us yesterday with the large windshield decal that proclaimed, Hippie Hater, but he didn’t see our tie-dyed Canadian flags, our social safety net and our medical marijuana… so we were safe).

It may be true that there are some serious nutcases around these parts, but so far all we’ve met is angels in disguise as truck-driving men, seniors serving us at all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts and other kind Samaritans. Besides, British Columbia is hardly exempt from crazies…Bountiful anyone?

My body is quite okay with this being the last day of riding. As far as my heart?  Not so much…