Rolling into Seeley Lake at 6:31am on the Fourth of July, we'd be forgiven if we'd thought it much later in the day. The town was bustling with activity in preparation for what was surely going to be a huge celebration. Perhaps this was - as their slogan insisted - The Middle of Everywhere. With a couple of errands to run - we needed to pick up some milk for breakfast, some small chocolates to offer as gifts to future fire lookout occupants, and something else I don't entirely recall - we cruised down the main drag, the entirety of which was lined with chairs for the coming festivities.
The patriotism on display was a good reminder that despite the ongoing politically induced strife and social media's algorithmically stoked hate for anyone who doesn't agree with our every single opinion, we all live in a country that - every day - affords us a way of life, friends, and hope for a better future. It's more than can be said for much of the world, and it's by coming together as people, interacting with each other in the physical world, and compromising with each other, that we can best support the stars and stripes of our most beautiful flag.
After our quick stop at the only open grocery store in town - where we were successful not only in getting everything we were looking for, but also in getting the most patriotic peanut butter cups possible - we reoriented ourselves to the route and set off on Stage 5.
The first stop wasn't far out of town. Double Arrow Lookout - one of ten or so fire lookouts between our current location and the Canadian border - was one that our navigator had determined to be not-so-promising in her pre-BDR research. Unlike Morrell Lookout on the previous stage, this was a lookout that was rentable through recreation.gov, meaning that we'd either find it occupied by some good folks who probably didn't want to be bothered, or locked up tight for whoever had the next reservation.
Sure enough, a half mile from the summit, we were blocked by a gate. Not wanting to show up completely unannounced so early in the morning, I sent the flying camera into the blue, being sure to keep it far enough downwind so as to not bother anyone who might be enjoying the morning view.
With our eye in the sky back on the ground, we were off through the forest. This part of the route worked its way onto the Flathead (Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes) Jocko Tribal Land in the Mission Range. A nicely graded gravel road followed the creek - dammed in at least two places to create Black Lake and Lower Jocko Reservoir - and we wondered aloud if the tribe owned the water, or if it was a similar situation to the Owens Valley in California where some other municipality owned the rights to the life-sustaining resource here on the reservation.
The smooth roads meant that the relative speed that we'd carried through the previous afternoon continued on through this morning, and by 8:36am, we'd already put 45 miles in the rear-view mirror as we pulled into the gas station in Arlee, to smiles and waving from three familiar ADV riders!
We'd once again caught up to AJ, Shawn, and Carl, the three of whom had already topped off their tiny tanks with as much gasoline as they'd hold. Keen to take advantage of the on-reservation prices as well, I set about onboarding a few gallons as we all chatted about where we'd spent the previous night and what was in store for the rest of the day.
Initially, our plans weren't fully aligned on "where to next," but after @mrs.turbodb described the attraction that was - I think - the one she'd been most looking forward to on the entire route, a smile spread across AJ's face, as he walked back to his crew. Looking back over his shoulder, he tossed out a "See you in a few!" - enough for us to get the hint - their plans were now aligned with ours!
Five minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot at the Garden of One Thousand Buddhas, where a spot of honor had been reserved for us next to the bikes.
The Garden of One Thousand Buddhas is a public park, botanical garden and Buddhist center in the Nyingma School of Tibetan Buddhism. The Garden of One Thousand Buddhas in western Montana’s Jocko Valley, just north of Arlee, is led by the visionary guidance of Gochen Tulku Sang-ngag Rinpoche. Nestled in a peaceful valley in the land of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes of the Flathead Reservation, the Garden of One Thousand Buddhas aligns positive properties of the physical world in a sacred architectural arrangement based on the eight-spoked Dharma wheel. This symbol evokes the turning or awakening of the enlightened qualities of altruism and wisdom.
Not being an expert on the Buddhas themselves, we still had a fun time wandering around the property and enjoying the various statues as art. Here are some of our favorites.
Even as we enjoyed the garden, it was hard to tear our minds away from the fact that we still had quite a few miles to tick off before we were done for the day. And, not knowing what the route would bring in terms of terrain, it seemed prudent to get back in our seats - on saddles - and on our way. So, after 45 minutes of admiration, we climbed into the cab and waved with a "see you again soon" to the trio that'd become such a fun part of our adventure.
Our plan at this point was to take another - reasonably long - detour to the Pistol Creek Lookout, but as we navigated a few roads reasonably close to the highway, it seemed strange that we were heading up driveways and across what seemed to be private pastures. And so, given the distance we still needed to cover - more than 10 miles to the lookout - we opted to retrace our steps, heading back to the BDR and into the Bitterroot Range.
Here, the roads climbed thousands of feet through tunnels of trees. The views - few and far between - gave momentary glimpses of more of the same: forest in every direction.
As quickly as we climbed up, we plummeted down the opposite side of the range. In less than seven miles we lost nearly 3,000 feet of elevation, eventually popping out into Ninemile Valley where rolling green and gold were the name of the game, and where the USFS has an old Ranger Station.
The historic Remount Depot at Ninemile Ranger Station was established in 1930 when the Forest Service purchased the old Allen Ranch. The Remount Depot bred mules for 32 years to assist with fire suppression. In the heyday, there were over 1500 animals at the station with 35 animal packers. Today 200 head make their way from all across Montana, northern Idaho, and some from Wyoming to spend their winters here.
And then, it was back into the woods. This time, it wasn't just for a few miles, it was for the entire rest of the stage. Mile after mile, the dust rising behind us, the Tacoma pushed forward along roads carved through the timbers. It was - we remarked - like being in the Pacific Northwest: pretty, but not very exciting.
Every now and then, an opening in the trees would reveal a valley view, the green of our corridor multiplied for miles, broken only occasionally by the blue of the sky.
Having decided that we'd try to push through to the end of the stage before having a late lunch in St. Regis, we continued in this way for a couple of hours. At some point, we realized that a late lunch - after our very early breakfast - was going to be a bit later than we'd hoped, and finding a bit of shade along the side of the road, we pulled over to grab an apple from the fridge.
And that's when we heard them.
Faint at first, there were definitely three. Not quite in unison, but certainly in concert, they grew nearer. We both knew who was coming, and we smiled.
Waving through the dust, we savored our delicious round orb, supplementing it with a few almonds and cashews from our stash in the cab. We engaged a few occupants of a UTV that appeared, their faces - and lungs - caked in dust, sharing with them the low-down on the Montana BDR.
And then it was back into the woods for the final 30 miles into St. Regis. Like the last 30, there wasn't much to see, and - at least from the roadbed - not much worth seeing. In fact - so starved for scenery were we that when the road traversed a scree field, I was immediately out of the truck to capture the excitement.
It was just after 2:00pm when we rolled into St. Regis. On I-90, we'd stopped here on the way to Monte @Blackdawg and Devin's wedding, but I'd never ventured further than the pumps. Today - famished after nearly 9 hours of driving - we'd make the mistake of eating at the highest-rated restaurant in town: the gas station.
That, though, is a story for Stage 6.
The Whole Story
