I woke up early at Flattop Campsite. It was still dark, but fortunately it wasn’t raining. I wasn’t sure exactly how far I had to hike this morning, but according to the paper map I had it was roughly 7 miles to the Going to the Sun road, which is sort of like Skyline Parkway or the Blue Ridge Parkway back east, but more dramatic.
I was hiking to a specific access point at a very sharp, hairpin turn in the road with a parking lot and trailhead called The Loop. From there, hikers could make the trek up to Granite Mountain (where there is a campsite and chalet) and access Flattop Mountain. I was going to take advantage of the free shuttle that runs along the road and stops at various trailheads. This shuttle would take me east to the Logan Pass visitor center. I had no idea what was there, but I knew that from Logan Pass I could catch another free shuttle to the village of St. Mary. I had a reservation at 2:30PM for one of the three shuttles daily that went between St. Mary and East Glacier. That is how I would get back to East Glacier.
I planned to stay in East Glacier that afternoon and the next day. I would tent behind the Looking Glass hostel today (yep – one more night on that ridiculously misshapen sleeping pad) because it was cheap ($15), but I had a reservation for one of Luna’s (the proprietor) tiny cabins the next night ($50), which meant I had a bed the night before I would leave East Glacier. I was excited for the bed, but I arranged this specifically so that I could spend that day mailing home anything that would require me to check my pack on my flight home (tent stakes, trekking poles, spork, etc.). I wanted to make sure I could carry my pack on the plane without issue. Once I mailed these items home, of course, I would not be able to erect my tent, which is why I booked the cabin. I’m not going to lie, two birds were killed with one stone there – I was also very happy not to sleep on the ground, though I had become quite used to it.
I already had an Amtrak ticket from East Glacier to Minneapolis. I could just wake up in my cabin at Looking Glass and walk less than a mile down the road to the Amtrak station. I thought it would be fun to take a train home. It would allow me to wind down a bit. The train ride was a little over 22 hours to Minneapolis. I had booked a hotel in Minneapolis for that next day, and then a flight out the following morning. I had planned everything before even arriving in East Glacier, so it was all set, or so I thought….
When I finally committed to waking up, I packed up quickly at Flattop campsite. No one else was stirring as I walked out of camp. I had meant to leave earlier to give myself as much time as possible, but it was cold and dark out when I awoke. I was working on word of mouth information about the hiker shuttle and, though it was from a reliable source, I just didn’t know how long it would take to get to St. Mary. I wanted to make sure I made that 2:30PM shuttle back, though worst case there was an evening shuttle at 5:30PM I might be able to join as a back-up option.
The trail continued on through the burn area. It passed down through some more overgrown trail until I was following the ridge alongside, and above, a creek. I descended down along this valley for quite a while until I came to a bridge. I crossed over this, and then continued further west until I came to a trail junction that led to Packers Trailhead, a parking lot for horse packers. I thought maybe I would finally spot a grizzly bear as there were many huckleberries along the way, but it seemed that I would leave Glacier without this experience. I am sure I will see one later in life on some other journey of sorts.
I needed to go to the Loop Trailhead, so I made a hairpin turn and climbed back up again in the direction of Granite Peak. I didn’t have to climb far though, just far enough to reach the Loop Trailhead junction. After that it was a short walk up and over a hill, and then down to the hairpin turn in the Going to the Sun road.
The trail offered basic scenery and some huckleberries, but if I had to plan my route knowing what I know now, I probably would have taken the trail at Stoney Indian Pass with Axel. It would have offered better views and campsites that weren’t in a burn zone, and then I could have planned a shuttle ride back from Chief Mountain. That’s ok though; I was happy enough with the route I took, and it was much cheaper to shuttle back from St. Mary (they quoted me $30, but it ended up only costing $15 – shuttles from Chief Mountain are through private providers and were quoted at $85, though hitchhiking is also an option).
There was a parking lot at the Loop Trailhead right at the hairpin turn. I walked up into it, but seeing only cars and no sign about shuttles, I continued to look around. I walked downhill on the road and saw where the shuttle stop was. There was a pedestrian crossing area that led to an overlook, and then a waiting area with benches and shuttle time information. The shuttle left every 15 minutes, it said, so I took a seat.
I was the only person there waiting for the shuttle. I saw a few people getting out of their cars, but that was it. As I waited, another guy showed up. He was nice and clean and carrying a camera and day pack. 15 minutes later, the shuttle still had not come, but more people were beginning to arrive. While I waited, I threw my trash into the rubbish bin, as well as my old BRS Stove, which now had stripped threads and was useless to me. I ate my last bar and sat next to my pack. The road became quite busy with traffic. This was most likely due to the fact that it can only be accessed by timed entry permits during the summer busy season, which had just ended several days ago. It was now open to all at any time.
As more people arrived, the clock ticked on, and still no shuttle. I suspected that the influx of post-season traffic was causing delays. Despite it being a “hiker” shuttle, I stuck out like a sore thumb. My legs were filthy, covered in dirt and dried blood. My clothes were decorated with salt rings from my sweat and shaded with dirt and grime. I was still using the same water bottles I had purchased in Rawlins, WY, which now looked like they had fallen off a truck on a highway somewhere, been run over about 50 times and filled with air to regain their shape. I drank from one through my water filter, which caused several people to stare. I was a living filthy curiosity and it was mildly amusing to watch people glance and wonder. I’d probably do the same if I were in their shoes. Perhaps they wondered why I had so much gear for a short hike, or how I had possibly gotten so dirty camping only one or two nights in the park! I am quite sure that no one had any idea the journey I had been on.
I am not sure how long it took the shuttle to arrive, but it must have been around an hour. When it finally pulled up, everyone pushed forward. I hung back, by my pack, not wanting to thrust my stink into the fray. The shuttle driver rolled down his window, said something about delays, and then said he could only take 3 more people on the honor system in order of first to arrive at the bus stop. I looked at the bus and it was jam-packed with people.
I was slow to comprehend, probably because I was a bit rusty on dealing with people and crowds. Luckily for me, two foreign tourists who had been sitting next to me for a while, pointed at me and said “He was here first.” I loved them for this! It was quite kind, and gave me the validation I needed without having to assert my timing claim awkwardly to the mass of people waiting. It was true, however, so I hopped on the bus and was happy to see the two guys who showed up right after me follow me on. Order had prevailed! Leg one of my journey back to East Glacier had begun.
I felt badly for those who did not make the shuttle, but hopefully another one soon followed. Fortunately, no one seemed particularly bothered, perhaps because the shuttle stop had a beautiful view. I was glad I made it on, however, because when I arrived at the Logan Pass Visitor center, the second shuttle bus to St. Mary was having engine trouble. The driver got out of the bus and told myself and others waiting that his check engine light was on, so we needed to wait for the next bus. Fortunately, this only ended up taking another 15 minutes. I donned my puffy jacket as I waited. The Logan Pass area was quite windy and still carried the biting cold from earlier in the morning.
The crowd headed to St. Mary was much smaller, so there were no capacity issues when the reserve bus arrived. I was relieved to be headed to St. Mary with plenty of time to make my shuttle back to East Glacier. As we got closer to the town, my emails and messages from the last few days began to download on my phone. One in particular stood out to me. It was from Amtrak, and said that my train had been canceled.
A cold sweat immediately formed on my brow. Ugh! I opened the email they had sent. It was an odd note and recommended that I accept a refund rather than rebooking. Weird, I thought. My signal was not quite good enough to open the Amtrak app, so I had to wait until St. Mary to weigh my options. I spent the rest of the bus ride just hoping that I would be able to work something out.
The bus dropped us off at the St. Mary visitor center. I then walked about a half mile down the road into the village of St. Mary. It was not hard to spot the lodge there. I went in, confirmed my 2:30PM reservation and paid for it. I was expecting to pay $30, but it only cost $15, which was nice. It was only 1PM and the lodge had a restaurant, so I sat down to eat some lunch, log onto their wifi and figure out what to do about my train.
I ordered a burger and a man came up to me from another table. “Are you a CDT hiker?” he asked. I stared up, and it was Rob’s dad! Rob and Ben were the two friends hiking together that I had first met in Twin Lakes, CO, outside the Twin Lakes General Store. Rob’s dad had driven out from San Diego to meet up with them and do trail magic. Back then, the two guys did not have trail names. They were now Rabbit (Ben) and Ostrich (Rob).
We both recognized each other, equally shocked by the coincidence of meeting again here, at the end. Rob’s dad was going to meet them up at Chief Mountain in a day or two when they finished. He sat down and we chatted for a bit before he left. I really loved his energy. He had stepped away from his work to travel out here and be part of his son’s adventure, and he was clearly loving it.
I looked up the Amtrak schedule as I finished my meal. The same train that I had booked appeared to be leaving the following day at the same time. The email had recommended that we not rebook, which was odd. I decided to go ahead and book the train. Why not? The Amtrak app said it was still running. It would get me into Minneapolis at 8:53AM the next morning, and my flight out wasn’t until 11:30AM. The station wasn’t far from the airport, so while the connection was a little tight, it seemed fairly safe. I could still cancel the ticket for a full refund if needed.
I walked out into the Lodge lobby and sat down. I still had 20 minutes to kill before my shuttle departed. A mother and son from New Jersey were sipping drinks on the couch across from me and talking somewhat loudly in a heated manner. Their classic Jersey accents gave them away, and when I realized they were talking about Amtrak, I shamelessly leaned in to listen.
Through their conversation, I discovered that they and two other people in the lobby also had their trains canceled, and that it was due to a pending rail strike. I asked the son about it after he got off the phone, and he told me that Amtrak rents their rail space on the routes out of East Glacier from freight lines. They therefore rely on the freight lines to run their passenger trains, but the freight line workers were threatening to strike if a compromise could not be reached on whatever they were protesting.
The son was very animated. He reminded me a little bit of the son in the Netflix sitcom Schitt’s Creek. He was wearing a sweater with an interesting white and red pattern on it, brown pants and a leather cowboy hat. With the hat, the outfit screamed of “city vacationing in the country.” While talking to me, he turned to his mother and said something about how Amtrak was going to have to cover their expenses. “Do they do that?” I interjected. “They’re going to when I get through with them,” he said. I laughed a little to myself. I seriously doubted if Amtrak was going to make anyone whole on anything, other than the ticket price.
This explained, however, why Amtrak was recommending refunds over rebooking. They weren’t sure if the strike would happen. Why they had drawn a line in the sand on the day I was leaving didn’t make sense, but the deadline for the strike to be resolved or delayed was two days later.
The mother and son ended up being on my shuttle, as well as another lady from the St. Mary bus ride who was also impacted by the train strike. I wondered if Axel knew about it yet, as he was also planning to be on the same train as me. I would find out soon enough.
The shuttle dropped me off at Looking Glass after taking everyone to the Glacier Lodge. There were hikers EVERYWHERE! I found an empty spot in the backyard. It was like playing tent Tetris. I was glad that I had reserved a cabin for tomorrow night, because there was no more room to sleep inside on the floor, and I was quite sure that there would be a lot of partying and celebrating going on inside with as many hikers as there were.
I was surprised not to see Axel, as he was supposed to be back before me. I set about doing my laundry and taking care of other hiker chores. Axel arrived later in the afternoon. Apparently his shuttle driver had not shown up, but funny enough, Rob’s dad had gone to Chief Mountain just to check it out and ended up giving Axel a ride all the way back to East Glacier! The trail provides….
Axel and I spent some time discussing the train situation. I decided that I shouldn’t bank on Amtrak running the next day, given all that was going on, so I canceled my train and ultimately booked a flight out of Missoula. East Glacier doesn’t have an airport, and while Kalispell airport was closer, it was also smaller and much more expensive. Missoula allowed me to book a flight to Minneapolis and thereby still make use of the nonrefundable hotel and flight I had already booked there. Now I just had one problem – how to get to Missoula.
Axel and I walked a mile into town and ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant. There were a lot of hikers at other tables and the place was packed. The food was pretty good. We talked about the hike and how we were going to get home. He was leaning towards not rebooking his train ticket and finding a flight as well. I felt badly for him because he had planned to do quite a bit of rail travel before returning home to France. I hoped he would still find a way to get to all of the places he wanted to go without the train.
That night was my last night in my tent on my lumpy sleeping pad. Somehow I had made it all the way to the end with that thing! I was excited to wake up early in the morning, both for breakfast at the Lodge buffet and because I wouldn’t have to sleep on that lump ever again!
Axel and I walked down to eat breakfast together. We talked about how loud it had been last night at the hostel. Some of the partying had spilled outside. It wasn’t too bad really, until one guy, clearly drunk, decided to have a loud phone conversation right beside our tents at about midnight. Fortunately the conversation didn’t last that long and I was able to fall back asleep.
We scarfed down our breakfast. I tried not to eat like I normally would, knowing that I didn’t need to bank calories like a grizzly bear preparing to hibernate. It was hard though, especially with a buffet, and I pooled the syrup onto my pancakes like California with an opportunity for free water from another state’s reservoir. They didn’t have the huckleberry crepes this time. I was disappointed not to get a second crack at those, but it was probably for the best.
When we finished our meal, I asked our server if he knew of any of his colleagues who might be headed to Missoula and wanted to cover some gas money in exchange for giving two hikers a ride. He did not. I thought it was worth a try since the Lodge was closing for the season soon. I had checked at the front desk, but there were no shuttles to Missoula. Yesterday I had looked into private shuttles, but those would cost close to $1000. Missoula was 3.5 hours away and I couldn’t see spending what it would cost me to book a flight all the way back home. It was beginning to seem like I might be spending my day tomorrow hitchhiking. It wasn’t the hitchhiking I minded as much as just not knowing if I would actually get to Missoula – there was no guarantee I would find a ride to a destination that far away.
After breakfast I ran into Ollie, an Australian hiker I had met a day or so before heading into Lima, MT. I talked with her for a while. She was the first of her group to get into town and was contemplating whether to wait for them or to go ahead and tear up the buffet. When we were done chatting, I walked to the post office to mail my box of “sharp things” that I had prepared in the morning.
Yesterday I had managed to scrounge up a box wide enough to fit my trekking poles from the General Store. There were a lot of stray “community” dogs in East Glacier, wandering here and there. They ate what they scrounged and whatever people fed them. As I walked away from the Lodge and passed under a bridge to reach the main street, three dogs crossed the road towards me. They crowded around me and looked upwards, longingly. They were staring up at the box I was carrying on my shoulder. I looked at the side of the box and noticed that it said “hash browns.” Maybe they could smell the remnants of whatever hash browns were in that box, but they were keenly interested and followed me under the bridge. One of them growled a little, but I couldn’t tell if he was impatient with me or annoyed with one of the other dogs.
My puparazzi crossed the street with me, but then became interested in some other smell and left. I made it to the post office and mailed my box, then headed back to Looking Glass hostel. I was able to get settled into my little cabin room, which was awesome! It had a small table and a bed and was exactly what I needed for my last night in town. I sat out back with Axel, and as we were discussing our need to find a way to Missoula, another hiker named Joe Dirt piped up. “I’ve got a ride to Whitefish tomorrow.”
Joe Dirt had met another hiker who had finished the Pacific Northwest Trail and been hanging out in the Glacier area. I think he was staying in his car, but he might have been staying at the hostel. His (trail) name was Costanza. Costanza was giving Joe a ride to Whitefish so that Joe could catch a greyhound from there to Missoula that afternoon. Costanza was sitting in a chair by his car in the parking lot next door, so Joe took Axel and I over there and introduced us. We talked with him, explaining our predicament and that we were trying to get to Missoula. Apparently Costanza had also been planning to ride Amtrak, but was now just going to drive his car wherever he was headed next.
Costanza ended up deciding that he would just give the three of us a lift to Missoula tomorrow morning, which was amazing. I couldn’t believe our luck! We went from probable hitchhiking to secured ride just through that one conversation. Likewise, Joe Dirt now didn’t have to ride Greyhound from Whitefish to Missoula. Just like that, through the kindness of a stranger we had a plan. We thanked Costanza profusely and said we would, of course, cover gas, but he refused. He said he wanted it to be his way of doing a little trail magic. Incredible! I also really liked his trail name because I was a big Seinfeld fan back when it was running on television, but a George Costanza he was not!
With that last leg locked down, I was able to relax and let Gillian know that I had a complete plan for getting home. I then learned that Blueberry and Draggin’ were going to make it into town that evening and they wanted to meet at the Mexican place for dinner! I hadn’t seen them since New Mexico when they had pulled up next to me in a car as I was hiking into Chama, both on their way to visit friends and family in Santa Fe.
It was fun reconnecting with Blueberry and Draggin’ again that evening. Draggin’ had a thick beard now and they both looked thinner. They also showed up with Sour Patch, which made my evening! I had met Sour Patch in the San Juans and we had hiked over the 13,000+ foot mountain before Lake City in the snow together. He had witnessed my borderline hypothermia, and I had watched him fall full body into a huge mud puddle. It had been some day! I had left him in Lake City, where he ironically stayed due to a popped sleeping pad. We had good conversation and were the same age, allowing for easy relay of movie references, relatable 80s and 90s stories, and so on. I had missed his company since. I told him about my own sleeping pad woes. It was a great dinner!
We all stopped at the General Store before heading to the hostel. Burning Man was also there – I had met him in Lima and last seen him before Leodore. He needed a new washer for his Sawyer filter, and I happened to have one in my repair kit, so he followed me back to the hostel even though he wasn’t staying there to get the washer.
Back at the hostel, the early stages of party were already underway. Everyone was happy. People were either finished, or almost finished. I got a text earlier during dinner from Pilgrim that he was on his way into town, and then later, once I was back at the hostel, that he was eating at the Mexican restaurant. I talked with Draggin’, Sour Patch, Blueberry, and Axel for a while hoping to catch him, but at 10PM I could stay awake no longer and just needed to go to bed. There was a small chance I would see him in the morning, but only if he was up very early – we were leaving for Missoula at 7.
The cabin bed was wonderful! My back did not resist the soft cradling of the mattress. There was no noise, no condensation, and no lumpy sleeping pad! I didn’t have to hang my food or wonder if grizzly bears would investigate my sleeping quarters. Ironically, Luna had warned us that a black bear had been running around town looking for food, but I doubted it would mess with the tents outside tonight – there was just too much going on out there with people awake and about.
The morning came quickly. I was ready fast, not needing to disassemble a tent or do many of the usual pack-up routines. I threw on my now much lighter backpack and found the other guys in the kitchen. Bodies were sleeping all over the floor inside Looking Glass and the backyard was full of tents. Pilgrim was asleep somewhere, but I didn’t see him before we left.
The ride to Missoula was fun. Costanza liked to chat, so we heard about his hike on the Pacific Northwest Trail, as well as some of his other adventures. He was actually headed to France fairly soon to hike around Mont Blanc, so he took Axel’s contact info. I think Axel lives an hour or two from Mont Blanc. Axel showed us pictures of the van he had been living out of for about six years. The three and a half hours passed quickly and, before I knew it, we were dropping Axel off at the Missoula airport. He had booked a ticket to Seattle, his first stop on his America tour. I also learned that the CDT was Axel’s first thru-hike here in the US. He made it look so easy!
Costanza dropped Joe Dirt off at Walmart and me off at the Days Inn I had booked. I thanked him profusely and wished him well on his France adventure. He really saved our butts! Thank you, thank you Costanza, if you ever read this!
I spent the afternoon walking around Missoula and eating. I ate at a pizza place, then took a stroll along the river that runs through town. I stopped for an ice cream sundae, and then visited a cookie shop where I bought some incredibly decadent cookies that may or may not have had buttercream filling…. I knew I should start tapering back, but it was too much to resist.
I went back to the hotel and relaxed, working on catching up on my writing. I almost made myself sick with the cookies, so I wandered down the street to get some salad from Albertsons for dinner. I knew I needed to start filling my body with vegetables. I booked a Lyft ride to the airport for the morning. My flight was quite early, so I got to sleep at a reasonable time and set my alarm for 4:30AM.
I made it to the airport just fine. The Missoula airport was small – probably about the size of the airport in Wilmington, NC, where I would land in two days. The flight was easy enough, leaving and arriving on time in Minneapolis around 11:30AM. I took a bus from the terminal to the Mall of America, but only because I didn’t get off at the correct stop. I then walked back about three quarters of a mile to my hotel and got checked in. I definitely felt out of place walking into the Hyatt lobby in my faded hiker clothes, but if they thought it odd, they did not reveal themselves.
I decided to pick a place for lunch close to Minnehaha Falls. I looked at the map and settled on this area because there were a few connected parks and it was right along the Mississippi River. I would be able to get some good walking in. I took a Lyft to a restaurant called The Tipsy Steer and, rather than tapering back my eating, I doubled down and ate a short rib grilled cheese sandwich, fries, and a side salad. I then got a birthday cake milkshake to go, which came with an entire slice of birthday cake…. I carried the cake out in a box and drank the milkshake as I waddled to the park. Even for me, this was a bit much! The Tipsy Steer was fantastic, though, if you should ever find yourself hungry in Minneapolis.
I walked on the park pathway down to Minnehaha Falls, which was dry. Perhaps Minneapolis had been experiencing a drought, but I wasn’t sure why it was so. I continued on and joined the path by the Mississippi River. Minneapolis seemed to be full of parks and pathways. I walked along until it started to rain. Although I had my rain jacket, I’d had enough of walking in wet weather, so I changed course and walked a little over a mile to a coffee house by a light rail station. I sat there and killed some time drinking coffee and working on my writing, before taking the train back to the airport and transferring to a bus back to my hotel from there.
I ate dinner at the hotel restaurant later and enjoyed being in a quiet, clean, amazing room. My flight tomorrow wasn’t until late morning, so I didn’t have to worry about getting up super early. I lounged around, wrote, and watched silly stuff on television. It was delightful.
Morning came and I grabbed coffee and breakfast from the cafe downstairs, carrying it back to eat in my room. I was able to take a free shuttle from the hotel back to the airport. I had not known about this yesterday when I decided to take the bus. Before arriving, I had checked the hotel’s website and it recommended using the light rail and, oddly, did not mention a shuttle. The Minneapolis airport is large, but fairly nice, so it wasn’t painful passing the time until my flight was boarding.
Up until this point, I just assumed something else was going to go wrong with my travel plans. I figured a flight would be delayed or canceled. This happens so frequently now, I knew I just needed to accept and anticipate it. But, in the end, nothing happened and everything was on time. I touched down in Wilmington, texted my wife, and walked outside to find her parked at the airport ready to scoop me up. After planes, canceled trains, and automobiles, I was finally home.
It was wonderful to be back and see Gillian again. We went directly to one of our favorite local restaurants that has good seafood – PT’s Old Fashioned Grille. We both ate the fish tacos, one of the best things on their menu, and started to catch up with all of the stories we had to tell. While I was hiking through my adventure, she had been on her own journey, exploring Wilmington, enjoying the beach, settling into her new job and making new friends. We would have much catching up to do over the coming days.
Just like that, my trip was over. It felt weird to be back to “normal life,” whatever that means. I have had such a variety of experiences since I hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2018, that the phrase “normal life” has a completely different meaning for me now than it used to. That is, of course, by design, though I have learned that lifestyle design can only provide structure and set a course. There is nothing that I do – no amount of planning or structuring – that will take away the mysteries of life. I am grateful for this. Who wants to know everything that will happen? Sometimes I think I want that crystal ball, but then were would the adventure be? I’ve come to believe that it is better just to let everything unfold as it will. I can still move and act directionally, even if I am never sure where the trail I am on will ultimately lead. Of course, trails do have ends, and at moments in time events and destinations in life become visible and known. We do not walk or live blindly, but simply march forward, discovering false summits, hidden views, secret caves, forgotten waterfalls, and mountains behind mountains that promise more of the same.
It is with that spirit that I returned to Wilmington, to my “normal” life. I am most grateful for my CDT journey, and I think I learned a lot about myself along the way. I bolstered my self confidence and proved to myself that I could do it, that I could complete the adventure that had bested me in 2019. My hope is that this confidence and these experiences will push me forward in a positive direction as I begin the next chapter, whatever that may be. The trail is right in front of me now, as always, so I guess I’ll just have to start walking and see where it leads.
You might also like
