Day 16

JUNE 24 Apgar to East Glacier MT

It was hard to leave Glacier; we had been pampered by our two and a half day stay, and now we had to get back into the bike-touring-groove. Everything started out well, but my body, still sore from the hike the day before, started to wear down after a while. Our ride took us over Marias Pass, the lowest pass in the Rockies, but the road steadily climbed up to it for 45 miles. By the time we got to the top, we were all ready for the Great Plains, and the absolute lack of mountain passes.
Descending from Marias Pass, the world changed. The trees disappeared, the sky cleared (after having been gray all day from a rain storm 4:30 that morning) and the wind picked up. A tail wind. I could literally feel it puching me up the hills on the way to East Glacier... I was going uphill at 20 miles per hour!
In East Glacier, dad and I went to the store to resupply on food for breakfast and lunch. As we walked past the refrigerator section, we spotted a sign plastered above the beer reading, "Sorry, we can't sell alcohol until after 8:oo pm on June 24 due to elections." Dad took a picture of the sign, and we both wondered how Steve had managed to buy a couple of cans of beer when we first got into town.
We went out for dinner in East Glacier, to a Mexican restaurant called Serrano's (ironically, the one in Sandpoint was named Jalapenos; we're keeping our eyes peeled for a Poblanos or Habaneros). The restaurant was packed withing minutes of opening, always a good sign. The waiter, a bulky young man with a round face and a broken nose who appeared to be Native American (East Glacier is inside the Blackfeet Indian Reservation) came over to take our drink orders. "I'll have a margarita." Steve said, "Or can't you sell me one because of elections?" he added sarcastically.
"Oh, you're right!"the waiter said, "Tribal elections tonight! We can't sell any alcohol until after eight!"
"Even though we're not from around here?" Steve asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.
"Sorry, it's the law across the entire county." The waiter said. Everyone placed their drink orders, dully settling for sodas, and the waiter left.
"Nice job, Steve." dad teased him, "He wouldn't have remembered otherwise."
"Ahh, he'd have just gone to the bartender and come back to tell us we couldn't have margaritas any way." Steve said defensively. At the next table over, we could hear Bill arguing indignantly with the waiter over the same point.
"We aren't even from around here!" "Sorry, it's the law." "But we won't even be voting!" "They do this out here for any major event: prom, homecoming, elections. Sorry..."
Soon, the waiter returned to take our orders. When it came to me, I pointed at the menu, "I'll have the Carne Tampico, hot please." (the menu said it came either mild or hot).
The waiter gave me a bemused expression, "Hot? Are you sure?"
"Well, yeah... I suppose..." I answered sheepishly.
"I'll bring you lots of water then." With the help of 3 Dr. Peppers (free refills) and lots of water, I managed to down most of the meal. It was really quite good, and I do like spicy food. Still, I was the only one not to clear my plate; spicy food always fills me up pretty fast.
At the restaurant, Michael bought a sticker with a picture of a red chili pepper and the words "Serrano's, East Glacier Park Montana." As he cut out the pepper to put on his bike, Steve picked up the scraps, "We need to come up with a word we can make out of the left over letters."
Jerry wandered over while Steve was talking. "Anus." he suggested.
"No, not at all, just go away." Michael said, managing to sound very upset (he has a very dry sense of humor), "It wouldn't even be spelled right!" Not too long afterwards, I was in bed, trying to fall asleep with the caffeine from three Dr. Peppers pumping through my veins, and the sound of fireworks echoing through the campsite (it was close enough to the fourth that fireworks were already on sale.)