Sun, finally. In the brightly lit morning as the sun struggles with its commitment to peek over the snow capped Rocky Mountains, I start my climb out of Butte headed for the Divide.
Unfortunately, there is no other way up the steep mountain. I am forced to walk along Highway 90. As I bend forward and vigorously pump my arms to give me leverage and confidence I am comforted by the wide shoulder and the newly paved roadway. Big, speeding trucks, rushing down the mountain, and unable to stop instantly, are now more likely to see and avoid me, I hope. The view of the broad Butte valley far below, and sheer granite out cropping close enough to touch, are motivating. The scent of small pine trees intoxicates me just enough to pick up the pace. Then, anticlimactically, on a small bridge crossing over the highway a tiny sign proclaims, “Continental Divide 6393”. It is downhill from here and so a good day begins.