Enroute to Gillette, we cross into Wyoming at 7:05 a.m., when it's still relatively cool and comfortable. Breakfast unfolds as it should and Elaine takes the wheel to Buffalo. We enter Sheridan less than one hour after the big rodeo parade, complete with a Custer lookalike drum major with a 19th century, Cavalry-uniformed drum and bugle band. Ah tortured fame! We have a walkabout, enjoy ice-cream and I find my new Wyoming t-shirt (the old one is worn out and I love that word Wyoming).

Leaving Sheridan behind we cross the rolling hills of northeast Wyoming into the like Montana countryside. And, the temperature rises quickly to "It's hot outside". We are barely through the bottom land of the Little Bighorn Valley, after crossing Custer's fateful route of march, when human oriented environmental solutions are in order. So we dive off the interstate into Lodge Grass on the Crow Reservation to purchase the simple essentials...one plastic dishpan and one big bag of cubed ice. Passenger feet go on the ice with the obligation to offer the driver an iced rag for a necktie! This gets us to Billings, Montana but it is clearly too warm to continue. Pooh is surviving with slightly elevated engine temperature and slightly lower oil pressure. We are not so compliant. Pooh is parked in the shade at 3:30 p.m. in downtown Billings for all to slow down and, hopefully cool off.

At 6:30 p.m. after dinner, it is 103 degrees in Billings but we must be off for Bozeman to gain a few miles to ease Elaine's concern to visit our handicapped son Richard in Penticton, B.C. before a care review meeting up the Okanagan Valley in Kelowna on Monday morning next. The offset is that temperatures should drop through the evening, and they do as we cross Bozeman Pass in 4th gear. Unfortunately, Bozeman, the northern gateway to Yellowstone National Park, also has 115 softball teams in town for a tournament. All accommodation is booked. With another "long night" looming, we leave for Three Forks, Amsterdam/Belgrade et al. Three Forks is sold out. So are Belgrade (north of I90) and adjacent Amsterdam (south of I90).

I'm losing enthusiasm for the long run even though it is much more comfortable. Pooh is holding up well and showing nothing other than very modest oil loss (tranny shifter?!?!?). I too must tough it out and wheel west towards Whitehall. Pushing hard we get to Whitehall's Super 8 moments before a biker and claim the last room. There are nights when one must not only finish the sprint but finish first! What a blessing cool sheets are this night.