My dad is here! Having succumbed to my guilt tripping [“you’re retired, what else do you have to do? Besides, then you won’t be worried about me.”], he flew in yesterday. His bike won’t get here until tomorrow, so in the meantime we’ve rented a car and are playing tourist in Missoula.

Missoula is super bike-friendly, so it’s a bit of a shame to tool around in a car, but not enough to negate the glorious freedom of swift, air-conditioned transport. We make quick work of exciting preparatory activities like going to Walmart for sunscreen, and spend the rest of the day tooling around the city center. It’s a small city by our standards, with the added novelty of a relatively natural river running through the middle, with people fishing and everything. Where I’m from, rivers are caged in with concrete and rubble, and are mostly inaccessible as a source of recreation.

We hit up the headquarters of the Adventure Cycling Association for some advice on riding south given all the forest fires happening. They seem to think it’ll be ok, though they are far more nonchalant about hundred-thousand acre wildfires than I am. Most importantly, we pick up the map that will lead us south out of Missoula and down to Yellowstone.

Papa D’s bike arrives on Tuesday morning. He’s been checking out the window for the Fed-Ex truck like a kid on Christmas, and runs down to grab it when it arrives. Miraculously, it goes together with minimal swearing and only momentary frustration with the handlebar bag. So we ditch the motel, ditch the car, and ride off into town for a quick check-up at the bike shop before our journey commences.

It’s nice to have company. Riding alone isn’t so bad, but exploring a city by yourself is a bit lonely. Having the dad here makes it better, and it’s fun to talk him through what the next few weeks of riding will be like. I get to be the expert for once! I hope he enjoys it, but even if he’s only here for a short time it’ll be worth it.