It took us an extra long time this morning getting everything packed, but all our gear had dried overnight. The streets of Great Falls had also dried, and the morning looked promising.

We had one little errand to run -- a quick trip to the post office, the C M Russell Station, to mail home some of the T-shirts we have picked up along the way. We were not the only bikers with the same idea. Two riders from Arkansas came to mail some things home. This seems to be a common theme among the bikers we have met along our way -- traveling far from home, picking up keepsakes, building great memories.

Leaving Great Falls we crossed over the Missouri River. We almost immediately hit the plains area of Montana, vast and serene. One could almost see the curvature of the earth. Soon, the Rockies appeared to the west of us. They were breathtaking! The sky was blue, no sign of the storms of the past few days, but blue sky doesn't always equate to warmth. By the time we stopped for lunch, we were so cold we got into our bags for additional shirts to wear under our leathers.

We followed roads which curved up and down the foothills of the Rockies, on our way to Canada. Upon reaching the border we braced ourselves for a showdown with the border patrol. As our children can tell you, we have been to Canada many times, but have never crossed easily over the border. This time was no exception. It was not enough to merely show our passports to and converse with the officer at the window -- she sent us inside to have a special interview. The officer inside took our passports and driver's licenses and made us wait a few minutes.

Apparently they ran a credit check or something on us, because most of the questions dealt with the amount of money we were taking into the country. They must have a problem with Americans riding motorcycles into their country and then expecting Canada to take care of them. Or, maybe, they are just hoping we are prepared to spend a lot while we visit. The officer seemed in good humor until he asked us if we had ever been arrested. Shirlene said no, but Dick, for some reason, said, "Not that I can remember." We expected a strip search at that time, but Dick was able to explain that he had had traffic tickets. The officer took a deep breath, and let us go.

Although the scenery didn't change that much when we crossed the border, it was instantly apparent we were in another country. For example, distance and speed are measured in kilometers, it is "compulsory" to wear seat belts, pedestrian crossing signs look like railroad crossing signs, and there are many "important intersections ahead."

The Rockies still loom enticingly to the west. We can hardly wait. We passed through the beautiful Cardston, and saw the signs directing us to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. We had heard about this, but it was too far off our course to visit so late in the day. It is one of the oldest, largest and best preserved buffalo jumps in North America. Now, buffalo jumping is not an olympic sport, but the way the Blackfeet would kill the buffalo by driving them over a cliff.

It was a beautiful day for a ride, through beautiful country. We were tired, though, by the time we reached Calgary, and this sprawling city with freeway traffic was a jolt to our senses. We managed to find our way through a maze of "trails" with the help of a fellow Hoggie. He was with us at a red light when we asked him how to get to Highway 1. He very clearly, over the roar of three Harleys, said, "Holy Crap!" and when he realized he couldn't explain the way to us, he motioned to us to follow him, and he got us safely through the city, and well on our way up Highway 1, the Banff Trail.

We checked into a lovely motel, where only one nonsmoking room remained. One with an in room jacuzzi! We found that the "biker discount" was bigger than the AAA discount -- just another perk of traveling on two wheels.