Dillon was the pivotal crossroads of the entire journey.

Up to now, since Astoria, OR, I had been closely following the Trans Am Bike Trail. Dillon was a day and a half away from Yellowstone, the next milestone on the route.

Bad weather had chased me into Dillon. Just as I began the monumental descent, the clouds broke and doused me with the most torrential rain I have ever ridden in. No visibility; no traction; completely soaked and uncomfortable. There was nothing I could do but put on my rain jacket--a joke in the face of these rains--and put my head down and pedal into Dillon. My Warmshowers hosts, Larry and Lori, were the kindest, most knowledgeable, and friendly people I could hope for.

They took me in, fed me, let me shower, and gave me a room in the smaller house next to their bigger house, which they had built themselves.

Larry was keeping a close eye on the weather radar, tracking the rains that had pummeled me and were currently roiling Yellowstone. Yellowstone, my next destination, was flooding under unprecedented conditions. I was stuck. So I waited it out.

And yet Mother nature wins the battle of patience. I sheltered in place at my Warmshowers (at my hosts' great generosity) and the rain was not passing. It looked like I might get a small window of one clear day, but the forecast changed to a week or more of untenable weather.

I felt I had no choice. "If only I could go around," I mused out loud. Larry looked at me, "Well of course you can go around!"

My bike maps were tightly dictated. They spelled out the route, and only the route. Few to no alternatives. But Larry pulled out a plain old road map and showed me other, better ways. I love it. Great. Sign me up.

And while while I'm at it, there's a better route around another obstacle down the road... and another... and another. There is a wealth of better scenery to go through and better roads to travel on. I hadn't realized it, but I had been trapped by my maps. I was traveling this famous, allegedly great trail across America. It didn't occur to me until then that I could, or even should, forge my own trail across America.

This was the great breakthrough. I was following these maps because they were a lifeline, telling me exactly where to go and where I could stop. But at this point I had followed the lines for a full quarter of the way across the country. I got a good idea of what the deal was and now I was free to make my own way.