Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library, Bismarck, North Dakota

My plan was to visit the aesthetically pretty pretty State Library in Bismarck, but weather that had been in the low 60s the day before had turned bitter and mean, with a hard frost across the city and a steady, biting wind blowing snow all day. I decided that my brief visit to the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library the previous day could extend to a full day of work, pretty pretty libraries be danged.

It would be hard to miss the facade of Bismarck's main library. It not only shouts LIBRARY, it features a public signage peep in the act of reading, just in case it was unclear in any way.

Just inside the front doors there is a collection of photos showing the past and present main libraries of Bismarck--I can't begin to guess why the city decided to go from classic to wildly pedestrian, but that's their jam and to each his own.

The interior has this cool, streamlined, open feel that I found comfortable and conducive to long spells of plugging in and disconnecting from this tactile earth. When I resurfaced to the land of the moving, I went to the cafe for more coffee and a snack. Said snack was a seriously delicious chocolate chip cookie that I wolfed before I ever thought to document it.

The basement.

On the brief first day, I spent my time down in the basement, a cold collection of stacks under bright, white light. What I will never stop kicking myself over is not recording the grandfather clock positioned nonchalantly by the elevator. It was one of those more recent brass and glass types, not the old wooden classic, and it would do the usual chiming on the hour and half hour to note the passage of time, but the subsequent BONG-ing was extra special. It didn't just do a stern but melodious GONG. Oh no no no. Now, imagine being down in the basement, vast white light, almost completely alone, and the clock to your left starts tinkly winkling. You've heard it before from a hundred other grandfather clocks, it's nothing special. Then the GONG starts banging, wretched and off key, a shattering, hellscreech of a gong, Gong, GONNNNNG, that jolts you straight out of your train of thought and jettisons you to a cold, airless planet. It honestly scared me at first, it was so out of place and creepy, then the absurdity hit me and I cackled, alone in the basement of the library. Then I was creeped out again. Luckily it was time to go.

I was pleased to see that this library lends art, as well, so the weirdo Wichita Main doesn't stand alone in that offering. A staff member of another library mentioned that they used to lend art, but that it had passed out of vogue years before. I suppose some libraries just don't give up. If you ever need a fancy blue boy, they've got just the blue boy for ya.

I liked this library--it was calm and quiet, and while fairly busy, it was easy to concentrate and get some work done. It had a quirky side, and while clinging to some outmoded practices (and haunted clocks), it also embraced newer trends (cafes, whimsical kids sections). I don't think I missed much skipping that state library, after all.

Montana Miscellany and the Abyssmarck (770 miles)

Glitter church.

Ending grade for Montana: Solid B. I liked it. I liked the people, and I never felt like a tentacled alien slithering from Applebee's to Applebee's pleading for a Glass of Watarrr with Sugarrrr. The countryside is beautiful this time of year, with the yellow long grass flowing under the shining sun. A sea of glowing grain. I also got a chance to hit up the Cracker Barrel while in Billings. This is a place that owns me lock, stock, and barrel, not just because of the food (which is consistently yummy) but because the front store is always full of exactly the kind of garbage I like to blow money on. Encrust it with glitter and I will give you my dollars.

Once out of Montana and into North Dakota, the land turned craggy and strange, and before I knew it I was upon the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I hadn't planned to visit, but it was right there, there was no entry fee, and they had bathrooms, so I stopped for a brief review.

Montana rest stops offer helpful signage in case you need to ID a cow.

It's a cool and strange place and I was glad I pulled over. I watched the biography of the Roosevelts on Netflix when I stayed in the casita in Magdalena (New Mexico), so I remembered that this was where Teddy traveled after his first wife and mother succumbed to typhoid fever on the very same day. He hunted, played ranger, and worked out his grief in North Dakota, if I recall correctly, and I can see how it would be a worthy distraction, though North Dakota can be awfully harsh. Though maybe that was part of it, too.

I also photographed some less dramatic parts of North Dakota along the way. There were waves of hills in places that reminded me a bit of the Palouse, and it was lovely to see while it lasted...after Bismarck and toward Fargo, North Dakota gets really familiar. It is almost exactly the same as Kansas (flat grasslands and tidy crops, with clutches of trees here and there).

Behind the restaurant, where no one goes. Forever alone.

After so much traveling, to circle back to the flatlands is both a relief and knife in the heart. I want to keep Wagon Training, Vern. But it does get lonely and tiring, there's no denying that. If someone had told me how much missing those furfaces that are my mom's cats and not my cats dammit would affect me, I wouldn't have believed them. There were nights, especially near the beginning, when I missed them so much I was almost in tears. Real, live human tears. For God's sake.

But finally I had reached North Dakota, and there was no more obvious a sign that I was nearing the end of my trip than the flattening out of the horizon to a rolling sameness dotted with clusters of haughty trees that refuse to die despite the abusive climate. 

A Taste Sensation!

Another sign of travel fatigue is having the same dish at Applebee's four times now. And while I am so tired of new things and thus falling back onto soft places more regularly, this also qualifies as a big endorsement of said dish. It's off the light side of the menu, believe it or not, and it is called Cedar Grilled Lemon Chicken. This dish is the everlovin BOMB. It is flavortastic and just filling enough. And you don't leave the restaurant feeling like smuck (trans: gravy smothered truck).

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Applebee's is also The Place, The Spot, The Jukejoint where all the hepcats hang in Billings, Bismarck, and Fargo. It was packed every night I went, and people were getting their drank on, like in a big way. Who knew, right? I always just thought of it as a place to take Grandma and Grandpa and get a halfway decent steak for like $12. 

Anyway, I guess it was destiny that something was going to go awry. My illnesses long past, I hadn't hit any significant bumps in the road since and had been having a pretty good run overall, enjoying the places I visited and staying at some truly stellar AirBNBs. 

On my way to Bismarck I received a text from the AirBNB host asking about my ETA. This is standard, and I try to be as flexible as possible since I don't have set agendas for the most part. I stated that I could be there between 6 and 7 and she said that would work. I specifically told her to let me know if she needed me to be there by a certain time.

Little did I know that not only was there no LTE service in the ND sticks, but there would be no LTE service again until I reached Fargo. Nevertheless, I was on track to make it to the AirBNB right before seven when I made a wrong turn.

Google maps can work even if you are out of range because the route loads from wherever you started. If I had started that day out of LTE or wifi range, I would have been screwed, but I'd gotten reception at the Starbucks on the way and had the map loaded and working...until I went off course. If you are in range, Google Maps will automatically reroute your course to get you where you need to go. If you are out of range, you have to look at the map on your phone and find your way back to the original course.

It is actually pretty amazing that Google Maps can do any of this in the first place, but a missed turn can complicate things if you are out of range and trying to hit a mark. 

Anyway, I ended up arriving just a tad late (7:05) to find the husband and daughter sitting out in the cold waiting for me. He was pacing and she was sitting on the steps. After a frosty introduction (they were late somewhere), the kid showed me around and I discovered some unpleasant truths about the place I was staying for the next two nights:

• The ad for the space said I would have my own bathroom on the same floor. It failed to mention I would have to walk across the entire ranch house through the dining room, filthy kitchen, two hallways, and a laundry room to get to it. In the pitch dark. While trying not to step on cats.
• The window in the bathroom was open when I got there. Upon closing it, a smell of permanent cat urine arose. 
• The whole house reeked of thick, heavy grease, not helped by the fact that the dirty pans were left out for at least a day. It smelled that way the entire time I was there. 
• My room door had no lock (nor did the bathroom).
• My room featured a plug in air fresher spewing out a floral fume, something I would have unplugged except for the stench of grease.
• The bathroom amenities included a used tube of toothpaste.
• The carpet was dirty and stained. 
• The man of the house was skulking around at all hours, even late at night and early in the morning, ever present as though he was making sure I wouldn't steal any of their rad stuff. He barely said a word to me when I would pass him. I never saw the lady of the house and only saw the one kid that first night. 
• The house was a general mess--stuff everywhere, clothes and miscellaneous crap...something I would not have cared about if everything else wasn't so shitty, but ya know. In for a penny.

When I was there I kept to my room and avoided leaving as much as possible. One of the problems I have with AirBNB is ME: I tend to be pretty awkward around strangers and absolutely hate staying at other people's houses, family included, with one exception: Mom. Because we grew up together. But strangers? I wasn't even sure I could do AirBNB the social anxiety was so overwhelming. 

But most of the time it really is fine. Sometimes there is awkwardness, or messiness, or little issues here and there. But it is usually just one or two things, not like, seven. So I'm deciding how to address it. I haven't reviewed the place yet. The standard operating procedure in the AirBNB community is to not ding people for minor infractions. You'll find it is very rare to have hosts with less than five stars across the board. Those that do have 4 or 4.5 stars usually don't have big complaints. Every once in awhile someone will go AWF but about 95% of the listings I've reviewed over the course of the past year have had little to no drama (and a lot of compliments, etc.).

The Bismarck place, by the way, had plenty of rave reviews. Either my standards are too high or they're just baldfaced lying. Or they have little or no experience with AirBNB. It's confounding.

It bothers me that they might retaliate out of spite, but I can probably get AirBNB to clear my name if need be. Is it not my duty to warn people that the ad doesn't match the reality? I wouldn't mention the skulker (I may just be sensitive and, as I've said, am already awkward), but I have to mention the mess, the stench, and the fact that the bathroom is all they way on the other side of the house. I guess I just feel bad openly criticizing other people. And if they were letting people stay for free, I could hardly complain...but if I'm paying to stay there? C'mon, man. Used toothpaste? Really? Are we mouthkissing next? What else?

All in all, though, the AirBNB experience has been pretty excellent. I will do a more thorough run down of the service after the trip concludes.

Montanaaaaaaa!

Little Bighorn Battlefield, Crow Reservation, Montana

While I was in Montana briefly to visit the Glacier Park area, I consider this part of the trip entirely separate. Montana is a big state, and the southeastern part of Montana is very different from the northwestern part of Montana. The northwest is mountainous with massive lakes, the southeast is hills of long grass and grain, the relative flatlands.

My first encounter with this side of Montana was the Little Bighorn Battlefield, a national monument located within the Crow Reservation, east of Billings. It isn't something I would go out of my way to visit, but once I knew it was on the way to Billings, I decided to drop by. I made no effort to find out when it was open and figured I would roll in and roll out within 30 minutes or so. I did not expect it to make an impression.

Why so apathetic? Ambivalence. If I ever thought of the battle, which was rarely, my first thought was always a mean, hard, hateful, "Good." U.S. Cavalry unit loses to Native American tribes? Good.  Enlisted men were poor and undernourished? Good. Custer made foolhardy tactical decisions and paid with his life? Good. All U.S. Cavalry under Custer's command died? Good. They were driven to the last hill, slaughtered, and mutilated? Good, good, GOOD. Assessing all of American history from 1492 to present, you'll excuse me if I have zero empathy for the conquerors. There is no comparing one individual's suffering to the humiliation and decimation of an entire race of people.

But that's what history did up until relatively modern times. It was a tragic tale of the brave General Custer and his valiant men who perished under the sneaking, backstabbing savagery of injuns. Reinforced, memorialized, and mythologized. Another backwards, whites-only glorification of the Great Pioneers of America.

Fuck Custer. Fuck historians.

So I'm already mad rolling up on this damn hill. Because while Custer's defeat was GOOD, everything before and after it was BAD stacked on BAD, deep fried in BAD. If you think the Lakota, Arapaho, and Cheyenne didn't pay for their impudence, you're out of your goddamned mind.

And that's the ambivalence. It only made things worse and solidified hatred across the races. And in the grand scope of things, what's one battle, anyway?

The national monument is a weird place. One of the first things you see upon driving up to the parking lot is a fenced in area full of rows and rows of white headstones. Without context you might assume that this is where the U.S. Army combatants of the Battle of Little Bighorn were buried, but they are actually near the top, under one large monument in a mass grave. Apparently the U.S. government allowed non-associated veterans to be buried in this area (Custer National Cemetery) up until the 1970s (x). Perhaps some of the men interred in the Custer cemetery wanted to be buried there because they had ancestors who died in the Battle of Little Bighorn. Or perhaps they thought of this land as a patriotic, historic place to be buried. 

After briefly speaking with the rangers in the visitors center, I walked outside to the path up to the spot of the infamous "Custer's last stand." As I walked past the unrelated soldiers' headstones, I tried to read some of them but could not make them out. The headstones are exactly like other headstones that are scattered around the memorial site that are meant to show where different U.S. army soldiers fell during the Battle of Little Bighorn, yet another confusing part of the experience.

I reached the top of the hill and read the placards and memorial stone. After the battle, the whole unit was hastily buried there, right near where Custer died, but within the next few years the officers' bodies were removed and relocated to cemeteries around the country (Custer's remains are buried at West Point) (x). But under this marker, the infantrymen still lie. Throwaway men. I may have felt a little something reading the names, but it was tempered by the emotional manipulation going on nearby. The park's service takes great pains to explain how many infantrymen were poor immigrants, Germans and Irish, who barely knew English and had few options. Okay. Still on an errand to oppress native peoples, but okay.

Down the hill and not so far away is the Indian Memorial, which was added to the park in 1997. It should be mentioned at this point that I'd left my camera behind in the car, so did not take any close up pictures of either memorial. I didn't do this on purpose, but I'm kind of glad it turned out that way. The pictures I got later driving up the road are sufficient for me. If you want to see what the memorial looks like, a Google search leads the way.

It's a beautiful memorial, set inside the hill, in a circle, that tells of the battle and losses from each of the participating tribes (Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho). It ends in a unifying message of peace.

It's a nice sentiment...eventually I'm sure everyone will be so far removed from this terrible history that we will all agree. With the offenses at Standing Rock happening right now, it's kind of hard to imagine that future. For now, for me, "Nice sentiment, still mad."

As I made my way out of the park, swinging up the hill and back down to take the photos I've shared here, I felt stormy and weird. It's strange to consider history when you standing on top of it, a result of said ugliness. If that idiot hadn't knocked into the Bahamas in search of India, probably none of us would be here. You know how the Butterfly Effect works. Step on a butterfly, we all descended from alligators; step on Native Americans, I am writing this entry in Fargo, North Dakota and most of the peoples who lived on this land for thousands of years are relegated to reservations.

In other words, you can't turn back time and probably wouldn't anyway. But it sure would be nice if everyone agreed that what happened was genocide and there is pretty much no amount of reparations that will ever really make up for it. Plenty of modern Euroamericans still believe the mythology of Western Civilization up to and including bald faced, take-no-prisoners manifest destiny. We're a long way from making anything even remotely "right."

And perhaps the national monument will change as the decades pass, as well. After all, the inclusion of the Indian memorial took 120 years. Who knows how we'll feel a hundred years from now?

Billings Public Library (Main Library), Billings, Montana

Billings is an odd town that refuses to follow a consistent grid system and throws one way streets into the mix like a sweaty, chunky, ant-burning 7-year-old gorilla boy with a tiny ax to grind and nothing to lose but dessert. The wild and twisty shape of the city is due to its geographical locale between the Yellowstone river and Rimrocks (long cliffs). Wichitans all know the wearisome whimsy of a town laid out over a river, but the cliffs were a new and interesting complication. I actually got to see how the city was divided while trying to get back to the Applebee's I had so foolishly passed, thinking I could turn right eventually only to find a massive barrier in my way. Luckily the road eventually leads back around and up onto the cliffs, where you get a view of a smoking industrial complex down the valley to the right, and a view of the airport to the left.

Downtown was much better, and reminded me so much of Wichita I could have almost sworn parts of it were the same. I cruised in at sunset, finding the library with some complications. Google Map Woman doesn't understand parking lots, but rather Here is the Structure, You are Here Now, which left me to circle back (one way streets!) to finally get to the lot. Another fun thing Google Map Woman does is U-turns. She lives for U-turns. Never mind that you can make a left from the street directly into the place you wanted to go. She would much rather you go to the next crossstreet and Make A U-turn. Make a U-Turn. Why don't you make a U-Turn, Dave?

What a phenomenal time to roll up on the Billings Public Library (Main Branch). It was sunset, and a good one at that, so a perfect time to photograph the exterior. The library was one of the recipients of the 2016 AIA/ALA Library Building Awards, a huge and well-deserved honor that was evident even before I stepped foot in the building.

While it harkens back to early aughts Mac Desktop aesthetics with its silver, meshed facade, the building is aggressively beautiful because it understands and embraces the power of color and light. Some of the windows in the first floor are a hot, sweet turquoise; that dash of something that draws the eye, then the body, closer and closer still. The whole library has little tricks like this tucked high and low and around various unexpected bends. It was a delight to explore.

Before entering the library, I happened upon an annoyed bunny cavorting in the garden, so snapped as many photos as I could as she made her escape.

The lobby was a wood paneled dream. There are tree stumps fashioned into stools all over the library, an obvious nod to the bountiful country surrounding Billings and representative of all of Montana. I mention it not because it is particularly clever or twee, and especially not because they are a comfortable option, but because so many modern libraries knock themselves out to look like Minority Report that it's nice when they pull a little bit of nature into the space. It's one of the reasons I love libraries with insane house plant fixations. Yes, it looks like your lunatic Aunt Zeeba's hippy dippy love shack, but it's also homey and calming. I love a good clean line, but throw and ficus into the corner and revel in the glory of chaos.

As I passed through the lobby and into the library proper, I was immediately drawn to the middle of the room, where a seating area resided under a vast oval of open space leading all the way up to an egg shaped skylight, glowing deep blue in the fading daylight.

Elevator doors.

When I came back the next day, I found that the skylight is already a blue hue, and the very simple  use of primary colors at the heart of the library was both clever and appealing. I could read all sorts of things into the interior design of the place, how the wood paneled areas and turquoise glass room are nearer the exterior, while the primary colors are central to the structure; e.g. nature (the woods, the river) surrounds and is still a part of the human world (primary colors, the first chapter of art, one of the cornerstones of civilization). I bet the concept meetings had all sorts of metaphorical connections between nature, humanity, and civilization coexisting.

I absolutely loved the stairway, which featured a lightbox rendering of the surrounding Rimrocks and a wishing well just below it. It isn't a fountain, but a still pool, so you could almost miss the fact that there is a water feature inside the library if you passed by it too quick. The fact that it remains odorless is a big plus—all of the places I've visited with water features either smell like bleach or mildew. Nothing too excessive, mind you, but I'm sensitive to smells so I can't help but notice. If I say Billings Public Library has no smell, you can take that to the olfactory bank.

Stairway, still pool, and lightbox.

And to the left, more "woods" and the kids section.

One of the trends in the newer libraries (and some of the old ones unafraid to adapt and make some coin) is to feature coffee shops with simple food offerings. Some libraries require that you stay within the confines of the cafe to both eat and drink, some are fine with allowing patrons to bring drinks into the library, and some are just like do whatever, man. Billings allows drinks in the main parts of the library, but food is forbidden. There are signs posted everywhere. When I was there the next day, after a morning of writing I packed up and headed out to get a snack from my car (peanut butter crackers). Before I made it to the doors, I stopped and considered the cafe...save money? Blow money? Save...time? Every naughty thing can be negotiated. So I stayed and got a coffee and treat that I do not even remember anymore. The cost was around $5, but it ended up costing me $15 in the long run.

Second floor computers and stacks.

A view of the skylight from the second floor.

Dainty little meeting rooms with darling furniture. 

Color coordinated for your business pleasure.

When I got to the second floor, there were about two and a half hours left on the clock before the library would close for the night. The Billings Public Library has abundant space not only for lounging readers, but worker bees like me, who bring their own laptops (or pads, pencils, rulers, etc.) and need a desk (with electricity) to spread out and settle in for the long haul. There were desks all down the sides of the building, with little lounge areas and chairs set up in some sections, mostly in the corners. And in the stacks there was at least one very long row of tables turned into single desks, each with its own electical outlet. Tons and tons of workspace. A dream!

The Teen Scene!

Lounge area.

That first night, I left at nine and headed over to the Love's Truck Stop to sleep. The next day I was excited to get back to the Billings Public Library to put in a full day's work. I got there shortly after it opened and stayed until about six o'clock when I'd decided I'd had enough, wanted some dinner, and would make my way back to Love's for one more night of truck stop sleep.

View of the interior from my desk.

Did you know I have Road Rage? I do. I really would prefer it if y'all would get off of my road. Did you know you are in the way? You are. And that I hate you and want to destroy all that you love? Yeppers. Sad! As the Orange Tyrant would say. But it is true. When I'm driving, I morph from an overly considerate, extra nice midwestern lady into Sarris from Galaxy Quest.

One of the benefits of living in New York is not having to drive everywhere—you can take the subway to almost any part of the city...and where they don't go, a taxi might, and a ferry must. As I've stated before, this worked for me for years, until it didn't. Panic attacks aside, the subway is no place for a civilized people to be, what with its ancient snot globs on the windows, sticky floors, and every variety of germ in existence doing the electric boogaloo all over the poles. Whenever I was home, I started to really appreciate the freedom of driving, steering your own ship, existing in the space alone, or at least only with people of your choosing.

When I started these trips I told my mother I was going to be a defensive driver only. No speeding up to beat someone else to an open lane, slowing to let others pass, and keeping to the speed limit. And despite my misanthropic world view behind the wheel, I'd only ever gotten two tickets in my life. One was just after the seat belt laws were enacted in Wichita, when I was a teen. My friend's car didn't have seat belts, so we all got tickets for that. The second ticket was for aggressive driving and speeding, issued just outside of Oak Park Mall in Johnson County, Kansas. I was at the end of my marriage and lost my temper at a traffic light, tearing around another car and speeding to get ahead of everyone else. A cop saw it and pulled me over. That was a heftier fine, which I deserved.

But O, this most recent one hurts the most. I wished I had seen the teeny tiny, itty frickin bitty sign posted at the exit of the parking lot, advising patrons to post their licence plates with the front desk. And how I wished I would have gone out to my car for a snack instead of getting one at the cafe. I would have seen the warning ticket posted on my windshield. And could have saved myself the real ticket left three hours later. But alas. Alas.

It was only $10. It is true I am also a Crybaby Extraordinaire. But really, Billings? Reaaaally? So petty. But I paid it. And now I have one of every kind of ticket, I think? An accomplishment.