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.

Kalispell, MT to Bellevue, Idaho (via the Sawtooth Mountains), 456 miles

Sawtooth Mountains

Montana in the morning light was a whole different place from the disappointing day before. Today's route would take me south through Missoula, all way to south central Idaho, a total of almost nine hours of driving...but first I got to circle around Flathead Lake, a glorious, serene, and perfect antidote to the previous day's raw and unhinged shenanigans.

There were many homes tucked beside the lake, with gravel or dirt driveways dipping down through the trees to each homestead, some barely visible or not at all. This was the Montana I dreamed about, nestled in the foothills of the northern Rocky Mountains and girded by the unyielding mass of water called Flathead. I wonder what that kind of dream costs? I'm too scared to even guess, let alone find out. Maybe for a braver day.

As I drove, with the Rockies unfolding to my left, forever and ever seeming without end, I suddenly realized where I was. Yes, Montana, but also right near the location of the events portrayed in one of my favorite books, Fools Crow, by James Welch. While the book depicts the lives of the Pikuni (Blackfeet) people in the mid-1800s—a people who lived on the eastern side of the Rockies and whose reservation now stands there—an unmistakable understanding of the landscape finally brought my sense of place into focus. Making my way through the Flathead Reservation on the western side of the Rockies, the shape of the mountains took on a very uniform shape, like the sharp, spiked spinal bones of a mammoth being, laid long slain and resting partially submerged in the earth. The backbone of the world. And it clicked. This was how the Pikuni described the Rockies. The weight, wonder, and horror of history in this region coalesced and struck me hard in the chest.

If you've ever read Fools Crow, you know it is a vibrant, incredible insight into one Native American tribe's culture and world as it stood on the precipice just before the despicable, shameful encroachment of Euroamericans destroyed almost everything they had or were, and stole nearly every scrap of their lands. It portrays the oncoming interlopers, their uncompromising, backsliding, greedy, and opportunistic mentality, and the fatal disease they brought with them (smallpox). But it also portrays the Pikuni as they were, migrating with the seasons, hunting, raiding other tribes, growing up, marrying—their whole lives before everything changed. The first time I read it, I could not help but feel a sense of hopeless fury and despair—it was so real, so authentic, I wanted to reach through the pages and grab them, tell them to do something, run, fight, something. It's a stupid and naive notion, but true. They never stood a chance.

Near Salmon, Idaho.

But, in the now, as I drove through Montana, I noticed many of the road signs feature not just the English words for places, but the Native American words, as well. An article from 2006 explains the initiative, which incorporates the Kootenai or Salish languages in road signs, representative of the peoples who live in the Flathead Reservation. It is a small thing, but it is something. I both love and hate that many tribes have embraced the craven capitalistic side of our worst natures, building casinos to rob the (primarily) white man dry. But truth be told, I mostly love it—whatever you have to do, do it. And take back as much as you can in the process. I hate that it's gambling, but whatever. We gave them one ugly addiction—alcohol—so the least we can do is succumb to the one they can make work for them so readily. 

What I loved more was the cultural reintroduction...something true and tangible and honoring not just the present but the past. The native people's names for lakes and ridges and mountains predated our own—it's wonderful to finally acknowledge this in some official way that everyone will see as they visit Glacier National Park and other area tourist spots. 

I had the opportunity to drive through Missoula, which was a darling town—obviously a college town, you can always tell even if you never see the college or signs for it, I swear—and another notch in the positive direction for my overall impression of Montana. It's not all bleak hatred and religious hellfire!

Hello, deery!

There was a point in Idaho where I lost track of where I was or who I was or what I was. It was a very, very long drive, brought to an abrupt halt every once in awhile by men and women in the road, with their hard hats and orange vests, fixing some thing or another, with one always brandishing the sign that says either SLOW or STOP. There was a lot STOP. And otherwise almost no traffic to be seen in either direction...for hours. Oh, there would be a truck(yeah) here and there, but otherwise it was just me, my Rogue, my water bottle, and lots of winding roads, through flatlands, hills, and mountains.

By the time I got to the Sawtooth range, a point of interest I had put on my itinerary (hence the long drive), it was already sundown. I thought for sure I wouldn't be able to capture this beautiful scene to my satisfaction, but I'm actually very happy with what I managed to photograph. I've been a photobug since I can remember—my first camera was a 110 film Le Clic that made semi-blurry color photos where everyone looked great (HD has been both a blessing and a pimple, pock, and scar covered curse, hasn't it?). The first phone photography (mine was a flip phone, clamshell thing, which I looovved) produced similar quality to the old 110 Le Clic, but these days camera phones can do things so extraordinary, so out of this world precise and clear, it's almost unbelievable. The fact that the phones we use to commemorate our daily bagel or a guy flossing on the G train can take more sophisticated photos than the Hubble should be humbling, but we slide these devices into our back pockets and unceremoniously sit on them with our bootylicious asses every single day. The wonders of this world.

When I finally arrived at the predetermined rest stop just south of Bellevue, Idaho (Timmerman Junction) I was too tired to think beyond getting to sleep as soon as possible. I was aware, however, that this rest stop was more remote and empty than I liked, with only a couple of big rigs far on the other side of the vast rest area, and one other car next to mine. It was cold and I was beat, so I launched into the back of the Rogue, shut and locked the doors, and settled in for the night.

One last look at the Sawtooth Range.

Sandpoint, Idaho to Glacier National Park (Montana), 351 miles

After a productive day at the Sandpoint Library, I decided I wanted some truly local fare. This was the point in my trip when the change in seasons became much more noticeable, probably because I was in a northern tourist town and it was about mid-October. I was well aware of the seasonal changes at the national parks--research showed that a lot of these places shut down most camping and a lot of their facilities (if not all) at the end of September and certainly by mid-October. I'd never experienced what it was like in a tourist town during the off-season, so this was my awakening on the subject.

Sandpoint was showing some of these off-season symptoms, with shortened hours at many places (Starbucks), empty streets, and closed restaurants and honkytonks that no doubt blew the roof off all summer long. I was lucky enough to find a wonderful place called Panhandler (Pies, Restaurant, and Bakery) right on one of the main tourist drags. It had your typical All-American fare with regional offerings, such as Navajo tacos.

All I wanted was real food, with a salad and some vegetables, and maybe a slab of meat. They had a great special where you could get a steak and pie for something like $12.95, so I ordered and made myself busy going through that day's photos.

When I first emerged from my Den of Despair (yes, I must alliterate, yes, it is a problem), eating alone at restaurants would sometimes trigger my anxiety. Now that I'm used to dining solo, I'm hardly ever aware of it, even if I'm sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant. The only time I do become aware of it is when little eyes are staring and staring, as is always the case in family restaurants. It used to annoy the living hell out of me, but now I know that they can't help it. Kids are staring little goonies who are curious about everything.

I was a little self aware at Panhandler, what with several little goonie eyes staring, but forgot about it once the food arrived. GOOD STUFF, highly recommended. The pie wasn't half bad, either. I was so full at that point that I mostly ate the filling and crust edges (my favorite part), leaving a scene of cherry splattered carnage on the plate, something I'm sure a true Goonie would do.

I headed over to the rest area (about an hour away, right next to Coeur d'Alene) and had a very uneventful and warm sleep. The next day I was up and happy to be right next to civilization so I could quick score some coffee and hit the road. They did have free coffee at the rest stop, which I took advantage of, but as any true caffeine fiend will tell you, a little cup is never enough. It would be nice if similar perks were available at some of the more remote rest areas, but I guess that is probably why they are able to offer it there at all.

Lake Coeur d'Alene was glorious that morning, with mists rising off of it all along my route. I grew up in a town where you had to go find a lake to see water--unless you wanted to be sad and look at the Arkansas river, which is small and not raging or fun at all. And if you went to my high school, you got to learn how to canoe and God help you if you fell in because then you had to go home because of the smell. What I'm saying is: We didn't have magical lakes with mists rising off of them, okay? Like, maybe a cloud of mosquitoes or something, but no ethereal misty mornings.

"M" is for Mullan, also Mountain. 

It was a thoroughly mountain-y ride, and I passed over the Montana border high up in the pass, where a rest area--as it turned out, the only rest area I ever found while in Montana--sat in the beautiful piney landscape as though it belonged there. I was thrilled to finally be in Montana--way back when I started hating NYC (before sobriety, and even before it got bad), I would think of Montana and its wonderful nickname: Big Sky Country. It was like a cool cloth on the back of a red hot neck.

Montanaaaaaaaa

When I arrived at Flathead Lake, just south of Glacier National Park, I was hungry and just in time to catch a late lunch at Echo Lake Cafe. The food was delicious and the service was okay (they seemed a bit overwhelmed with the late season rush at that hour, though it is a cafe with a waiting area and those little light up coasters, so they must be used to being slammed, so...), but what I will remember most was the Prince Incident.

Flathead Lake

Flathead Lake

Every time I mention my Montana dreams to friends or family, I usually get a mmm, I don't know, seems dangerous, etc., kind of response. Because there's red country and then there's RED country. I'd heard every bad thing, like Montana So White...plus all the survivalists and evangelicals. But it is such a sparsely populated state...surely these things can be avoided?

The cafe was primarily white, lots of well off people in windbreakers, with ruddy cheeks, good health, gleaming teeth and all that. Nothing wrong there. And I was charmed by the music, which was a lively set, mostly 80s stuff, that seemed a bit young still for the crowd...and I was further encouraged when "Let's Go Crazy" came on. Certainly not Prince's naughtiest song--we all know the greats, right? "Let's Pretend We're Married," "DMSR," "Darling Nikki," others. "Little Red Corvette" was probably the raciest of Prince's songs to reach the top ten (all the way back in 1983). I am not a Prince expert, so maybe there was another, but I remember it well, what with the Trojans and some of them used (o my)...but "Let's Go Crazy"?

I don't know, maybe it was the purple banana, maybe it was the brief heavy breathing (neither of which had played yet), but about 10-15 seconds in, the song clipped off. There was silence for a good ten seconds, then on comes Coldplay. That was the beginning and the end of the Soul portion of our musical experience. Maybe it was just the sexual threat of Prince himself, with his slinky, full-lipped, side-eyed power coming full on through those little cafe speakers. I guess we'll never know.

Flathead Lake

And before you cry Foul and say snowflake liberals are always looking for racism or a "problem" I will say this: I was listening that whole time. 80s music is my thing, and I specifically noticed it as soon as I came into the restaurant. There were no other abrupt changes in the music. A famous, well-loved song by a sexy little black man started playing and they abruptly turned it off. It was obvious and stupid. It was, as they say, what it was. I'm not declaring the Echo Lake Cafe racist. I'm just saying there was a Prince Incident there and it was noticed.

Undeterred I headed out to Glacier National Park. Boy. Oh. Boy. What a day. It wasn't a bad day, exactly, but it wasn't great, either. In a different state of mind, I might have cried or had a panic attack, but I did neither. I just let the day flow over me and found sweet comfort at the end of the day at the Best Western Flathead Lake.

First, extreme evangelicals definitely own land that lines the way to Glacier. I'm no stranger to pro-Jesus and anti-abortion sentiments posted on handmade signs and full-blown billboards along major and lesser highways. They're all over Kansas. But this was next level. Most were the usual stuff, pretty mild, just declaring that Jesus is in fact our Lord, that we can be saved, and so on. But there was a point where the fervor got downright scary. I drove by it twice, once on the way up and once on the way down, and still can't figure out what it was. I don't want to know, honestly. It was some sort of small building at the middle, with a V of billboards spanned out on either side, each screaming, proselytizing, shrieking in a rage of religious insanity, beyond faith, beyond fellowship. Just...terror.

I was raised in the Quaker faith and find most religious processes a bit too exotic for my taste (the first time I went to Mass as a child I was petrified), but extremist evangelicals are downright scary. I do not see God anywhere in their frenzied, bullying rhetoric. I see mania, fear, and a manipulative power play so evil the Devil himself would be impressed.

The sight of so much harried screeching in the name of God made me unhappy, but I soldiered on to Glacier. I would be healed by nature's beauty. I hoped.

Lake McDonald

Remember what I said about seasons? Well, I got to the park and used my pass to get in (thank God, or I would have been furious to pay the $30 fee), driving up to the first spot where I could see Lake McDonald, which offers an amazing view of the mountains. After taking some pictures, I looked over the map and found my best bet: Going to the Sun Road, which is the best way to see the a good portion of the park by car. I only had the rest of this day to see what I could, so it was a perfect option.

I'd noticed detour signs on my way to the lake, but only upon tracking back did I realize that the Going to the Sun Road was closed. I followed the detour signs to see if there was a roundabout way to meet up with the road--maybe it was only partially closed?--but it just took me in a circle. I found a ranger who confirmed that it was indeed closed.

The website is full of lies, saying that it is a seasonal closure, but seeing it in person I can confirm that they closed it after the summer season to repair it. The road was already completely torn up from my vantage on that day...so I guess congratulations for next season's visitors? Because there was nothing much for me to do otherwise. I decided I'd had it and wanted to relax at the hotel. So back I went.

The hotel was empty when I arrived, with one person manning the desk and no guests anywhere in sight. It was a strange scene, because the hotel is fairly new and huge. I couldn't help but think of the Overlook hotel on closing day, the guests nearly gone, only the skeleton crew closing up before leaving a small family to fend for themselves, trapped in snow, over all those winter months.

After settling into my room (which was fabulous), I headed down to see what was available from the restaurant. I checked the website but they don't mention the name--I swear it has one and my memory has failed. I didn't feel like going out and figured they probably had something I would like, despite the fact that it was so seriously offseason that it was getting downright spooky. As I went through the lobby and into the large restaurant/lounge area, my sense of isolation was complete. No one. Anywhere. At the back of the room was a massive bar that took up almost the entire wall, fully stocked. The Shining was pulsating through my head (redrumredrumredrum) when I heard tiny giggles coming from somewhere behind the bar...under the bar. I approached on high alert, ready to run, or beat someone with a pepper shaker, who knows. The creep factor had surged to 11 and time was up.

But it was just two staff members crouched behind the bar, watching something on an iPhone. I ended up scaring them, instead of the other way around, and we laughed together at the absurdity of it all.

I ended up ordering spaghetti with meat sauce--it was very good, and the garlic bread was excellent. I spent the rest of the evening watching the Blue Bloods (I know I know) and mentally preparing myself for the next day's marathon drive south through Idaho.

View from my hotel room.