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!

Derby Public Library, Derby, Kansas

Just ten miles south of Wichita is the small town of Derby, Kansas. According to Wikipedia, Derby is a suburb of Wichita, which I suppose is technically true, though in my mind it stands as its own separate entity, only related closely to Wichita due to proximity. It never occurred to me that Derby could be a suburb of Wichita, especially since growing up it was always a completely independent town. In my humble opinion, a suburb should at least be "attached" by even the thinnest industrial, commercial, or residential property (not including farms which are, by very definition, largely unincorporated), so Derby really isn't a suburb of Wichita in that regard. We've got space between us.

Growing up, I spent almost zero time visiting the little towns outside of Wichita. My best friend's paternal grandma lived in Augusta, my maternal cousins lived in Park City for a spell, and my junior high friend's father's family lived in Mulvane (I think??), so I tagged along on trips here and there, but there was no real reason to visit the outer bergs. Well. There was one reason. But I hardly knew my father or his family, so Bye, Bitches. And your Park City, too. Not to be a snotgoblin, but Park City's redemption story begins and ends at Cracker Barrel's doorstep. (They have the only one in a hundred miles.)

By my flimsy definition above, the small towns of Park City, Bel Aire, and Valley Center truly are suburbs...and Andover is just one shopping structure away from building that last link. It's hard for me to think of Wichita as anything other than just Wichita*, which is why it why it was so hard to understand the triplespeak of fellow college students from places like Chicago or Kansas City who would introduce themselves, for instance, as Brad-from-Kansas-City-well-technically-Lee's-Summit-and-no-not-on-the-Kansas-side-yes-on-the-Missouri-side-and-God-I-wish-I-was-attending-Mizzou-and-no-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it. I realize this is how most of you big city folk understand the world, but for some of us, our town is just, you know, Town.

*It should be mentioned, with the Tightest, Twisted Lemon Face manageable, that Wichita contains within it a troublesome little tumor called Eastborough. This polyp, wart, ingrown hair, reabsorbed twin--pick your image--became its own, separate city back in the 30s. The Wikipedia version tells a cute little story, but skips the part we all learned through hearsay (which could be a lie, but doesn't feel like a lie, and isn't that what we're basing our "facts" on these days??): Rich bitches didn't want to pay Wichita taxes. Is this the real reason? Who cares. What we do know is that it is almost 100% white and affluent. If you are new to Wichita, you could easily pass through Eastborough unaware that they drop the speed limit to 20 mph and lay in wait to hand out tickets like bitter, mean-spirited candy. Back in the 90s (or thereabouts), Eastborough put up barricades to keep evil, speed demon Wichitans off of their streets. They didn't stay up for long since the same barricades had the completely unpredictable side effect of keeping Eastborough's residents in. Eastborough is tiny, less than a thousand people, but they do what they can to be different, what with the fancy black and white street signs and mega speed bumps that would send a speeding bus into the stratosphere. I believe with my whole heart that Wichita sold the commercial space directly outside of Eastborough to developers of the biggest mall in the city on purpose and for spite.  

Echo echo echo...

Derby, on the other hand, was always a place on a map. I knew of it because all the tornadoes trying to murder us had to pass through one of the outlying towns first. And this has happened, to disastrous ends, since people first settled here. Nice, flat land. Windy sometimes. 

(It may seem crass to joke, but that's how some of us deal with darkness. I wouldn't feel nearly as justified if I hadn't been one of thousands of schoolkids who repeatedly had to gather out in the hallway and put my head between my knees and cover my head while listening to the sirens scream outside and a few of my fellow classmates bawl uncontrollably in terror for themselves, sure, but more so for their moms, dads, and beloved dogs left out in yards to live or die at the whim of a tornado's turn.)

I am not sure what Derby's identity was all about back when I was growing up, but now it seems to be firmly writ in red, white, and blue blood on a mega Statue of Liberty wearing a majestic cloak of the Constitution. One of the main thoroughfares has been named Patriot Avenue, and the major streets feature extremely patriotic bunting and flags to make it 100% crystal clear that this is one Good, God-blessed American town. And you can take that to the Ever Bless-ed BANK.

Derby has every right to be hometown and country proud, but they should explode in a crystaline rainbow of shining, egomaniacal light over their lovely Derby Public Library: a clean, pristine oasis of modern comforts in a new, shiny box. I loooooved this library. Everything about it made me hum with joy.

First off, the parking was ample. I mean, ample in the over-the-top, we have land to give away, let's have Woodstock here except we'll call it Derbydoo. And that's what the Derby Library is all about: Embrace the Space. When you walk in the front doors, you get a sense of the scope they were aiming for: towering and abundant. To perhaps counter the awesome scale, there are lovely, library-centric quotes scrawled across the walls, and some of the stacks are arranged in classic visual merchandising displays most commonly seen in bookstores. 

My favorite part of Derby's library was, by far, the amazing amount of seating for patrons to work, study, read, and lounge. The ever-present "desk loungers" were empty, but that may have been more about location than anything, since they were located right behind the computer bays. But Derby has a phenomenal assortment of choices, from long worktables, to group worktables, to weird swastika cubicles...that...I'm sure...weren't, errrr. Purposely swastikan? 

In any event, I was able to set up and write for quite some time. There was the usual noise of kids tumbling in after school--and a Real, Live, Genuine Librarian Shushing, which I enjoyed immensely--but I was able to focus and feel accomplished at the end of the day.

Derby is definitely at the top of my list for return visits. Some would consider it far to go to get some writing done, but my perspective is forever out of whack after the first leg of my trip. I drove many, many miles to visit libraries all over those cities. Getting to Derby from my mother's apartment takes about 30 minutes (15 miles), but I drove over an hour (55 miles) to get from my LA-area AirBNB to the library in Hollywood. The Derby Public Library is definitely worth the trip!

Las Vegas Library, Las Vegas, Nevada

I'd never intended to visit a library in Las Vegas, as it had only been a vague pass-through plan on my larger itinerary to travel from California to my next major stop, Colorado Springs. Frankly, what I'd seen of Vegas on my previous trips told me most of what I needed to know, I figured, and I didn't see the point of belaboring a point that didn't really need to be made: There are a massive number of homeless people in Las Vegas and therefore there would be a massive number of homeless people at the library. True, there are also well-to-do parts of Vegas, working class parts of Vegas...and of course the primary money maker: the Strip. And all outlying hotels, motels, and resorts dedicated to the singular endeavor of conning money out of folks with big dreams. This is also where you can expect to see the highest concentration of famous faces outside of LA and NYC--everything glitters, until it doesn't. And much like San Francisco (again, last time I was there) and NYC (of course), Vegas has a disproportionate number of citizens living on the streets.

I guess I didn't want to write a blog post that was just All About That. It sucks. Kind of like Vegas is always All About The Other Thing. It's tiresome, oversimplifies a multifaceted place, life, and experience, and it is neverending. Ask a Kansan how they feel about Toto, Dorothy, and either being in or not being in Kansas, anymore.

My theory is that if you can stay drunk enough, the smarmy part of Vegas won't bother you. At least stay buzzed, keep your peripherals blurred, and never stop yanking on that greasy slot crank. Though I think it's all buttons now? Seems less satisfying, but whatever. I was never drunk in Las Vegas, and it's not an option now, so I have to see it sober. And getting to the library took me past all the things I knew were probably there but no one wants to see, especially not by the piercing light of day.

Tent City grew up around a vacant lot. People had their tents set up all around the perimeter for the most part (nearest the trees), but many were even set up on or near sidewalks. While there were quite a few tents, there were many people under blankets, and some that were just lying in the dirt with nothing but the clothes on their back and maybe a bag or shopping cart filled with belongings nearby. There were a lot of people there in the mid-morning, some sleeping off whatever they took the night before (or earlier that morning), some with just nowhere else to go. And a few were already on their way to the library, which was just opening as I drove by toward that very same destination.

The Las Vegas Library is just a couple of short blocks from the Tent City and is, as expected, a hotspot for homeless patrons. However, aside from the smell of bug spray and a very poor choice in carpet for the main floor, I have nothing but nice things to say about the library, the staff, and the patrons with which I shared the space, albeit for a very short amount of time.

For one, it is a sophisticated looking library--just look at the pictures and you can see what I mean. It is stylish and it is clear they were going for a very specific, Desert Oasis of Knowledge vibe. The cool grays, warm wood, and white highlights all make for a very bright, inviting space to sit down and learn something. Unlike many businesses in Vegas (especially on the Strip or even just near it), this library was not interested in whoring itself to the Neon Gods of Gambling and Vice. It's shiny, but a sharp, expensive shiny. Not the glitter gloss on a hooker's lips.

See the carpet? It is a light gray, very fine, soft grade,
not at all appropriate for heavy duty public use.
I bet it was beautiful for the first week or so!
Also note those lights...slick, huh?

For two, people minded their damn business. Me, my laptop, and my exer-pants barely registered--people were reading papers or books, fiddling on phones or laptops, and generally just doing their own thing. No glares, no stares, just utilizing the space. And obviously no shenanigans or trifling. The staff was upbeat and busy, attending to the business of the library and helping patrons (including me) with neither an over- or under-solicitous attitude. They were professional, open faced, and refreshing to be around.

God knows how many teeny tiny slivers of individually
cataloged government documents this one drawer
might hold? It may also be a doorway to Hellllll.

I didn't stay long because the bug spray smells were getting to me (my eyes started watering, which is never a good sign), so I packed it up and headed out for brunch (which turned out to be my third and last visit to a Cracker Barrel on this leg of the trip, always to get the same thing: The Multiberry Pankcake Breakfast. It's a special they are running right now and it is so EFFING GOOD you guys, go to Cracker Barrel and Treat Yo Self immediately).

Looks like a sci fi movie set, no? Dune, maybe.

I do wish I could have seen The Las Vegas Library on opening day--it must have been quite a sight. Even so, a good carpet cleaning and some polishing would probably do wonders. And mad, mad respect to the people who kept it classy and refused to put a slot machine in the bathroom. God knows they could have.