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.

Estes Valley Library, Estes Park, Colorado

After a completely unremarkable car sleep at a rest stop outside of Colby, Kansas, I made my way to the Estes Valley Library with dual motives: One, to see the library, two, to see the hotel that inspired the Overlook Hotel in Stephen King's The Shining.

The drive itself wasn't extraordinary, except in the way that it always is when you are heading west out of Kansas. Eventually you start to see the outlines of something potentially impressive until BAM, Rocky Mountains. It is breathtaking. As it turns out, in more ways than one.

Once you pass through Denver, the way to Estes Park is a winding road weaving up and down, swerve, curve, lurch, lunge. I am usually not susceptible to car sickness, especially when I'm driving, but I started to feel nauseated after a while.

The Parking Lot to the Estes Library

The main route is a two lane highway, so I considered myself lucky to get stuck behind someone even more nervous than I was. There are signs all over Colorado--specifically the mountainy parts--alerting drivers that they are in a safety zone and that all aggressive driving should be reported. I knew exactly what this meant since I've been there, done that, not just on my last leg, but on that memorable trip up the California 1 highway ten plus years ago. People can get very aggressive and assholish. They don't care that wind-y, hilly roads are new to some drivers. They aren't new to them, so get the fuck out of the way. I have experienced major road rage, so I get it. But being on the receiving end on Highway 1 was an eye opener and changed the way I approached the road in general. When people come up on you so fast and so close that you think they might be trying to drive you off the road, it's not okay. News Alert: It is NOT OKAY.

So I put a good buffer between me and Nervous Norman and made the decision to ignore the traffic behind us. Although he didn't know it, I decided we were in this thing together. I would buffer him so he wouldn't get crowded, freak, and zing off the side of the mountain; he would lead the way so I wouldn't have to sweat it out all alone. We made our way at a good enough clip--only about 5-10 mph under the speed limit, sometimes right at the speed limit--so it wasn't too bad overall. We managed to get to Estes Park and no one died...of a car crash or frustration.

(How do I ignore cars on my ass going up a winding mountain road? Remember the Amazing Expanding Airbed? It happened again--squeak, squeak, squeak--so it pretty much obstructed the view behind me. I could see cars in my side mirrors, but only in bits and pieces. I just decided not to obsess about it.)

Estes Park is a very beautiful mountain town, embracing that log cabin aesthetic so many Colorado towns revel in. I easily parked in the lot in front of the library even though the place was hopping with tourists and townfolk alike. There were cute little shops across the road and the hustle and bustle of Twee Town Tourism was in full effect. Everyone was in puffer vests or parkas even though it was in the high sixties and sunny. In my frumpy t-shirt and fried hair sticking out, I felt like an alien hatched out of a plaid egg, all of my tentacles and eye stalks on full display. I swiftly scurried toward the library.

I had to stop to take photos of the exterior, though, because WOW. Right? Look at it. I wish the inside matched the outside, but no dice. It was a very nice library--nice nice nice--but the interior was not the same as the exterior. I was feeling a bit off, so only spent long enough time there to figure out which library to go to next. I'd scoped out a couple of places near the AirBNB I was staying at that night, so I picked one, packed up my stuff, and headed out.

The view from my work station

I made a very brief drive-by of the Stanley, since at that point I wanted to de-elevate, thinking maybe part of what was making my gills go green was the altitude (Estes Park is 7,500 feet). It was an absolute madhouse of people coming and going, which popped the bubble of intrigue surrounding the place in my imagination. If you've never read The Shining, even at the height of its occupancy, the hotel itself is truly isolated. I would imagine winter transforms Estes Park significantly, but the hotel is in the town, not apart from it, and it is open year round, at that. It's a pretty place, though. Just a bit...trampled.

The Stanley

The way back down was much more peaceful and I had the opportunity to get one good photo of the scenery. The Big Thompson River follows you almost all the way down to Loveland, and people have made homes balanced on precipices to partake of the grandeur of the area and easy access of the road. But as stunning as the mountains are, I was relieved to get back to (relatively) flat land. Oh, Kansas Girl!

The Big Thompson