8/29/09: The Canadian Express: Bozeman, Butte, & Boise

Considering its beginning and end, this was one of those monumental days.

I was lazily unrushed after waking up, tinkering around taking pictures of everything from my nest to an inchworm that had found refuge on my water bottle. I've seemed to learn to tune in to my senses, and when I suddenly felt an urgency to pack up, get coffee, and out to the ramp, that's exactly what I did although, after five hours of nothingness the night before, I had no logical reason to be in a rush.

Saturday, however, was NOT Friday.

I was at the exit ramp no more than five minutes when Don stopped in front of me. This was the first time I can recall a car doing this. The second thing I noticed was that this fancy van had Ontario plates. These were both good signs. He had obviously picked up hitchers before, had a smile painted on his face, and I have had phenomenal success with foreign rides dating back to Florian (German) and Eric (French) in '08.

I instantly knew I was going to like Don. He was an original 60's hippie and on his way from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario to Nevada for Burning Man; a pilgrimage he made every year. There are two Sault Ste. Marie's. One in the upper peninsula of Michigan, and the other directly across the border. This gave us the immediate connection of familiarity, since I had visited Sault Ste. Marie, MI. When Don asked why I was going to Bozeman (my sign), I replied, "Because it's on the way to Boise." His reply changed the entire complexity of my immediate future. He too was going to Boise to meet friends, then continuing on to The Burn... and I was welcome to ride along the entire way if I liked. He had been driving a long time, and simply wanted some conversation to help pass the time. Billings to Boise? In one ride? Holy Shit.

The offer was incredible, but I still wanted to try to connect with Michele in Butte first, if I could. I was in no hurry to get to Boise because no one knew I was coming, and I had no idea when I would ever be back to Montana. I sent an immediate text and email to Michele, hoping she happened to get to the Continental Divide to get cell service by the time we were to Butte, a couple hundred miles away. If I heard nothing from Michele by then, I'd be contacting my sister, Lynette, to tell her that if she was around we could finally meet each other face-to-face for the first time! I had not set a time for my arrival, not knowing myself when I would get there, and hadn't talked to her in a couple months. She simply had no idea where I was.

The ride thru Bozeman to Butte was one of the best to date. Don and I chatted about everything from history, to politics and sociology, to spirituality and conspiracy theory. He was an extremely intelligent, insightful, and aware individual, and it seemed that we always had something to add to the other. I was particularly interested in his political views, since he was Canadian, and was intrigued that he had extensively studied Roman history and viewed the US as running the same road. He found the entire health care "reform" debate laughable, and the opposition to socialized medicine as a simple case of special interest trying to keep control of the coffers. Being Canadian, however, he seemed convinced that government was the answer to most problems, which of course, with me in the car, led to healthy debate! The more I have discussed these topics, the more convinced I am that the best solution for this country, right now (in lieu of a clean swep of all politicos) is the neutering of government, and limiting its influence to as great a degree as possible.

Don was also a musician, and claimed to have been in a rather successful local band, The Pavement Artists, in Sault Ste. Marie. We also shared an acquaintance there: City Commissioner Ray Bauer, who was once in radio and the man who hired me at WRKR in Kalamazoo. We had a very nice discussion on music, and I don't believe there was a lull of more than a minute.

Around Bozeman, Montana becomes Montana. The Rocky Mountains come into view, the climbs become steep, and the views incredible as you approach Butte and its statue of Mary watching over the small city. Don stopped at a Flying J south of Butte as both a pit stop, and a favor to me to give Michele a few more minutes to get my messages. We got snacks and coffee, and stretched for about 45-minutes before accepting fate and moving south toward Idaho, and VERY familiar grounds along our new road: I-15.

I soon received a call from Lynette thru our sister, Shelly, and let her know that we planned to be in her backyard in just a few hours. I hated that I was giving such short notice, but she and her husband seemed happy to (finally) have me. I quickly thanked God, and as we crossed into Idaho, Don and I had resumed our chatathon.

Idaho Falls came and went, and soon I saw familiar sights. My 2008 route had taken me across southern Idaho, and as we passed through Pocatello I began to point to significant spots that I had enjoyed so much... although at the time, I sometimes didn't realize it! "There was the spot where Z had picked me up... I crossed the Snake River here... I slept there." Pretty soon, as dusk approached, we happened to gas up at the Flying J that made them my favorite truck stop: Jerome/Twin Falls. The spot where Jack dropped me off. This was, obviously, quite cool for me and I came to realize how much I had enjoyed Idaho, and the unexpected nostalgia last year's trip had generated! I was very glad we did this in the daylight.

Around 10pm, with Don fading, we were entering Boise in an intense, but dry, lightning storm. Don and I found the spot where Lynette had asked us to meet her, and after grabbing a shitty, expensive espresso all that was left to do was wait for the moment when I would finally meet the last of the still "unknown" sisters...

8/28/09: Billings, MT

I was amused with myself as Friday began.

It was not so much with myself generally as much as remembering the impatience that a year ago was such an annoyance. As fun as it is for me to watch others, I often get as much entertainment from my own quirks. The fact that I was starting the day still unconcerned with when I would leave Glendive stood in stark contrast a not-so-distant past!

I was happy to settle in for the long haul and take advantage of the idle time to bring the still behind blog further up to date. Cars, trucks...and cops...continued passing by smiling and waving. Friendly folks these Northerners! I returned the greetings, while continuing to type away for a couple of hours, until I looked over surprised to see an early 90's Chevy Cavalier stopping. John & Monica were driving from Glendive to Billings to replace the seat belts their dog had mangled. They were involved in a serious conversation about their daughter, so for the first hour on I-94 I happily edited posts while watching the Montana landscape slowly become more rugged. Further west, the terrain began to remind me more of Wyoming and Colorado, and much less of Kansas & Nebraska. It seems silly considering I had only been away from them for ten days, but I was really looking forward to seeing mountains again!

John and Monica were a nice couple. Their daughter was apparently about to be released from jail, and John was chugging Busch non-alcoholic beer. At first, I thought it was actual beer and immediately thought about Doug, and the ride into Wyoming last spring. Monica quickly pointed out that it was n/a beer while John told of how he had been sober since January, when his drinking had nearly killed him. Alcohol abuse had triggered acute liver problems, and he had been helicoptered from Glendive to Billings when his liver failed. He then echoed Lonnie's sentiment, that only when someone's truly ready will an addiction have a hope to be truly cured. For him, no "treatment" program would have worked, and he knew it. He needed the extreme threat of losing his life in order to stop. Unfortunately, some never get there, and in the meantime spend barrels of money looking for the Magic Addiction Bullet; the external cure that slays their demons for them. The similarities between John and Dennis were obvious, although I didn't mention it to John. I spent awhile thinking about how Dennis and John's stories, so similar on some levels, ended so differently.

I was happy for John, and there was a certain aire about him that indicated he was happy about it too! He and Monica were fun to watch, and if you were judge them on first impressions and appearances, you would miss something quite special. They were still happy and grateful to be with each other after years of marriage. Playful. Like kids. I wondered if the sight of death in the room had made them appreciate what they had and perhaps allowed them to enjoy life just a bit more. I never asked, although if I were to see them again I would. They were heartwarming to watch for three hours.

With Billings, I-94 was ending, and I was reunited with my old friend I-90. We traded warm goodbyes, and I immediately began to initiate plans that had been on hold due to uncertainty. Michele and I had originally met thru this blog, and we had exchanged a couple of emails via Facebook. She struck me as someone I'd enjoy chatting with, and I loved the idea of meeting someone who had contacted me by randomly finding my webpage. That was how I had met Chris after all! This ultimately led to an invitation to alert her if I was near Great Falls or Helena so we could meet. My southerly course change complicated things, as had a rare case of Geographic Ignorance, but Michele said that if I could get to Bozeman before she left to cabin sit, she'd motor down to say hi. I had about three hours to at least get started on that 100-miles, so I made up a sign, and scampered over to the I-90 ramp with an uncommon of sense of urgency. We traded text messages over the next few hours and after she extended her deadline from 6 to 8pm, I cautiosly hoped that this would work. It didn't. With 8:00 came the realization that I would be spending the night in Billings. We both expressed disappointment, and went about our lives with a promise to get in touch if I were near Bozeman or Butte.

After twice dismissing an annoying, drunk panhandler who appeared to both want to be friends and live forever under the I-90 overpass, I'd had enough of Friday. I made my way to the closer truck stop, bought cheap McDonald's as a treat, and began to write and drink coffee as my phone charged. I chatted with some truckers, watched people come & go from the casino, and politely refused yet another offer of food.

As midnight approached, I had yet to scout sleeping accommodations, but had little trouble finding a spot behind the trucks concealed nicely by a short fence. I had a nice chat with Chris, rehashing recent events and learning that he intended to finally set off from Denver for Seattle, sans Penney and Robert, on Monday. We both chuckled at how ironic it would be if we found ourselves in the same spot sometime soon, since our trajectories both seemed to be directed toward the same general part of the country...

An editor would call that foreshadowing.

8/27/09: Glendive, MT

My nest behind the hotel in Sidney was tenuous, but suitable. It offered barely enough concealment from the bridge, and was precariously close to the hotel parking lot as well as what looked to be an open field that held someone's horses. I've learned that when I am in a spot like this, I typically only half-sleep. Then, at first light I am immediately up and out to minimize my chances of being seen, so Thursday morning I was negotiating the tall grass and gullies by 6:30, as soon as there was enough light to see.

I instantly crossed the road for gas station coffee, which the cashier would not let me pay for after seeing the pack. I was still quietly shaking my head in amazement as I set up next to the busy morning traffic hoping for a ride the 50-miles south to I-94. Tracey made sure I didn't wait long. He and Justin were on their way to work in Glendive and, after a quick 15-minute wait, I was assured of my reunion with the same I-94 I had considered back in Fargo.

Tracey looked to be in his early 50's, while Justin was a young pup of about 22. They were insulation installers on a long commute from Fairview to Glendive. Justin said little, other than to comment on something Tracey would say, but that was fine. Justin reminded me of an apprentice under Tracey's tutelage. Tracey liked to talk and was interesting to listen to. He was quite cosmopolitan; well versed in all things Montana and plainly had a firm grasp on the skills needed to survive. He was fiercely proud of his military service years before, and had a special dislike for politicians, businessmen, and of course, Californians. This was beginning to develop into an unexpected theme. It was apparent that Montanans are intensely protective and proud of their part of the world; God's Country, as Tracey called it more than once. He and many others resented wealthy, liberal Californians migrating to Montana just to gobble up cheap land for development and the Californication of Montana's politics.

Tracey dropped me off at a dingy, yet strangely elaborate, Sinclair truck stop about 1/4 mile from I-94. I had slept with my boots on, in case I needed to bug out so, combined with my foot being wet from last night's encounter with hidden caverns, I could feel the telltale signs of developing trench foot. Off came the shoes and socks in favor of the slip-ons, and in to the diner went Todd for an 8am omelet and some writing.

The weather continued to be ideal, so by 10 I had relocated next to the road as the updating continued. I was flying a sign for Billings, just in case, but was content to just relax and write. By noon, I had finished the blog posts and had returned inside to inquire about a payphone to upload them. Apparently, the manager of this shithole took exception to my presence, making it clear that once my call was finished, I was expected to vacate the "exclusive" truckers lounge. Their idea of luxury is apparently,a tiny TV tuned to Fox News and two fewer flies than the men's room.

Naturally, I sat down, next to the one working payphone, and re-edited the posts. Not that they needed it, but to be antagonistic. Mr. Happy walked by several times to check on me, saying nothing in response to my inviting glares, and after the posts were finally sent I resolved to take my meager coffee & food money to the Conoco station, which was much closer to the freeway anyhow. As I left, I bellowed an inappropriately loud, insincere, obnoxious, "Thaaaaanks!" while noticing that this fat, squat little "Lounge Nazi" was working hard... on his Yahoo Fantasy Baseball team! I almost suggested that perhaps his time would be better spent plunging the backed up, fly-infested toilets. I was not a fan of this greasy, swarthy, little troll. Have I gotten that point across? Sometimes I understate...

Soon enough, I was at the much friendlier Conoco station, and then at I-94's ramp hoping to get toward Billings, 225 miles west. Tracey had dropped me at the truck stop because of my commentary on ID checks, and there was a Montana Highway Patrol outpost located literally a stone's throw from the exit. But, ultimately I decided that it may work in my favor. Actually planting myself beneath their noses, the last place a fugitive would inhabit, might keep them away from me AND encourage people to stop. As the afternoon turned to evening, I can only assume I was correct. Several officers drove by offering only friendly waves rather than suspicious interest.

Afternoon became evening, and as evening became night I found a perfect spot to camp in tall grass, behind small trees, and next to a fence 30' from the ramp. I had a nice, long, philosophical chat with Leslie under a star filled sky with satellites and shooting stars sailing by. Despite the fact I had only gone 50-miles and gotten one ride, I felt a calm contentment. I was fine being exactly where I was, and had a quiet confidence that things were exactly as they should be.

What a difference a year makes...

8/26/09: Sidney, Montana

Hopping into the truck with Rob, I thought this odd day would return to normal. I would be corrected.

Rob, predictably, worked in the oil fields as a tester and was on his way home, an hour away in eastern Montana. There was some confusion at first, as I asked him if he was going as far as I-94. He said that he was but I learned after we had already left Williston that he was going only as far as Sidney, 50- miles short of Glendive and I-94. A little improvisation is good for the soul, and he spoke highly of Sidney. I even had visions of taking a day to patronize the library and upload pictures, congratulating myself on finally making it to Montana.

Rob's route out of North Dakota was perfect. We passed the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri rivers, and historic Fts. Union and Buford. I had considered venturing down this way on foot if the situation presented itself in order to satisfy my Lewis & Clark curiosity. The fates had given me the best of both worlds: proximity and a ride. Rob and I chatted about his work and my travels the entire way, but there was nothing extraordinary about it.

Passing into Montana was a nice feeling. This state been a thorn in my brain for over a year, since deciding against coming north from Pocatello, ID last July. Now, as we slid thru Fairview and approached Sidney, I was glowing in the idea that I was about to tend to unfinished business... and cross nearly the whole damn thing. I had been hearing stories about its beauty for a long time. Now, I would see for myself.

Coming in from the north, Rob dropped me at an Exxon station toward the south end of Sidney with a warm handshake and wishing me luck. He was quite boastful of his fellow Montanans, and seemed quite certain I'd be in Glendive soon. Despite still running on next to no sleep, I had long since tapped into sustained adrenaline and began looking for places to hitch, so as to try take advantage of the remaining daylight. I settled on a spot adjacent to another gas station, next to the road, and in front of a small strip mall. The traffic was brisk, and I noticed that young people were actually cruising! On a Wednesday evening! I liked Sidney immediately.

My first indication that Sidney would continue the oddities seen in Williston was the the abundance of curious, friendly looks. It was obvious that Sidney had not had many passers-thru donning backpacks. I was quite the curiosity, particularly to a truckload of young girls who repeatedly drove by yelling. It reminded me of the cafe scene in Easy Rider, without the ensuing bludgeoning in the woods... I hoped.

The spontaneous acts of kindness crossed state lines with me. After half an hour, I turned around to see a man carrying a bag of McDonald's he'd picked up for me. He said he was sorry he wasn't going anywhere, had "been there" and figured I could use a meal. Then, shortly before the sun had set a young girl of about 17 walked all the way across the parking lot then, without saying a word, handed me $10. When I asked, "What's this for?" she just smiled and said, "Take it easy, dude." It's one thing for middle aged people to do this, but this especially touched and impressed me, considering it came from her. I am still kicking myself for not giving these people my cards with the website address, so they all could know just how astounded I was. In my surprise, it never even occurred to me.

As in Williston, rides did not accompany the gifts. So as the sun fell, I had to think about places to sleep. I noticed a police car occasioning by through the evening, but she had not bothered me... until I took my first two steps toward finding a nest. I was a bit taken aback by this particular cop. She was in her early 20's, and easily the most attractive lawdog I'd ever seen. However, I had to conceal a chuckle as I thought, "I wonder if she'd perform at my bachelor party in that uniform!" Sexist? Maybe. But, I would pay good money for that! Anyhow, apparently someone had seen the girl give me money, and made a complaint that they thought I was "soliciting work," which is illegal in Montana. When I explained why I was there, where I'd come from, and where I was headed, it was obvious that I wasn't interested in finding gainful employment, but she still asked for my ID. I diplomatically asked her what she thought of this arbitrary invasion of privacy, since by her own clear admission I was breaking no laws. She responded that it was Montana procedure to run the ID of everyone law enforcement comes in contact with. I found that laughable, but she was serious. I also found it amusing that she had never heard the phrase "papers please." Hearing that, I concluded that this pretty, well intentioned young lady may actually be better suited to a profession in the exotic entertainment field, rather than law enforcement. There are fewer ethical questions, and at least mindlessly following dictation (no pun intended) while performing a lap dance is an asset (again), and probably more lucrative!

Madame Law did give me some very good information on where to camp. She said that I could nest nearly anywhere off private land, as long as no one saw me & complained. The fine folks of Sidney were apparently freaked out by drifters, after having to endure a mentally ill vagabond who had hung around a bit too long. Understanding this, I assured her that no one would see me and I would be on my way at the first opportunity.

Keeping my word about not being seen was easier said than done, and nearly cost me a leg. I executed my misdirection technique, which entails walking one direction, then backtracking the opposite way to throw off anyone who sees me and is interested in my whereabouts. This is especially useful in populated areas. It was completely dark, and as I was backtracking beneath a bridge along a small stream, I learned the hard way that Montana has the same small gullies as New Mexico. But, here they're hidden beneath vegetation! I first discovered this after suddenly finding myself on my belly with my pack driving my face into the dirt. I was then reminded, again, when I found my left leg in a 3ft. ditch submersed to the knee in water. Lovely!

Once I found a decent spot behind a hotel, I didn't move. Not even to pee...