Showing posts with label missoula. Show all posts
Showing posts with label missoula. Show all posts

12 August 2023

On The Road Again - 8

My Summer Road Trip, part 8

The hardest part of any endeavor is the end. As a writer, deciding when to end a story, much less a novel, is hard. Deciding when you've said enough and any more would detract from the whole is hard. This includes going on a trip. When have you had enough?

As I traveled I devised bigger plans, grandiose ideas, lofty goals. Yet by the time I had checked off the main destinations on my list, I began to feel anxious and eager to return to the comforts of home. I could've gone farther. I had enough money and maps. Gas prices were tolerable. I was wracking up hotel points. But settling into my hotel in Missoula after a long day going through Glacier National Park and the Flathead Lake area, I knew the end had come.
Awaking to a sunny morning with clear skies, I chose to head east rather than west and called it quits. It would still take two or three days to get home, so I chose a slightly different route than what would've been the most efficient. I continued my pattern of revisiting places first seen in my childhood (reported below). I drove on the accursed I-90 gauntlet back to and through Butte, with the same rocky formations on mountainous curves I dare not try to photograph while driving! I continued on to my second home, Bozeman, and continued on to Billings and turned south as the highway bent, aiming for Wyoming.

I needed gas and stopped at Hardin, MT, close to the Little Bighorn Battlefield Memorial, part of the Crow reservation. After filling my vehicle's tank, I spied a Taco John's and decided to grab lunch. Same item at each location where I ate: the super burrito combo. I must say, this out of the way location was surprisingly good in both the experience with staff (the manager definitely Crow, the staff mixed) and the high quality of the food. I would give it my top score among all the Taco John's on my trip. Excellent!

From there, my destination for the night was the same hotel in Sheridan, Wyoming, just over the border. The next morning I continued on but unlike my west-bound trip coming from Devil's Tower through Gillette, I continued south through Casper - where my 2019 trip troubles began - and veered off toward Nebraska. 

Coming south in 2019, I planned to stop at Casper for the night, but no, the city's hotels were full due to the state baseball tournament. So I drove on. Same, same. I got tired of stopping and checking, decided to go on to Cheyenne. But Cheyenne was full, too, because of the rodeo being held there. Thus, as dusk settled around me, I fill up the tank, grabbed a sandwich and heading south into Colorado. But I quickly discovered the interstate going to Denver was a hellish mess of construction - at one point all traffic was forced to exit the interstate for a detour through back country roads and out to the highway again; I could not have found my way in the dark if not for following everyone else. I thought of stopping, did stop twice, no rooms, continued on until I was arriving in Denver late in the evening. I saw the exit for I-70 and took it, heading due east to Limon where I got the last hotel room (a family suite) but damn glad to get it. In total I had driven from Great Falls, across Montana to Billings, spent 90 minutes at the Little Bighorn Battlefield, then ended up driving all the way through Denver to Limon near the Kansas border. Whew!
I refused to go through Colorado again and took the exit to a state highway that took me to Fort Laramie - near the Nebraska border, far from the city of Laramie in the south-central part of the state. I visited this historic site as a boy, maybe ten or eleven, the perfect age for playing cowboys and cavalry. This time, many years removed, I was surprised to arrive and see the roundabout that took visitors to the site with souvenir shops all around the circle. It jogged my memory! The same place as many years ago. I remembered that roundabout being there way back then. I didn't tour the site again but had a good look. Then I continued on until I entered Nebraska.

Now, folks like to say that Kansas is the most boring drive in these here United States, but lemme tell ya, it's actually Nebraska. That I-80 might be a humdinger of a road over in the east but once you get outta Omaha it ain't nothing to write home about no matter what postage is these days. It almost put the orange-barreled I-90 to shame! Yessiree, I-80 crossing Nebraska is a sight to unsee. But arriving at Scottsbluff, however, there were some sites to see: the geologic formations the area is famous for. On a carefully unfolded paper map you might notice how the Badlands of South Dakota kinda continue southward across western Nebraska and reach this southwest corner.

I continued on, as is my tendency, and decided to stop for gas at Ogallala, NE, where the tall signs tooted $3.04 a gallon. I pulled up to the fanciest of the stations around that exit and found the price was actually $3.74 per gallon. Don't know what the problem was but that ain't right. Collusion, I suspected. Well, I was too fed up to care and filled it anyway. Just for curiosity's sake I went over to another station: same deal with the price difference. Next, I slipped over to the Taco John's there, which was drive-thru only because of a sign on the door saying "short staff" - though I suspected there were no height requirements to work there.

And I continued on, soon realizing that I would not get all the way home by tonight - unless I was willing to drive in the dark several hours. The route I planned to take not being familiar to me, I chose to stop in North Platte for the night. The next morning I continued on, turned south at York to enter Kansas, and made my way to Concordia where I stopped for gas and lunch. More hassles at the pump; I'm supposed to know exactly how much gas I will put into the tank so I can pay in advance rather than swiping my card at the pump? Ridiculous. I guessed low and got $20's worth, which miraculously got me home. I also went to the Taco John's down the street - which was the worst of all of them I stopped at, measuring the condition of the place, the service, and the quality of the food.

Driving on, I encountered more of the orange-barrel curse, plus a few jerks driving aggressively along the gauntlet, cutting me off at one point to get in line ahead of me, including a well-placed finger to indicate their undying love. Mindfulness, baby, mindfulness! And soon I recognized the wonderful exits of Salina, KS, which meant I only had a couple more hours to go. I breathed easy, enjoying the sunny afternoon as I arrived home. I collected a big batch of mail from the box and ordered pizza delivery for dinner, believing I had definitely earned it.

NEXT: The trip is finished so I will shift over to the launch of FLU SEASON 3: DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS, the conclusion to my pandemic trilogy on September 1, 2023.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

06 August 2023

On The Road Again - 7

My Summer Road Trip, part 7

No, wait! There's more! What can one do after destroying Bozeman and flirting with Yellowstone? Go north, young man! 

(Tip o' the Day: You can click on the pics to enlarge them.)

So I went. After a study of carefully unfolded paper maps lain across my hotel bed, I determined my next move in the great game. I got on I-90 once more, that accursed strip of asphalt, so orange-barreled and too much single-laned, and finessed a drive to the headwaters of the Missouri River. 

Now, the truth is that there are three rivers coming down from the mountains but it is not the Missouri River until the three rivers converge. Only then can we call it the Missouri River as it snakes north to the city of Great Falls and then east across Montana and into North Dakota and down into South Dakota, past Pierre (where I saw it) and by the "Dignity " statue at Chamberlain (where I crossed it), and down to Kansas City on the Missouri side where I once lived and often crossed and on this trip had crossed it, and on to St. Louis where some say it joins the Mississippi River but others (I'm talking scientists) say the Missouri River's current is stronger and so they believe it continues down to New Orleans as a single flowing river, old amateur geographers be damned.

I went to Three Forks, the place where the Gallatin, Madison, and Jefferson rivers meet and give us permission to call it the Missouri River - but in Montana. I came, I looked, I snapped pics. Then I drove on.

About the most scenic area I traversed on this long road trip was approaching Butte, Montana from the east, then exiting Butte going north, and later arriving at Butte from the west because of the mountainous terrain the highway winds through. Dramatic rock formations abound - more dramatic if you take your eyes off the steep up and down grades and curving pavement to take a look at the rock formations! I looked, but there was no way I could hold up a camera or my phone to snap a pic, as much as I wanted to. So you have to trust me.

From Butte, I headed north to Great Falls. Back in 2019 when I drove down from Canada, I stayed in Great Falls. Then I drove east across the vast grasslands to Billings and on home. That drive was part of the reason I wanted to return. Oh, I expected the falls to still be there, but I had missed all of the mountain scenery. And we definitely want mountain scenery. And as I tried to replicate that 2019, I stayed in the same hotel and ate at the same restaurant for dinner. I did not, however, go further into town or stop to see the falls again (picture is from 2019).

Then I headed north, truly north, into the far wilderness, a road so isolated that I thanked my lucky stars I'd visited the Jiffy Lube earlier. Eschewing the interstate highway for a serviceable state highway, I gradually veered to the west until I could make out the mountain range that formed Glacier National Park. Until then, it was all grassland but with a dark overcast that lent drama to the drive. My plan was to traverse the park, as the highway went, again winding through mountain valleys. And, if I could, to turn deeper into the park for the more dramatic views I sought, ever the dramatic viewer wannabe.

As it turned out, the famous road through the towering peaks had just opened the previous day. I showed my Senior Lifetime Member card and was whisked blithely through the gate with a smile and a tip of the ranger hat. The "Going-to-the-Sun" Road is a splendid two-lane mountain highway, around 50 miles long, the only road that crosses through Glacier National Park. At the height of 6,646 feet, it crosses the Continental Divide via Logan Pass, which is officially the highest point on the road. It is not the kind of road you speed along; the turns are wild. Again, I did not have the luxury of driving while snapping pics. I could stop a few places, but once on the road you had to keep going, having plenty of other vehicles behind you. 
So I drove, patiently and carefully, so I would live to read another colorful paper map. Eventually our line of vehicles came to the famous lake everyone takes pictures of, and I followed suit, because who am I to go so far and at such great effort to merely look and not preserve for later the image gathered in my eyes and interpreted by my brain to be a mountain lake - or, to be more accurate, a lake among the mountains, with an isle in its center, a place forbidden to non-swimmers such as I who also possess neither boat nor kayak. Sometimes the gods, they mock you!


When the day began
, I expected to stop the next night somewhere on the west side of Glacier National Park. I had checked places in Whitefish, Kalispell, and even Polson at the south end of the large Flathead Lake. But I arrived on the west side of the park quite early. I should have taken more time to hike into the shade of the forest, call out some bears, and maybe step into a quick rushing stream for some fishing. That would have used up most of the day - and possibly ended my trip rather quickly. I did, savvy blog readers will be happy to read, stop for gas and a Taco John's lunch in Kalispell. Then I drove on, pausing at a dockside restaurant to not eat but photograph the lake. 
On my judiciously folded paper map, I noted the National Bison Range on my southward route, but when I got close I missed the sign and the turn-off and, thankfully, also missed the bisons. And continued on.... 

For the previous few days I had debated how far I would go on this trip. I wasn't limited by anything more than my own fatigue and interest. I thought I might continue on to the Pacific coast and lollygag on the beach somewhere. I saw I could reach Coeur d'Alene, Idaho easily for the night, then Spokane, and a long day crossing Washington. But my lack of stopping in Kalispell for the night threw off my schedule such that when I got to the bison range (actually, I missed it), I was tired and decided to just give it up and start back home. 

So I mounted that I-90 strip of paved civilization and turned not west, not north, but southeast and eventually arrived in Missoula for the night.

NEXT: The Road Home


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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.