It’s been a busy week, settling back into Montana life, back at the studio preparing for another interview, getting Perky Pelican stuff in order for the new pond season, washing clothes, etc., so I missed a few days on the posts. I remembered that on the winter interview loop we were still in Helena, so I had to get back to the keyboard to get us out of there and on to Bozeman.
Some parts east of the Continental Divide are just spectacular, like the East side of Glacier National Park. Other parts are picturesque but a little bleak like the prairies of Wyoming. There are still significant mountain ranges in Central Montana, but soon after you head east from the Divide you get a bit of that windswept, moonscape feel that is foreign to a Western Washingtonian, used to evergreens, ferns and nettles. Winters out here are nothing to sniff at. The warm spell that hit us just before my trip hadn’t taken all the snow off yet- that would come with the next warm and windy spell, just around the corner.
It turns out ‘River Road’ took you up into the hills. I was a bit worried I’d hit a steep spot and get stuck. I flagged down a young local farmer in a side-by-side with his girl.
-Is my little Mitsubishi going to get through the steep parts OK or should I turn back and get back on the 12 at Townsend?
-Oh, you’re fine. In another mile or two you’ll be back on the flats.
-Thanks.
-You betcha. Have a great afternoon!
Just as I coasted down to the flats I ran into this guy:
I got to Bozeman with the tank almost running on empty. To fill up only cost $23, a far cry from the bank-breaking fill up for the Suburban. According to the Enterprise guy at trip’s end, that crazy little Mitsubishi averaged 48mpg!
I was not impressed with the quality of service at the gas station in Bozeman. The pump bays were filthy. There was annoying hiphop music playing on the tinny speakers, which competed for my attention with the obnoxious advertising on the pump.
How hard is it to keep the squeegee buckets full of water?
With all the Lexus’s, BMWs, full-feature brand new, extra-cab Dodge Rams and such crowding the busy boulevards of Bozeman, you’d expect things to be a bit cleaner, but the flunkeys running the gas station didn’t seem to care.
Luckily I found the XC trails and had enough time for a good workout before sundown.
You could ski all over the golf course, right by the beautiful and vacant 3rd homes of the Southern Cal lawyers and stock traders.
I struck up a conversation with a super-fit woman whose husband was on the Bozeman XC trails managing committee. I said, “How do they maintain all this if it’s free?”
-Oh, they ask for donations, but you have to register online.
-Seems they would do well to put up a donation box at the parking lot here.
-Yeah, they talk about it. I’ll tell my husband again.
I ran into her another time on the back nine and she smiled and said, “Hello again!”
I tried to ski all 18 holes but the sun set and I barely made it back to the car before dark. Now I felt energized and ready for the drive East. Would I sleep in a roadside motel or just go for it and nap at rest stops along the way? The wind picked up and the flags started to flutter. The cyclist in me figured I should make use of this nice west tailwind, so I got back on the 90 and drove East.