North Dakota Into Montana

Rolling across the Big Sky of eastern Montana it's 40, 50, 60 miles between odd small towns offering next to nothing. About the only thing worth noticing in passing is a large homemade billboard sign declaring Meth kills. Driving the speed limit of 70 mph seems kind of fast and dangerous along old paved narrow roads that hug the lay of the land somewhat like a roller coaster through vast hilly wheat fields. Miles go by before I meet another vehicle. The crest of each hill comes abruptly as I'm hitting about 75 mph with a set of good tires and clear head. Should I meet another vehicle atop I hope the other driver is as attentive. After all, in this beautiful wide open land meth kills and I've noticed a fair number of metal white crosses. Probably best not to drive at night.

Before I left North Dakota I visited the North Section of Theodore Roosevelt National Park for a hike and a run. A herd of wild Buffalo grazed through the campground and I fell asleep to flashes of lightning from a storm passing south.

In the morning I ventured a little north to catch a road west into Montana. I quickly found myself in a convoy of giant diesel trucks hauling all kinds of oil field equipment. Large makeshift trailer communities scattered out upon open farmland like a Fema camp or tent city from a time gone by. Drilling rigs, oil tanks, dusty Ford Pickups and rough necks reaping the benefits of a boom. Nothing pretty about it but considering good pay and overtime within a sluggish economy there's a strong appeal for a man who isn't afraid of day after day manual labor, crude jokes, and a red neck. I sensed a cool frenzy about it all. Get while the gettins good. You never know how long a boom is going to last. I turned at a busy intersection leaving the boom behind but wondered how much a person could make in a months time?

After driving all afternoon across the roads of Eastern Montana it came time to call it a day in the vicinity of White Sulfur Springs. I thought it might be kind of an interesting place but actually it's just a small town in the middle of an open plane with dodgy bars, a few shops, a couple of decent simple motels, and a campground full of trailers which are likely homes of those who frequent the bars. None of the small towns I passed through had a grocery store. They just have a convenience store that may or may not have something that isn't fried. I picked a pre-made salad that looked pretty good and headed up to the nearby Lewis & Clark National Forest where I found a campground all to myself next to a stream in an idyllic grove of trees.

All in all I really enjoyed the wide open spaces, little traffic, and sparse populations of Eastern Montana. However, I imagine the winters have got to be brutally cold and windy.

At the moment I'm sipping Guatemalan coffee in a trendy modern coffee shop located in the conservative capitol city of Helena. From here I'll drive about two hours to Missoula where I'll catch up with a Forest Service Wilderness Ranger I use to work with in Aspen during the summers of 1990-91.