Clark’s John Hancock
Woke at 5:30 to get James to the bus. Unfortunately, there were no seats available. Due to scheduling constraints, James had to be back in Portland by the next day, so he paid out the wazoo for a flight. I departed Missoula, and began the long drive east, alone. All the way through Montana, passing the western mountains, and into the plains, through Butte, Billings, and Bozeman. Stopped at Pompey’s Pillar, where Clark signed a rock on his journey through.
Junction Saloon
Had lunch at the Junction City Saloon in Custer, MT. A one street town, with a prominent warning about the dangers of meth, the saloon was the only open establishment. No swinging wooden doors, but there were three burly men who looked at me askance as I entered. The barkeep asked me what I wanted, and I had the special pork chop sandwich. I perused the wall of tickets to hard-rock concerts (Judas Priest, Scorpions, et al); this was a real classy joint. I brought in my Sunday New York Times and read the magazine while I ate the the terrible sandwich. The experience was worth every penny.
Impending storm
Stopped at the National Grasslands, which as far as I can tell is a National Park without any trees. Had dinner with the very friendly rabbits around my camp. Watched a thunderstorm roll across the plain, and proceed to rock my tent. I let the sound of the rain wash away the seven hundred miles of driving I’d done that day.
Leave a Reply