‘We ride these waters dark and dusty, so ride my people ride’
The Middle Fork Flathead River in Nimrod, Montana. Garret K. Woodward photo
Hello from Room 26 at the Thunderbird Lodge within earshot of Interstate 90 on the outskirts of the small city of Mitchell, South Dakota. Most notably the hometown of the late politician George McGovern, the 1972 Democratic nominee for president.
It’s 9:39 a.m. I’ve just retrieved my first cup of coffee of the day from the lobby of the quaint roadside motor inn. Next to the tiny breakfast nook is an oddly-placed hot tub and sauna. There’s a slight chill in outside air after days of intense western heat.
The dirty Wyoming and Montana license plates in the parking lot remind me that the West isn’t too far away in the rearview mirror of the rental car. And the foggy morning blanketing the flat landscape reminds me I’m back in the Midwest. Fog so thick you can hear the tractor-trailers passing by on the highway, but you can’t see them, these diesel ghosts of the open road roaring by.
Today’s rough sketch of a plan is for my girlfriend, Sarah, and I to continue heading east to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to catch our direct flight back to Asheville tomorrow afternoon. There’s also talk of swinging into Sioux Falls, South Dakota, an hour away, to see her dear friend from high school. She hasn’t seen her friend since graduation, though they’ve kept in contact all these years.
As this latest western excursion winds down, I can’t help but retain an immense sense of gratitude to be able to wander and ponder, especially beyond the Mississippi River into spaces and places yet to explore in real time. Chunks of the earth heard about from other travelers. Locations on maps that I’ve scanned over with excitement and hunger, the same way I browse an extensive fine dining menu.
Yesterday, we said goodbye to my old friend, Amy, and her husband in Rapid City, South Dakota. Amy and I met way back in January 2008 when I took my first reporting gig at the Teton Valley News in Driggs, Idaho. I was the arts and culture writer. She was the photographer. We sparked a friendship immediately, so much so, we’ve remained friends ever since. Lifelong, truth-be-told.
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Anytime I find myself in South Dakota, I seek her out and reconnect. This go-round, I introduced her to Sarah. What started out as stopping by and catching up quickly turned into hours of hearty conversation, discovering similar interests and life paths over some wine and pizza from the restaurant around the corner. Those kinds of folks you know you’re supposed to know in life.
People and moments of the last couple of weeks out here swirling around my thoughts with each passing mile. The view outside the windshield transitioning from towering mountains and pine trees to high desert prairie to rolling grasslands. The beautiful vastness and emptiness of this country. Cruise control hovering at 80 miles-an-hour along endless straightaways in the Heartland of America.
The highways and backroads of Montana. Wondering the names of enormous mountains in the distance. Thoughts of what it must’ve been like roaming these lands long ago, what indigenous tribes and early explorers felt when they first saw the Rocky Mountains after arduous journeys from somewhere, anywhere. High heat in low valleys. Snow pack atop jagged peaks. The pursuit of whatever lies just beyond the next ridge. Push ahead and seek it out.
Cruising along U.S. 191 through dusty, mostly forgotten towns in the middle of nowhere of central Montana. Mobile homes with fading paint in the hot summer sunshine. Old trucks with no rust from the dry air in the backyards. Rogue dogs roaming free down dirt roads, some holding court at quaint gas stations in search of a handout or someone to take them home in their vehicle.
Great Falls for the night. Leaving the Gibson Hotel, we wandered over to the Sip-N-Dip Lounge, a legendary tiki bar in the heart of the outpost city since 1962. Order a fruity drink and watch the “Montana Mermaids” swim by along the bottom of the onsite pool, part of which being the windows behind the bar counter. They wave in your direction and blow you and yours a kiss. Sip the fruity drink in awe of where you are and what you’re doing.
And there was Mattias, the vivacious German who owns the Kellergeist, a tiny establishment near the Great Falls courthouse. Hearing the sounds of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young echoing out onto Central Avenue after dinner, Sarah and I were intrigued and walked in for a nightcap. Originally, Mattias left Germany to work in Ireland for 20 years, then found work in Great Falls. “I fell in love with this place and I never left,” he smiles, pouring me a German draft, his accent weaving seamlessly between German and Irish.
Wake up at the Gibson Hotel in downtown Great Falls. Crank over the engine of the rental car. Merge onto Interstate 15 North. Make our way towards U.S. 89 and ultimately U.S. 2 into Western Montana. Emotions of gratitude and excitement with each passing mile towards Whitefish and Glacier National Park. Cross into the Blackfeet Nation. Monuments and murals of a proud tribe and culture. Fuel up in Browning and continue the journey.
Roll into East Glacier Park. Decisions to either bolt forward to Whitefish or head north and enter into Glacier National Park via the St. Mary entrance. Based on time and place and having to be in Whitefish that evening (Thursday) for my Rolling Stone assignment on the Under the Big Sky music festival, it was decided to head to Whitefish and aim for Glacier on our free day come Monday.
Somewhere around the ghost town of Nimrod, Montana (named after the Biblical figure due to the location being a hunters’ paradise), we stumbled upon the Bear Creek Boat Launch & Campground. With the sun quickly fading, most of the kayakers and fishermen had already vacated the spot. Sarah and I put on our bathing suits and immediately jumped into the frigid waters.
Regaining my balance atop the slick ancient rocks and the swift current of the Middle Fork Flathead River, I emerged from the chilly depths with a grin. I gazed upwards at the mountain ridges cradling us, the bright sunshine radiating down upon the entire glorious scene. Sarah was sitting back up on the riverbank. I turned to her and said, “Good lord, I love Montana. My heart feels full being back here.” She concurred, her eyes also scanning the beauty before us.
To be continued (next week).
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
