Big Sky

Thanksgiving Day.  The roads were empty, but for a couple of trucks. I drove down the I90, dawn breaking behind me, the sky opening before me. Each turn redolent with history. The signs lured: the black hills, Mount Rushmore, caves, casinos, dinosaurs, views.  The scenery astonished me, silenced me. I turned off the radio. It’s just no match for Wyoming.

I was driving along the I90.  Every since I saw the movie Badlands I have wanted to travel in that area so there is something in this which is part of the poetry of life. The day obliges with more brilliant sunshine. There are scatterings of snow, but nothing that’s an impediment to swift progress. I pick up a couple of companions, people who smile and salute as we leap frog down the road. I stop for gas at the top of a mountain pass, and buy out their collection of local apples. The cashier was doing a two-hour shift to help with holiday coverage, and she offered me free maps of South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana. She knew the road and we briefly discussed the route. I went on my way. I stopped a couple of times, just overwhelmed, and attempted to record the glory on my cell phone camera. It can’t even come close.

I didn’t stop much, because I had to make time. I have an inflexible appointment with Sheryl Eaglewoman at 0730 Friday morning. She has been tending to Lewis’s things for the past 5 years, taking care of them patiently. She has to work on Friday so has a small window of time in between feeding her horses and getting to work.  Otherwise, we will have to wait until 6pm, so we select the earlier time. I have brought her some thank you things, nice organic chocolate bars and more maple syrup. I am to call her this evening to let her know that I have made it and can meet her. Meanwhile, it’s just a question of sitting back and enjoying the scenery.

I drove through Deadwood and Sundance, pass Inyan Kara, where the thunder spirits live, wind cave (where the people were lured into this surface world by Iktomi) and Devil’s Tower (better known as He Hota Paha, Grey Horn Butte, or by its casual name, Bear rock (because of the claw marks on its side). Meanwhile, oh my, the mountains and the big, big sky.  Yellowstone/Teton looms before me, and I realize that the Teton people were probably named at least partly because they knew how to negotiate those mountains. There seem to usually be practical reasons for things, and it strikes me, looking at those ridges, that you want to identify folks who are experienced at different terrain, know their way around the geography and cosmology of a certain region. Cosmology is science. It’s impossible to imagine that landscape purely as geology.  I drive past black and red Angus cows, horses and once a herd of deer, scuttling down the hillside to get to a water hole. Hawks and crows soar past and once, and eagle, resting on the up current, floated above the truck for a moment, before swooping off.

I buzzed across Wyoming, leaving behind promises to visit on the way home, and I crossed the mountains into Montana, straight onto the Crow land that boasts among other things free arrowheads to all visitors of the Little Bighorn battlefield (again, on the way back). Lots of horses roaming around the Crow land.

As I zoomed along I debated which road to take. The GPS was offering the sloping road from Helena across to Kalispell, while the map showed a probably saner route from Missoula north through the Flathead Reserve.   I was making such good time that I decided to take the smaller road, which goes along beside bits of the Missouri River, through Lewis and Clark National Park.  Again, the land rendered me speechless.  As night fell, I dug in for the last of the drive through the windy road by the river.  I avoided hitting creatures and fellow travelers, squinting through the windshield. The GPS said 15 hours to get to Kalispell from Becky’s, and that turned out to be true, plus an hour for stopping.  Except for a quick trip 20 miles west in the morning, it’s the end of my road. I couldn’t get any offers on Hotwire, and as I drove into town the first place I saw was the Hilton Garden Hotel. The price was fine ($99) and road weariness made me just plunk down the card (I figured at least I could add to our slowly gathering points).  Lewis and I agreed to speak in the morning, figuring the time difference. I called Sheryl and we made our plan, and I gratefully put in the wake up call for later than usual.  I’ll come back and get in a workout after I collect the gold.