Category: Cross Country Page 4 of 7

Arising to the shrieks of our Japanese neighbors at the campsite, we struck camp, left our bags, and ascended to the Bonner Pass. Up 2000 feet to the Continental Divide, we could see into the next glacially carved valley. Impressive enough, but we decided to continue upward, climbing the col to Mt. Helen, at 8500 ft. There was no trail to the summit, but it was above treeline, and we figured the views would be worth risking our lives. Actually the weather was clear and the incline wasn’t severe. We did stay away from the cliff edge, and kept an eye on the horizon for threatening clouds. The pictures speak for themselves.

After the morning’s hike, we trekked back to the car, and drove across the Going To the Sun Road. The vistas here were spectacular, but somehow less satisfying than the ones we earned with our sweat earlier that day. Eventually, we became tired of awe-inspiring terrain, and left the park in search of huckleberry milkshakes. We found salvation at a roadside stand, where a boy of perhaps 11 played James for a fool. He claimed that their prices had gone up substantially because “their cows were sick.” He calmly gave James about half the change expected for a $20. James told him they should update their signs. Then the boy smirked, and gave us the rest of the change. James guffawed, and congratulated the boy on his budding hucksterism.

Huckleberry Heaven

Had buffalo burgers for dinner, and drove south trying to find the real thing. We arrived at the National Bison Range near closing, and were unable to find the campsites there that the map promised. We cursed the Montana Department of Transportation, which seems to be very good at tearing up roads, but not so skilled at mending them. So we left, bison unseen, through interminable construction and found a commercial site for far too much money. An early morning loomed, so James could catch the 7:30 bus, and so I slept fitfully again.

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.

Nothing in either direction

North Dakota is boring, really boring. Four hundred miles of grass and little else.

Drove through another thunderstorm on my way to Minneapolis. Hannah’s flight was delayed, and I spent two hours in the Mall of America. The depravity of consumerism was totally overwhelming, although I did spend an enjoyable time perusing the Lego store. Everyone has their weakness, mine just happens to be the genesis of my engineering education.

Met Hannah at 11pm, after we had both traveled twelve hours, although she made slightly more mileage than I had. Collapsed at a hotel just outside of the cities, spending way more than I had hoped. But it did have wireless internet, so I got some good uploading done.

Wisconsin is also really boring, just with trees instead of grass. Had some of the worst food of the trip. Breakfast at a Swedish diner in Lindstrom; all I wanted was Lingonberry pancakes, but the griddle was closed five minutes before we walked in. Had Lingonberry-less french toast with fake syrup instead: less than awe-inspiring. Lunch at the Friendly Restaurant, where the potato salad was some unholy combination of German and American style: smothered in mayonnaise, but tangy as hell. Wisconsin is weird.

World’s smallest logging museum

Visited the Logging Museum in Rhinelander, WI. Learned all about Lumberjack Lingo, the process of hauling ice overland, and model trains. Reminded me of the old folk song ‘The Frozen Logger’, as sung to me by my 5th grade teacher Mr. Millstone. I found a great live recording of the Grateful Dead performing this at the Internet Archive.

Stopped at an EconoLodge just after the Michigan border. Had planned to camp, but I didn’t want to sleep on the rain-soaked ground. Ate excellent cookies at 9pm, and watched television late into the evening. Try that camping!

Mr Sub

Crossed into Canada, and quickly at a “another proud canadian franchise” of Mr. Sub. They sure are proud to be Canadian. Hannah and I tried to remember the words to “Oh Canada”, but that’s about as far as we got after “our home and native land.” We added our own lyrics extolling the values of Tim Horton’s, moose crossings, and the word “aboot”. But seriously, there’s nothing in Canada.

It continued to rain, but we stopped at a campground in Ontario. The Canadian idea of camping seems to be closer to the Europeans, where there is one gigantic campground, with assigned spaces, and a “comfort center” with showers and laundry. But at least it was cheaper than a hotel.