East. Day 43.
- patti brehler
- May 18, 2021
- 3 min read
July 21, 2016
Livingston to Columbus, Montana
I averaged 15 mph into Big Timber, population 1500+. Towns are bigger here than along SR 200, the road I followed west across Montana. At a Family Dollar, I scored a Mac & Cheese Compleat for dinner (later eschewed for sauteed beans and cauliflower from the farmer's market in Columbus).
The shade from a scraggly tree in front of a bank beckoned me. I sat my rear end on cool grass to finish the bagel I picked up leaving Livingston; a teller waved at me through the window.
A hearty "Good morning!" from the sidewalk behind startled me. Lifting a chainsaw case with a beige ticket tied to its handle, a lanky cowboy said, "Came into town to pick this up. Where ya going?"
"Columbus, tonight," I said.
"I'm from Texas, I summer here working on a ranch in the Crazies. It's cooler." "Texas must be an inferno."
We wish each other a good day. He swaggered to a dusty pickup and drove away.
I can't help but smile.
From my original Facebook post:
Postcard from the road. July 21, 2016 Thursday Columbus, MT.
When obstacles like headwinds and hills are removed, blasting 80 miles by 2:30 in the afternoon makes for a memorable ride. (About 900' elevation loss!)
When I slid into Reed Point by noon, with my day's destination less than 20 miles away, the Waterhole Saloon beckoned. I did need to get out of the heat for a while [wink].
"What's an Indian Taco?" I asked the crusty, gray-haired woman bartender whose computer game I interrupted. A weathered wooden sign tacked up outside with painted red letters "Indian Tacos" had caught my eye.
"It's a taco salad on Indian fry bread," she said, but warned, "It's really huge."
I was already salivating.
Perhaps it was the zeal in which I attacked the mountain she set in front of me that softened her. "You're doing pretty good," she said as she chipped ice from a cooler behind the bar. "The other day a big fella came in and ordered two of those. When I brought one out he said, 'you didn't really make two did you?' Nope!"
"This is delicious," I said between shovels.
She came by a bit later and my plate was clean. "I'm proud of you!" she exclaimed.
After the day's blistering heat (and no showers at the camp-for-free Itch-Kep-Pe Park in Columbus), the mother waters of the Yellowstone River a hundred yards from my tent were heaven. I floated beneath the moon, aches and sorrows washed away.
On the way to the park's restroom to change out of my river-soaked clothes, I met Rudy. He sat on the top step at the door of a pickup bed camper. A make-shift outdoor shower was stationed nearby.
A retired floor installer from southern California, Rudy told me that once he paid off all his child support he still had a huge rent bill. "When I retired, I sold my apartment, bought this truck and camper, and hit the road." He said he was doing okay, but got himself "into trouble at the casino." He decided to plant himself in this free park until his retirement check came through--another eight days.
It seemed I kept running into a sub-culture of people who live on the road. (Funny how five years later the movie Nomadland won Academy awards.)
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