This is the 13th entry about my trip to Montana. I am not superstitious about the number, but somehow could not bring myself to use it for this episode. Likely a side effect of the formidable independence I own honestly and that was reinforced by life out west. I met many transplants who chucked it all for life amid the beautiful trees, mountains, and endless landscapes without much more than inspiration to support the notion.
On the Road Again
With regret, I left Glacier Park shortly after noon heading east toward Highway 89. There are no words to express the grandeur and beauty of the Montana range. Small mountain ranges, buttes, and impromptu plateaus. There is something odd and unexplainable about riding the concrete ribbon across the open range. Overwhelming but meditative. To drive for hours in a world where gigantic mountains are eclipsed by the sky–thinking of it my chest fills and opens my throat as if wanting to swallow it whole. Maybe in hopes of capturing that felling of freedom and wonder.
In the Hands of Mother Nature
Hours of fields then cattle farms and oil fields. I passed by the Little Belt and Judith Mountains. Long flat fields, rolling winding hill country, and craggy rock outcroppings peppered with tumbleweed.
Loved seeing the old off the grid towns, multicolored bee hive frames, wrought iron ranch entrances, and pole fences. Picked up Hwy. 89/3 outside Great Fall and watched an incredible storm descend like locus from the southeast outside Lewiston. Frightening and awe inspiring. The rain came like an ocean had opened and when it finished–a double rainbow. Sublime and breathtaking.
The Edge of Civilization
I made it to Billings just as fireworks started. The day could not have been more perfect except to be with my sons. Goodbye, Montana. I will roam you again soon.