Tag Archives: road trip

Montana Road Trip Pt. 3: A Taste of Rural Life, Columbus – Bozeman

Stump Gulch outside Columbus, MT: The Stump Gulch fire roared through here leaving behind these smoldering hillsides. I drove through here two evenings ago, at the height of the blaze, and watched columns of flame cast infernal light over miles of interstate. The highway worked as a fire-break, stopping the wildfire's progression south. Smoke still darkens the sky as the fire burns northward.

Road toward the Crazy Mountains, outside Big Timber, MT: I love this view of the Crazies jutting up out of the flat prairie as I drive toward Big Timber. The ruggedness of the range foreshadows the mountainous landscapes that are to come as I head west.

Big Timber, MT: At one time, wooden fences kept cattle from wandering from one range into another. This one, however, holds back a development of new mini-mansions. This creek will soon be drained trying to keep lawns of non-native grasses green in this arid environment.

Big Timber, MT: Wood fences have long-since been replaced on working ranches by barbed wire. Wildflowers line this working ranch in the shadow of the Absaroka-Beartooth mountain range.

Main Street, Big Timber, MT: Main Street in the working town of Big Timber is lined with muddy pickup trucks and hardware stores. The facade on the Timber Bar is covered with neon lights and has, no doubt, acted as a beacon to ranch hands for miles around. I am sad that I have to leave before nightfall.

Main Street, Big Timber, MT: The art in Big Timber doesn't seem like a kitschy glorification of the past to drive tourism but, rather, a celebration of a way of life the town still clings to. The influx of wealthy outsiders trying to carve out a slice of "Montana" for themselves is slower here (and many rural areas) due to its distance from developed features like Yellowstone Park.

Bozeman Pass, I-90, between Livingston and Bozeman, MT: Wildflowers grow thick along Montana's roadways adding color to the already stunning landscape. The flowers are so ubiquitous that I didn't even notice them until I moved back east and wondered what was missing: a blur of yellows, reds, blues and whites.

Main Street, Bozeman, MT: Montana Ale Works, built out of an old railroad depot sits across the tracks from an agriculture distribution center. Even with the short growing season at 5,000 feet, this valley supplies many of the fine grains that go into boutique breads and beers around the country.

Meeting People with a Lean and a Scratch

(Boston, MA)
I stand in front of a restaurant near the Boston Commons waiting for the people I’m with to emerge with sandwiches.  I hold Page’s leash and we both watch the throngs of people walk by the in beautiful, sunny weather.  Dozens of languages echo off the sides of the buildings along the narrow street.  An Asian girl with red-dyed hair spiked into a four-inch wedge parks her bike on the edge of the park and wanders onto the grass.  A black woman wearing a shimmering purple dress and glossy purple high-heels walks past looking like she should be making a dash between her limo and a posh night club, rather than tapping down the red brick street in the middle of the afternoon.  A older, middle-eastern couple stop in front of me.  “May I pet your dog?”  The man asks, holding his gnarled hands out.  I tell him yes, he’d love it.  Page is already moving over toward the man.  The old man smiles as his fingers tickle Page’s ears and Page leans into him.  When the man is done he thanks me and rejoins his wife down the block.
Greyhounds love people, I’m finding.  They will calmly walk over to any extended hand.  And there are a lot of hands to greet him.  I had a tough-looking, leather-clad guy ask if he could pet him, with a child-like joy gleaming in his eyes.  There have been homeless people offering him treats (which I decline) and a group of college-age women stop and take pictures of him.  I had a no-nonsense security guard gush to me about the greyhounds he’s owned.  We had a twenty-minute conversation about his dogs, the things they used to do together and loss to cancer.  These are people who I would never have met had it not been for Page.
The highlight comes a bit later when a ragged couple stops us on the street with another offer of treats for the dog.  I politely refuse.  They begin telling us about the greyhounds they used to race.  The man then pulls out a bag of balloons and twists up a balloon dog.  With a flourish of his fingers he, almost magically, twists the tip of the balloon off and presses it inside the balloon-dog’s abdomen to make it “pregnant.”  We stand, staring at the creation in amazement as he hands it to my friend Fumi.
I admit, I was resistant to getting a dog at first, afraid that it would hinder my ability to travel freely. As the couple waves and walks away, however, I understand how wrong I was.  Page is a great traveler.  He loves going places as much as I do, pulling me toward the car every time we go out for a walk.  Though I won’t be able to take him on all of my travels, the trips I do will be filled with new connections with people, as he brings down all of our walls with a casual lean and a scratch.