MONTANA
A decision had to be made. I have a large 22x28 map on the wall back by the bed and on it I mark all the roads I have traveled. Montana is a large state and the map showed a lot of land yet to be explored in the eastern half of the state. Years ago Sinbad and I drove Highway 2 eastward from Idaho to the middle of Montana. Highway 2 is the northern most improved road in the state near the Canadian border. I could finish that route heading west from the eastern border at North Dakota, a stone’s throw from Fort Buford. This would follow along the Missouri River, what I had been trying to do more or less since leaving the South, until we neared Glasgow a hundred miles later. There the Missouri was obliterated by the Fort Peck Dam burying it deep beneath Fort Peck Lake. Not all that appealing. The second option would be following Highway 200, a small back road of a highway south of the river and Highway 2. This would be two hundred fifty miles of nothingness through the heart of Montana. There are a half a dozen small towns along the route with no place to stay. Many times on small highways like that pulling off to the side of the road is not even an option for there is ‘no side of the road’. The last recourse would be traveling southwest on Interstate 94. Interstates are not my favorite method of travel. They do make for easy driving though (people can pass us with ease) and up here in the vast prairie of nothing Montana interstate travel would be acceptable−a lot different than interstates elsewhere in the county. Plus there were many more small towns along the way to visit, some offering places to stay. I could always jump off onto frontage roads that paralleled the interstate when they became available. An added feature was this route followed the course of the Yellowstone River so it had that going for it. I could give up the Missouri for the Yellowstone just fine. So that is what I decided to go with.
The morning we left Fort Buford I had bad intestinal cramps once again−gut-wrenching spasms of extreme pain while things were moving around down there. I thought I was over this but something else seemed to have manifested itself. Needless to say this put me in a morbid mood thinking the end was near; I’m gonna die, my usual reaction when things go awry within me.
I stopped at Fort Union only a few miles away from Fort Buford. In fact back in the day the two could see each other. How they differed was Fort Union was a company owned trading post whereas Fort Buford was a military post. I had the fortunate good timing to arrive at the same time as a large obnoxiously annoying family did. The father was loud-talking on his phone most of the time. I spent most of my time avoiding the lot while touring the fort.
The fort was complete in every detail thanks to the drawings done by Rudolph Friederich Kurz, a Swiss artist who spent seven months at the fort as a company clerk. His drawings recorded day to day activities and even meetings between the Native Americans and the fort commanders. A wealth of information was to be had from his work in the reconstruction and details of artifacts within. While avoiding the family I was still able to learn how wood barrels and casks were constructed and why the stopper plug was always on the sides of barrels. Barrels were filled while lying on their sides with the bulge being the high point allowing all the air to escape thus preventing any spoilage of the contents. I also learned they cut large chunks of ice from the frozen waters of the Missouri River in the winter. This ice would be stored in their below ground level ice house and would last well into August keeping foods cool.
I felt okay. It was just my mind was filled with all these horrible deteriorating health thoughts as we continued on into Montana. I had a place lined up to stay at in Glendive eighty-five miles away. Along the way I would check out some other places to stay although with no intention in doing so. The first one was at Fairview ten miles down the road. This was the typical small city park only this one differed in it had a swimming pool. Where the traveler would park was the same small parking lot where everyone coming to use the park would park their cars. There were electrical hookups in back but with other park users parked there backing in and connecting would be a problem. Anyone with a trailer or fifth-wheel I don’t know how they could stay there. The lot was too small. There were several little girls in bathing suits running around the nearby playground so for I an old man stepping out to take a few pictures for the blog wasn’t really a good idea. Thus I had no photos of Fairview Park.
Twelve miles further down the highway and three miles into the sticks was Richland County Park. This was a nice clean looking camp area looking like brand new park along the Yellowstone River. It had complete hookups, no shade (spindly newly planted tress) and was free. Only problem was you had to get a permit from the Sheriff’s office in Sydney seven miles away. With permit in hand you then drove seven miles back to the campground. Dumb! The oldest review I saw for the park was dated 2016 so it wasn’t the new park appearance made it as such; I think it simply wasn’t ever used. No one could be bothered with their stupid permit process.
Other places along the way were in the sticks too but I didn’t bother to go check them out. They were fishing holes for the most part. An hour later were arrived in Glendive’s Jay Cee Park. It had a dirt road that circled around the grassy park and this is where the traveler parked, on the road. There were no amenities, not even water, but there was an abundance of large shade trees. We would take that. The park had four tennis courts, two volleyball courts and a row of horseshoe pits that looked as if they hadn’t been used anytime in the twenty-first century. The restrooms looked right out of World War Two era. There was an ancient children’s playground set that dated back to my childhood yet next to it was a modern sculptured concrete skateboard park where one could go and attempt to break an arm or crack their head open.
I still wasn’t feeling all that well and laid down for a spell. An hour later I felt better. It seemed I was worn out although I hadn’t done all that much. I took Beans for a walk in between moving the RV from shade spot to shade spot and generally was feeling better. I ate light for dinner and the next morning, woken by sprinklers hitting the RV I felt the cramps might finally be over with for good.
We crossed over to the nearby Albertsons for a half gallon of milk and fill three water bottles. Then next door to Ace Hardware to buy two feet of nylon screen mesh window covering. I wanted to make a screen cover for the emergency escape window in back by the bed. I prop that window open to allow a cool breeze to blow in but didn’t want flies and mosquitoes to come in along with it. I have had this RV for fifteen years and was just now making a screen for that window. You cannot rush genius.
We left Glendive heading southwest on Interstate 94 for forty miles then turned off for the little town of Terry to see what there was to see. Nothing much. Following old Highway 10 through their bleak looking business district brought me to another one of those places to stay from my free camping apps. This was once a rest area for the old highway before the nearby interstate was built which made Highway 10 obsolete. I pulled off down onto the gravel side road and parked beneath large cottonwood shade trees. Time for the other half of a Subway sandwich I bought the day before in Sidney. The area was peaceful and quiet with only an occasional car passing by. Why not just stay here for the remainder of the day and night? And so we did.
A few years back we had pulled off to the side of the road in such an area outside of Throckmorton, Texas for lunch, a wide spot on a country road. The turnout was so pleasant with no cars coming by we stayed put rather than go to our destination, a city park in Throckmorton. A storm blew through that afternoon with hail, lightning and all types of excitement. I stood naked out in the tempest feeling so very much alive. This became one of my most memorable overnight stops. I felt the old Highway 10 rest stop would be also. A railroad track was on an elevated embankment a hundred feet away. I wondered if it was active. An hour later I got my answer. Beans bolted down into her hidey-hole. With no horn blowing the trains were not an issue (at least for me) and were a source of entertainment for the few that did roll through.
The next morning before leaving I walked the few hundred yards down the road to an ‘historical point of interest’ marker. Here ran the Powder River, where back in the day exaggerated claims of the river stated it was a “mile wide, and inch deep and ran uphill”. Captain Clark and the boys had camped there at the mouth of the Powder River where it met with the Yellowstone River on July 30th, 1806.
We drove no more than thirty miles that day making it as far as Miles City and their Walmart Inn. I was once again having gut issues. Doggone it! I didn’t feel all too well. I picked up some concoctions in Walmart in hopes it would straighten out my problems in the lower digestive tract. Around the side of the building we had an isolated spot to park, quiet except for the constant roar of the massive air conditioning system for the store. If I closed my eyes I could well imagine being next to a mighty roaring waterfall and with that thought it mind, it was alright.
The next day was all about finding shade. The entire area, the state, the whole western portion of the U.S. was facing an upcoming string of days where the temperatures would be over a hundred degrees (37.8C). If we could be in shade, we would be okay I felt.
In less an hour of driving we pulled off the Interstate to look at a campground at Rosebud Creek, a lovely little campground with several sites (no one there) a small pond and a plague of locusts. We enjoyed walking along while the hoppers spread off to each side like Moses parting the Red Sea. Beans was not amused; too many targets and she couldn’t focus. There was no shade there though and actually too early in the day to consider stopping anyway. We could enjoy the air conditioner while driving.
An hour later we reached a turnoff from the frontage road we had been driving on to Captain Clark, a fishing access site on the Yellowstone. After a few miles of gravel farm road and nearly at the river we were stopped by a sign that read: DEAD END NO TURNAROUND. Well that was no good. I didn’t feel like testing it. We turned around right there on a tight side road that led to a boat ramp. I wasn’t too disappointed anyway. We had just passed by a “residence” before being stopped by the warning sign. This worn out wood house, well it was questionable as to if someone was actually living in it, the entire area surrounding the house was littered with trash, broken down wrecked automobiles, boats, diesel big rigs, a couple of travel trailers and all other sorts of mechanical debris. As some reviewers stated for Captain Clark fishing access: “You have to pass by a sketchy looking place to get there and we weren’t too comfortable being so close to whatever lives there.” I would tend to agree.
Our next stop would be Voyagers Rest, another fishing access along the Yellowstone. This one was touted to have lots of shade. I drove down another one of those gravel farm roads with high hopes. Just after crossing a cattle guard as we neared the camp area the road immediately deteriorated into a rutted dirt track that you would not want to be on if the area was hit with a real good rainstorm. There were several spots squeezed in between tall cottonwood trees. At the end where the track dipped down into a mud hole only those with four wheel drive would dare to continue on to the last three camp spots. I backed into one site and turned off the key. There was no breeze, the air was stifling and a bazillion mosquitoes called this place home. I got bit by three just stepping out to grab a quick photo of camp for the blog. It made me think of Captain Clark and his men along with Sacagawea and her baby staying here along the river back in 1806. How did they cope with the constant daily pestilence? To make matters even worse was the audacity of the Montana Fish & Game requiring a fee of twelve dollars if you had a Montana fishing license, eighteen dollars without, to stay for one night. Now a camp fee such as that would have been acceptable back at Rosebud but this place wasn’t worth a plug nickel. I was tired, still not feeling too good and decided to stay even though I did not feel too comfortable being there. For example, what reason would someone have to be driving through there at one a.m.? It happened. If someone came by to ask about if I paid or not I would just tell them I was sick and would deal with it on the way out. No one came by and we were out of there before sunrise.
We drove on out of Voyagers Mosquito Rest stopping soon at the nearby little town of Wordon along the frontage road beneath some wonderful shade trees. There I ate breakfast, let Beans out (I don’t like this place; I want back in Dad), reorganized and relaxed. For the second time (or third, I had lost count by now) in two and a half weeks of unpleasantness I felt good having confidence in that this gut issue was finally over.
Our goal for the day less than sixty miles away was Itch-Kep-Pe Park in Columbus, a city park along the banks of the Yellowstone. Beans and I stayed there two years ago in July and really enjoyed the place. Back then we camped at the east end of the park with the river right outside our door. This time we would go for the west end of the park where you first pull in off the paved road as this part was more shaded. We would need shade for those upcoming hot days. With fingers and paws crossed we dropped down from the road and right away I saw there weren’t too many campers. This is good. The spots with full-on shade were all taken but that was okay. I would like a bit of sun for the solar panels. The shade spots had immediate neighbors next door or across the way. We motored on through slowly and just before we exited the west end to continue on down the bumpy camp road to the east end, there sat a nice level spot all by itself beneath some towering cottonwoods. We better take that Beans. I don’t think we can do any better. There was no camp spot on either side with only one spot across the road. I couldn’t believe our good fortune. As that first day progressed, the shade worked well all day especially at the end of the day from three p.m. on when it at the hottest. Here we would stay for the ten days allowed. I was very happy continuing on feeling better.
The first morning I went for an early walk on down to the east end for I wondered what if anything could we have had down there had I checked it out. I discovered our old spot was taken by three or four trucks of millennials. The site would indeed be sunny all day long. I thought so. Behind where a woman had been camped before in a tent, that access was now blocked off by two large tree trunks. We would have been prevented from backing into shade had I wanted to. I walked the loop finding nothing offering the shade that we had at our present spot. For once I had made a good decision.
Monday arrived and the weekenders had cleared out. The local rafting company along with all the other rafters had ceased the constant driving back and forth on the bumpy camp road to the boat ramp with a posted speed limit of fifteen mph that no one obeyed. Peace and tranquility took over at Itch-Kep-Pe. Monday also was the last day of triple digit temperatures. Our shady spot worked well. Beans and I suffered not one bit.
Each day there was always something to do if no more than to relax and do nothing. Beans would go out for her morning walks, and then midday just wanted to hangout underneath the RV. The rest of the time was spent indoors doing what cats normally do−sleep. I only had to walk across the camp road to reach the river and step in to cool off or take a river bath. The water was a side branch of the Yellowstone and as such there was no current, only three or so feet deep at the most. Just fine by me. I took down the bicycle and tooled around on it going into town a few times, mostly to the grocery store to pick up some items when needed. Columbus is a small town with a little over two thousand in population. There’s not much to see or do. One oddity though was the town had two hardware stores, an ACE and a True Value. They were directly across the street from each other. What were they thinking? At least this was convenient for the consumer.
Early one night at two a.m. someone arrived at the vacant campsite across from us. Geez, in the dead of night? They went about setting up a tent by flashlight. I went back to sleep at three to the sound of tent stakes being pounded into the ground. The next morning I was surprised by the size of the tent−a large rectangular house. The new neighbors finally crawled out of bed just before noon. They were a couple from Tennessee in their fifties I’d guess. Once up they set up the remainder of camp that included a shade structure and shower tent which is a telephone booth size tent. They appeared to be experienced campers having it all together. Why they arrived at the time they did was beyond me. They wound up staying the entire week which was great as we would not be dealing with generators, loose running dogs or screaming kids. In fact they were gone mostly all day each day doing whatever.
When we were here two years back I was walking along one morning when this woman riding her bicycle stopped and asked if I liked to hike. I had my hiking stick with me so I guess that is what made her think I was a hardcore hiker. At any rate, I met Cindy a petite middle-aged woman who probably barely weighed a hundred pounds. She lived here in Columbus, hadn’t owned a car in fourteen years and rode her bicycle everywhere for all of her shopping and errands. Present time: one day a woman rode by camp on her bicycle and slowed to ask me “Was that you I saw riding a bicycle in town the other day?” We had waved at each other from a distance. I said “Are you Cindy?” She was stunned that I knew her name. She couldn’t get off her bike fast enough. Then it clicked and she remembered me. Cindy had a new bicycle now but otherwise nothing had changed in her life in the last two years.
Sunday rolled around and our ten days would be up the next day. I rode my bicycle into town just looking around and by sheer luck found a laundromat. I did not know Columbus had one. So this was nice. I could do laundry here rather than someplace down the road somewhere. In the morning we were ready to roll and returned to do laundry then would eat breakfast while the clothes were churning away. Inside the RV finishing up breakfast I saw Cindy roll by and stop to go in the laundromat. She was using the bathroom inside. She was surprised to see me standing there leaning up against the washing machines. We visited some more which helped time go by while the dryer ate up my quarters one by one. A quarter was good for only five minutes−the least amount of time I have ever encountered. We exchanged phone numbers and said our goodbyes until next time.
I went over to the grocery store to fill three gallons of water and pick up some more of their good cottage cheese. Before taking off I realized I needed fuel. It had been ten days. I forgot I was down to a quarter of a tank. With that done we were finally on our way. Goodbye Columbus until whenever we return again. I am sure we will.
It was going to be ninety-nine that day and only to get hotter. A long day of driving with the air conditioner would be fine by us. Once we got onto the interstate heading west the smoke-filled sky became very apparent. Wildfires were raging on all over the country to the west of us. I never saw any blue sky all day. Many times the distant mountains were barely visible. The western part of the country was an incinerator.
We pulled off at Bozeman for lunch. I was glad to be back on the road and could once again splurge on some road food. I had a hankering for one of those chicken sandwiches. It seemed Popeye’s wasn’t around in these parts but an Arby’s chicken sandwich was about the same to me. I already pulled off earlier a few miles before Bozeman for an Arby’s only to find it closed, chairs turned upside down on the tables inside. How can that be? In Bozeman there was an Arby’s or so said Claire. After driving through road congested traffic due to construction in the business district of town for a few miles I found no Arby’s. It was now some other eatery. I can’t blame Claire for that; she can only do as good as the dated information she has. I pulled off onto a street that turned out to be the entrance to Walmart. I would regroup in the parking lot then find a place to at least get a decent burger. There was nothing except less than desirable fast food places such as McDonalds, Wendy’s and Taco Bell. Not even a Carl’s or Burger King was anywhere nearby. I was disappointed and resigned myself to making my own sandwich with no vanilla shake. All around in the Walmart parking lot were a good collection of beat-up vehicles, RV’s and trailers. Some looked as if they had been there for weeks. I checked my Google Map app and saw we had stayed at this Walmart two years ago on the next lane over from where we were now parked. I surely did not remember it looking as sketchy as it did now. We put Bozeman in the rear view mirror and escaped from there logging in another eighty miles to Butte and their Walmart RV Park. Oh what a difference between the two. Butte was nice, quiet and respectable. We also had gained some altitude so now ten degrees cooler. As I dropped a pin on the Google Map to mark our stay I noticed that stuntman daredevil Evel Knievel’s grave was in the Mountain View Cemetery directly across the boulevard. I noticed this weeks earlier in researching oddities along our route and had forgotten all about it. I would go see that before leaving in the morning. Still disappointed over my failed lunch I didn’t want to cook dinner, yet nothing was within walking distance from where we were parked. Walmart would have to do. I came back with a chef salad, three cheese stuffed cannelloni shells and a small cherry pie−fine dining.
After coffee in the morning we moved over to the other side of the parking lot to be near the grocery section of the store. I wouldn’t have to push a rattling shopping cart all that way. With shopping done I threw things inside, drove back over to just across the street from the cemetery. I put things away and ate part of my breakfast. “I’ll be back Beans.” I walked across the four lane boulevard to the cemetery.
“Geez Louise! I’ll never find it among all these grave markers.” Finally off to the side I saw a large tree with an American flag banner and other decorations. That had to be it and it was, right there along the perimeter of the graveyard. The marker was a four foot tall slab of granite making it standing out from most of the markers in the cemetery. Evel had the tombstone made back in 1974 just in case he didn’t survive his planned leap over the Snake River in Idaho. Well he didn’t successfully complete the leap but he didn’t die either. The tombstone was kept in storage for thirty-one years. Two years before he died on November 30, 2007 he had it shipped out to Butte. It is nicely done with his image doing a wheelie on his Harley Davidson XR-750 motorcycle, cape flying out behind him. On the reverse side of the stone was an engraved image of his Skycycle Rocket for the Snake Canyon attempt.
On my way back to the RV I stopped to talk with a woman living out of her car. She was a local who had just returned to Idaho after being in Wyoming for four years. Here she was now homeless, stuck there with her little dog waiting for a car part she said. I told her about what I went to see. She said she knows his son Robbie. Robbie is famous in his own right continuing on in his father’s daredevil stunts to some degree. She said “He’s the town drunk. Always getting into trouble including stealing cars but the officials do nothing due to his notoriety.” Well I had to check this out when I got back. She was right except for within the past few years Robbie has been brought up on several felony DUI’s. Having been away in Wyoming I guess she didn’t know the latest.
When I remembered about wanting to see Evel Knievel’s grave I recalled there was something else to see in Butte−The Lake of Death. This is the Berkley Pit open pit copper mine. It began in 1955 and ceased operation in 1983 as it was no longer profitable. Today it is a forty billion gallon lake of toxic waste deeper than any of the Great Lakes. Water still flows in but the acidic lake is literally eating into the bedrock so the level doesn’t change too much. You pay three dollars then walk through a hundred yard long tunnel to step out onto a viewing platform to see the spectacle. There was so much smoke in the air that it kind of concealed the true stunning aqua color of the toxic water. None of the literature and signboards to read stated as to how the pit got it nickname, The Lake of Death. In 1995 three hundred snow geese landed on the lake water and died. This happened again in November of 2016 when upwards to ten thousand geese landed on the water with many thousands dying. Today electronic sounds blare and shotgun blasts repeatedly go off whenever birds fly in over the surface. This is evidently working in keeping the birds away.
I ate lunch in the parking lot then we drove a leisurely twenty-five miles to Anaconda where their city park had camping available. We arrived and once again I could not believe our good fortune. The last spot at the far end was a lovely creek side setting beneath tall shade trees with an icy cold babbling brook outside our door. I put my feet in the water. That lasted all of five seconds. There would be no splashing about here. That was okay though as the temperature was eighty-three degrees being at 5,276 feet in altitude, twenty degrees less that back in Columbus.
There was a ten dollar fee to stay at the park which I was all prepared to pay whenever the park personnel came by to collect, at least that is what the sign stated. No one ever came by. I pulled on out around nine in the morning to go over to the others side of Washoe Park to be in the sun. There I had my breakfast then set up several blog posts for the upcoming days. We would be continuing on Highway 1, a scenic drive of fifty-five miles into the Beaverhead Deerlodge National Forest to check out some Forest Service campgrounds all of which reportedly had little or no AT&T cell service.
The first campground, Spring Hill, was only ten miles away. It sat in a narrow tree-filled canyon which probably was why the NO SERVICE showed on my phone. The camp spots were kind of small and not all that level so I wasn’t disappointed. It seemed more geared to the car camper and tenter. Less than ten miles further down the road lay Lodgepole Campground. I pulled in and had at least one bar on my phone. That’s encouraging. I drove around one loop with ten sites with some prospects but again a bit small yet doable. We exited it and drove the main loop with twenty sites. They were all either occupied or had RESERVED signs posted on the number posts. I couldn’t make any sense as to the dates on the signs for the sites would be empty but today’s date, the 28th was noted. Are they coming today or had they left today? Besides that, those who were there really looked to be noisemakers with all the camp gear they had set up, dogs possibly barking, signs of little kids being present and of course annoying generators setting outside. I drove back over to the first loop where no reserved signs were posted with only one tent set up down by the highway. I pulled into number twenty-three which was big enough for us and level. Across from us was a small parking spot so most likely only a tenter would be there. Now to see if the cell service was adequate. I raised the Weboost antenna (originally for the TV antenna which I removed years ago) and it seemed to be hung up. The zip-tie that held the cable to the post had broken at some point days earlier. I had replaced it with a loose fitting hose clamp. Evidently this was not going to work. At any rate, the Weboost did help pull in the cell signal. I could get the iPad and iPhone to work reasonably well. We would stay.
Beans had patiently waited long enough so out we went for a walk right away. Rodents of all type abounded here and she was off chasing them. Okay, at least she’s happy. I walked on down to get an envelope to pay−sixteen dollars, half that for old me. I came back to camp, ate lunch then set about fixing up the antenna better. I wound up screwing a rubber coated electrical connector loop to the mast after drilling a hole. This looked like it would be better. I cranked the mast up and down numerous times to check that the cable slid easy within the electrical loop fitting. Raised and rotated in different positions proved this was indeed a better arrangement. I went to drop the envelope in the pipe and enjoyed the rest of the day. By the end of the first day I got to thinking maybe we should stay here longer than one day. I only had two more possible Forest Service campgrounds to check out for the remainder of the fifty-five mile scenic drive before we would arrive back at the interstate at Drummond. Why not stay put where it was quiet, without neighbors and at least a workable cell signal?
The next campground to check out was Phillipsburg Bay on the shoreline of Georgetown Lake right across the highway from us. I looked on Google maps and saw the campground was only two and a half miles away. Oh, I can just ride the bicycle to that. The next day I got the bicycle down, pumped up the rear tire a bit and was ready to go. Across the highway, across the dam and then a short climb I went. Whew. I stopped at the top and took in the view. Uh-oh, the lake is way down there. That means a long climb back up out of there! I sat there and thought about it. Geez, back in the day I would not have given it a thought except to welcome the challenge of a good long climb. But now I was forty years older than my prime fitness days. Ah hell, I went for it. It was good fun coasting downhill for a mile or so. The campground comprised of three large loops, the third one noted as being full. I turned in on the first loop which started to climb. Nope, I gotta save myself. I rode along the shoreline and could see all of loop two I cared to see. I saw, no heard, all I needed−dogs barking, kids screaming, adults yelling at the screamers, generators roaring with the added bonus of jet skies right out your front door on the lake creating all types of annoying noise. What we had back at Lodgepole was ideal. Now to go home. All the while I was wheezing up the grade all I could think of was how I used to do long bicycle rides−100K, 100 mile, triathlons−cycling and running up hills like this without a bother. I looked at my speedometer−three miles per hour. I can walk faster than this. At the top I stopped for a drink and short rest. Okay, I did it. I needed to congratulate myself on that accomplishment. Many my age wouldn’t even consider. Not bad especially considering I don’t engage in that type of foolishness on a frequent basis anymore. I’m too hard on myself and needed to cut myself some slack sometimes.
We had our ten site loop all to ourselves and with that we wound up staying for three days. Knowing Phillipsburg Bay was no longer an option there was only one last Forest Service camp to check out. This was Flint Creek Campground not all that further down the road. Any other camps were back in the mountains of the Beaverhead Deerlodge National Forest. After several miles of driving narrow rutted dirt roads I would probably find the campgrounds more suited trucks with a camper or car campers with tents. I had no intention on checking them out.
We left Lodgepole on a Saturday and drove down (and I do mean down for it was a steep grade for three and a half miles) to Flint Creek Campground. This camp had ten sites which were all occupied (good I had no plan to stay there) and sat in a steep walled canyon that surprisingly had one bar of cell service somehow. We continued on and were soon on the flatlands once again in a broad valley that was indeed scenic, or would have been so had it not been for all the smoky haze. We stopped for lunch near Phillipsburg during our leisurely thirty-three miles left to go on Highway 1. Just before reaching Drummond and the interstate we turned in onto their Main Street. There I found the city park a mile later. Travelers could stay in their city park for ten dollars a night. There were three hookup sites with electricity and for those the fee was twenty-five dollars. I spotted a nice site way over on the other side of the park behind the unused baseball diamond. Tall cottonwood trees provided much appreciated shade in the ninety-three degree temperatures; ten degrees higher back up at Lodgepole. Nearby was the local swimming hole beneath a no longer in service train trestle. The water was just right, like back along the Yellowstone River in Columbus. Drummond was a small town of only around three hundred or so occupants but did well with their park, more so than many city parks for the travelers that were in larger towns. About the only undesirable feature were the trains passing through town blowing their horns at all road crossings. They were few in comparison to some places we have stayed and not as close by as some either, so not bad. Beans wasn’t bothered by them.
We left Monday morning. I had a couple things to do in town. First was go to the bank, the only bank in Drummond, to get a fistful of smaller bills for campground fees. Across the street happened to be the post office. Well it must have moved for Claire thought it was a few blocks over. This is convenient. I walked in to the post office first and found no one there. Nice. That is why I like small towns. The door to the lobby was locked. I stood there looking at the hours posted. Hmm…it should be open. I walked out and across the street to the bank. Their door was locked also. I checked the hours−yep, looked like they should be open too. Both places had their flags up. I went back over to the post office and stood inside trying to figure out what holiday it was. Just then a lady came in to get her mail from her P. O. Box. I asked her if she knew why they were closed.
“It’s Sunday” she tells me.
And therein lays the beauty in living full time on the road in a RV. The days of the week are all the same. We drove back over to our spot in the city park and waited for Monday.
That afternoon a couple from Idaho towing a trailer arrived. The entire park and main camp area was vacant except for one RV and a guy in a SUV. These people pulled in right over on the other side of our picnic table. You’ve the whole place to choose from and you park there? I dealt with it that evening then moved over to the main camp area early in the morning, just to get away from them hopefully making a statement for they could see us now on the other side of the baseball field. I doubt it registered with them. The ignorance of people never ceases to amaze me. Anyway, now Beans could explore in peace in new territory.
I went back in town on the real Monday and mailed off my item. The post office lady in the small lobby talked so loud it hurt my ears so I didn’t visit much. Plus she cackled after everything she said. Over at the bank the door was still locked. Now what? A sign noted to go around to the drive-up window. I walked over to the other side of the building and stood behind a car in line. I got my forty dollars worth of one dollar bills plus another forty of five dollar bills. As she slid them out to me in the drawer I asked why the door was locked. She said something about COVID virus safety reasons or something like that. She was difficult to understand behind the two inch thick bullet proof glass. A mask dangled from her neck. She was the only employee inside I could see. If there was another employee inside, that was why the mask? Odd.
We went over to one of two service stations in town to clean the windshield. Off to side was a small metal shed with propane. Wow, this is nice. I had looked earlier online and nothing showed propane for sale in town. This would save me the hassle of getting propane at the U-haul dealer somewhere in Missoula. Across the street was a roadside picnic area where I parked there just to kill time. We had only an hour drive ahead of us for the day and was in no hurry to get to Missoula’s one of two Walmart Campgrounds. Once we did finally get rolling it rained off and on for the first half of the drive giving The Little House on the Highway a desperately needed bath. I really needed to do something about the one chattering wiper blade.
At the first Walmart a few miles in on a traffic congested boulevard (I don’t like Missoula) we found lots of signs posted about no overnight parking. Many of those leaving comments wrote it was not a problem and the manager gave them permission. I found a nice spot well away from the main parking area over where the empty wood pallets were piled high among a couple of metal storage containers. One other RV was already there on the opposite end of the row. A couple hours later a big rig driver squeezed himself in lengthwise between the two of us with his tractor nearest us and left the motor running. Unbelievable. I wasn’t about to wait and see how long this was going to last. I backed out and moved over to the main parking area in a corner spot. We were fine there all night.
After picking up a few items at the store in the morning we left for some possible Forest Service camps an hour or so away. I plugged in the coordinates for the first one and we took off. Soon I discovered Claire was up to her usual shenanigans taking us off the interstate. I checked the map. She was sending us on “scenic route” Highway 200. Oh well, I’ll let her have her way. This route led us through the Flathead Indian Reservation along the Flathead River. It would have been scenic too had it not been for all the smoke that only seemed to get worse the further west we traveled. What am I or rather she, getting us into? An hour later we were to turn off 200 for that first site I earmarked which would require eight miles of backtracking. My research showed that spot wasn’t really a sure thing and cell service was unknown. We would then have to eventually drive back those eight miles to continue our journey west later on. I decided to not go. We continued on 200 stopping in Plains as there was supposed to be a place there to overnight. The city park didn’t have it. The place to stay was a roadside picnic area in town right on the highway like our breakfast spot we had just left back in Drummond. Not something to camp at. Our best chance was to be at North Shore Campground near Trout Creek. This was a Forest Service campground with sixteen sites and good cell service. Could we get in or would it be full? I was concerned. Not Beans though and she was right. There were a lot of spots to choose from. I selected number nine as it looked pretty safe. Price was sixteen dollars, half that for us. The night went well with only one other camper several spots down. In the morning a middle aged couple from Idaho backed their trailer in between the two of us. I didn’t have a good feeling. I took a walk back up the camp road. Site number four now looked even better. A tenter was across the way with no one on one side and no camp spot on the other side. I better do it. I jogged up to the RV, pulled out, looped around and backed into spacious number four. I forgot to get my tag off the post. I walked back to number nine to retrieve the tag. Mr. and Mrs. Idaho had already started up a generator. Yep, good move John. Their generator was at least quieter than one the campers further down the line. It sounded as if someone had taken a handful of nuts and bolts and tossed them into a Vegamatic blender. How people stand their own racket is beyond me. I noticed the lady sitting outside reading her Kindle right next to the noisemaker. Later in the day while eating dinner more campers arrived circling the campground. One towing a trailer eyed the spot next to us. The woman got out and looked at us. Here it comes. She came over to the door. Beans is right there to greet her. She tells me how they are a family group (which was part of that caravan circling the campground) and wanted to be together. She wondered if I minded moving next door so they could have my “spacious” site. I told her how I already had to move once today, I already paid for this site and I really didn’t want to move again, not to mention I am in the middle of dinner which she could easily see. She walked away disappointed. Sorry lady. You ought to be just grateful you can get two sites this late in the day. Just deal with having to walk back and forth a little ways to visit. Later the camp host came by. “Weren’t you up the way yesterday?” I told him how I got run off by the generators. “Yeah, I just don’t get it” he tells me. “We’ve been dead all summer. This is the first time the campground filled up.” Yep lady, just be grateful for what you were able to get.
The days, I don’t want to say dragged on, but there just wasn’t much to see or do. This parcel of the Kootenai National Forest was quite small with either private property or the Noxon reservoir bordering it. One day I did walk across the little used two-lane highway that ran along the campground and wandered around in a patch of land following animal trails. I may have been able to log in one mile of hiking. The lake bordered a large part of the public access area. A boat ramp was there at the day use area a short walk from camp. The water was pleasant. I considered a swim at least once before leaving. That was until I read a notice about a certain water parasite being evident in the lake that could leave you with itchy skin. “Wash off after being in the water.” I’d take that under consideration. I paid day by day to stay. That is my policy. Too many times I have paid for multiple days at once only to regret it soon after when an undesirable neighbor moved in. The family group who took the spot next door (the rest of the family was later able to move in across the camp road when the tenters left a couple days later) were good neighbors and quiet. She had mentioned to me while interrupting my dinner that they did not have a generator and she was true to her word. For the four days the two family groups (well there was actually three with grandma and grandpa down a couple spots) were there I wondered how they managed on power for I could not see any solar panels on either. If to make this even more incredible there were six teenage girls within the two groups. At the end of the week I chose to live dangerously−on the edge…I paid for two days at once. The day we planned to leave was a Sunday and everyone else left that day also. The one truck and camper with two of the teenage girls had a dead battery.