Never fails.

If it’s just Dark Meat and I at a restaurant, we’ll get Brunehilda the Wart-Covered Visigoth for a waitress, but if Fiona is there, our waitress is usually so insanely gorgeous that I’m forced to eat the entire meal with my eyes closed. I’ve learned it’s that, or suffer the Wrath of Sleeping Beauty, a fate much worse than a meal served by Brunehilda.

Our waitress that night was an authentic Southern Belle, a blonde bombshell from Mississippi, or at least that’s what I imagined her to be. My eyes were welded shut, of course. Asking how she ended up in Jackson Hole, Miss Mississippi drawled that each summer she escaped her small home town for a new, more exciting place. One year it was Aspen, which, she claimed, was full of ‘rich butt-heads’, then, Glacier National Park, her self-proclaimed ‘Happy Place’, and this summer’s escape was Jackson Hole. She told us she hadn’t been there long enough to form an opinion.

One word of caution, when your waitress is so hot butter melts in her hands, it’s not easy to eat with your eyes closed. Somehow I managed. Without visual stimulus, all I had was the words ‘Glacier National Park’ and ‘Happy Place’, words that kept resonating through my tiny brain.

The next day, after we dropped Fiona off at the airport in Idaho Falls, there really was no more plan. No Map-kin. Nothing. Abi and I had an entire week to get back to California, and, for a change, had nothing much in mind.

Glacier. Happy. Hmm…

I got through dinner without forking myself, and later that night looked at the map. Glacier National Park is located in the very top of Montana, about five hundred miles straight up from Idaho Falls. A thousand mile detour?

Why not?

It was a fun ride through the mountains to take Fiona to Idaho Falls Regional Airport, but a melancholy one as well. Sleeping Beauty once again had to go home for more of that dreaded four letter ‘W’ word, and, sadly woudn’t be rejoining the trip.

Abi and I managed to finagle a week off from the WWE tour, giving us six more days of riding freedom. And, thanks to the words of Miss Mississippi, we were headed to a Happy Place.

Happy, but wet. Of course.

After the customary deluge, the interesting little town of Deer Lodge, MT became our home for the night.

Here is one of Abi’s hard won Nuggets of Knowledge: Any town with a sign like this painted on the wall should generally be avoided:

In Deer Lodge, at the creatively named Montana Bar, I had an experience that drove home how far away from reality we’d landed. In the usual, time honored tradition of Best Day Ever toasts, I ordered Dark Meat and I a couple of beers, then, shortly after, went up for two more. Sitting back down, a large woman almost immediately came up to the table and said, “Look, I know you guys ain’t from around here, but next time you get beers, take your empty glasses back up for refills, OK? That way we don’t have to wash so many glasses.”

My question about free refills was met with a blank stare.

After a bunch more refills, and beating the locals at pool, it was obviously time to go. We snuck out of Deer Lodge early the next morning.

As usual, my gravel shortcut was enjoyed by exactly half the group, with the usual dissent coming from the usual place.

Ahh… some days this ride partnership is… too much like a marriage, and some days… well, some days… I think I want a divorce.

As always during a domestic spat, taking a deep breath and stopping for ‘Dinks and Ice Cream Now’ makes everything better.

The road to Glacier National Park was fun, the weather was good, and by 2PM, our little dirt road disagreement was behind us, and the gates to the Happy Place were in front of us.

The world famous Going to the Sun Highway, the pathway to the best parts of the Happy Place and the main reason to traipse all the way to Glacier National Park was closed for construction, naturally.

Frustrating? Oh no, not at all.

At least I came all that way for a Passport Stamp, and a few pictures of a waterfall.

Happy place? With the Going To Nowhere Highway closed, Glacier was more like a Crappy Place to me. Disappointed, we turned around and hustled two hundred miles down to Missoula. Missoula, that night’s haven, may only be eighty miles away from Deer Lodge, but in reality, is worlds apart. Best part? Clean glasses with every beer!

Missoula was also the beginning point of the end of our ride, with only two more state lines and a few thousand miles remaining between Dark Meat, Frenchy and the inevitable end of the road.

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Author: frenchy