Montana

When it takes you over a full day of driving to get through a freaking state, it tends to get on your mind and the only way to exorcise that obsession is to write about it, put down everything possible so there’s nothing left to mull over. I guess I like Montana. It’s a very pretty state, made even more so by the fact that my hometown is own the edge of the prairie and any significant elevation change is enough to excite me. On the western edge, you get some very impressive mountains, snow covered on top and with evergreens running all along the sides. The broken rocks that just jut out? Simply magnificent. Then you travel east and get into the badlands where the rocks are so old and worn down that they look like they’re a blanket covering some sleeping giant, and the layered coloration is simply amazing. One of the advantages of going back by car, rather than train, you drive by day and can actually see all of these sights, while a train is going through the mountains while it’s still dark and somehow manages to bypass the badlands and go straight into the freaking prairie.

So, yeah, I like it. Montana is beautiful, but there is something that bugs me. And that something is the lack of water. It’s so bleeding dry out here. The clouds in the sky are sparse and every time we take a break at a rest stop, I know the air is taking a little bit of the freshness out of the water I pour before it comes to my mouth. Gone are the lush, almost violent greens, of Washington, traded in for the year-round tan of the grass and constant dust. Yuck. Nice place to visit, not one I’d like to live in.