There's quite a bit of it growing in the pavement cracks around here. If I had been harvesting as I walked, I could have had a slice of bread by now.
In fact, there is no US Route 200. I took this photo on Montana Highway 200, the longest state highway in the nation.
Or so this rest area is called by locals, who say it "sticks up like a gob of manure on a pitchfork", according to one woman. I don't think it lives up to its name*, though. It definitely seems out of place in such a desolate area, but it's really not much larger than an average Interstate rest area. It does have individual bathrooms (four for each sex), which allow for more privacy than one would expect at a rest area, but, on the other hand, it doesn't have any vending machines. And it was running on a backup generator when I was there, so the water fountains weren't even working. All in all, an underwhelming experience.
* Speaking of its name, I thought of three other possibilities: Taj Mahead, Taj Mahole, and Taj Mastall.
You don't often see that on official signage!!
And who knew Petroleum County is so progressive? They have a County Weed Board!!
My dining companions at the Kozy Korner included an older gentleman bicycling from Washington to Virginia, and another fellow returning home to southwestern Montana from a motorcycle trip to Maine.
It looks like the bottom panel was added later. Maybe they were worried the message wasn't clear enough.
The one on the right contained a bag full of notes from various friends passing through the area (as well as two Werther's Originals). I added a little message to the collection.
Last night I had a nice break from my week of roadside camping. These guys had heard about me through the local grapevine, and already knew who I was when I came a-knockin'. They were very generous hosts, offering me hot meals, a much-needed shower, and a bed in their camper (where I watched an old Rush concert on VHS while falling asleep).
From left to right: Martha, Brandon (holding Dixie), Tom, Tobia
While not as popular as its alcoholic counterparts on the Montana roadside, Mountain Dew still makes its presence felt. The can you see pictured is the most bizarre store-brand version I've seen: Mountain Maze. It doesn't sound refreshing; it just sounds confusing.
That's me reaching for a water bottle, digitally captured by the Lewistown Divide weather station camera. Thanks to Candice for the photo idea!
Its awesomeness is threefold:
1) It's an ingenious solution to the snow-plow-knocking-over-the-mailbox problem: mount the mailbox on a spring to absorb the impact of the plowed snow. I've seen several mailboxes like this, so this photo is a tribute to all of them.
2) It's resourceful. The springs used for this type of mailbox all seem to have been salvaged from old pieces of farm equipment.
3) It's visible in the previous weather station photo.
Nothing spectacular, but at an elevation of 4624 feet, it's the highest altitude I've reached so far, and is less than 1000 feet lower than the pass I will take over the continental divide.
It's not really visible in this photo, but there's a snow-speckled mountain (another first for this trip!) just barely peeking out behind the trees in the background near the center of the shot.
Don needs to work on his prepositions.
Then I saw the panel on the bottom.
But I stopped to appreciate this sign, a nice change from the "NO CAMPING" signs you normally see at rest areas.
I spent last night at a Hutterite colony named King Colony. I believe there are currently 57 people living there, after their latest split sent half of the group to Roundup (once the population reaches a certain limit, the colony splits and one group moves to a new location). They were very friendly and welcoming, and Anna (right) and her daughter Lori took good care of me, making breakfast and packing me a bunch of snacks for the road.
A name whose origins are forever obscured, buried beneath the shifting sands of time.
After the quiet gravel roads of North Dakota, the high-speed truck and RV traffic on Highway 200 has been somewhat jarring to me. So it was quite nice returning to the solitude of gravel for today's walk, although my shoes and wheels may beg to differ.
Suzie and Dale had heard about me and knew I would be passing through their area, so Dale made a big, encouraging sign for me and put it up next to the highway. But, as you may recall, I was not on the highway yesterday, so I didn't pass the sign. What I did happen to pass, however, was their house! They came out when they saw me and invited me in to spend the night. When I hit the road again this morning, I was a happy traveler: clean, well-fed, and shorn (Suzie gave me a haircut).
Dale drove me over to see the sign last night. Here it is, illuminated by my crummy flash.
