We liked Billings

In western North Dakota in mid-June the night begins to give way to the day about 4:30 am, even on overcast mornings. I woke with the first light, fought with it for a time, then finally gave up and descended to the cabin and quietly lowered the top.

We set out at six, Alix still unconscious in her bed, where she stayed most of the morning. When she finally rose at ten, she said that the previous four hours on the road had been "a perfect sleep."

While she slept I listened to am radio, first to a station out of Dickinson, North Dakota. Local news, corn and cattle prices, and other bits were occasionally interrupted with single songs, like Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and "Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World." The DJ, a man named Jefferson Clark, personalized the names of singers, referring to them as "Bobby Dylan" and "Johnny Denver." He read a long list of events that had happened on the current date, starting back in the 1940s and moving towards the present. In 1969 Warren Burger was confirmed as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court; in 1994 Left-Eye, in a fit of jealous rage, had burned down the mansion of boyfriend Andre Rison, then a wide receiver for the Atlanta Falcons.

After the AP news came "The Files of Jefferson Clark," apparently a daily feature. This morning's topic was how Jefferson carries his money. He likes to use cash and usually has between $40 and $150 in his wallet. As for the wallet, he doesn't like how "a big wad feels on my hind-end." Plus, the bulge does not flatter his figure, as he is "built low to the ground." He prefers to carry his wallet in a front pants pocket. From his own practices he turned to women and their crazy habits, in particular the mystery of the purse. Apparently women just toss their money into their giant purses with everything else they own. Jefferson told about his mother's huge purse and how when a child he had once weighed it out of curiosity.

At a commercial break, in a campaign ad, Senator Max Baucus bragged about his work on the Farm Bill.

I found another station, this one out of Terry, Montana, and listened for a time to the call-ins to The Trading Post. Someone wanted a bumper for a 1973 Chevelle. Good luck, I thought. Someone else was selling twelve cockatiels. An elderly man, who spoke slowly and with a voicebox mic, had several items to offer for sale, including a dresser and mirror and "almost new cover-alls about my size."

The sky cleared mid-morning as we followed the Yellowstone River across eastern Montana, beautiful beautiful country. Cottonwoods lined the river, and an occasional ranch house and barn stood in the bottomlands surrounded by hayfields. On either side of the river valley low bluffs rose; beyond them the plains rolled away green with the recent rains. I got off the interstate for stretches and followed two-lane roads closer to the river.

We reached Billings at lunch time, perfect timing. Alix directed me downtown to Sarah's, a Mexican food place where you order in the back at a window to the kitchen. An old woman took our orders and shouted them to the cook. I had a bean and cheese burrito, Alix taquitos with guacamole. Very good.

A few blocks away we discovered one of the great thrift stores of North America, a huge St. Paul de Vincents. Downstairs a vast array of furniture and appliances, upstairs clothes, household items, and sundries. Alix found a Nike track jacket, a pair of hot pink slip-on flats, "a ridiculous green 80s belt with a huge gold hook clasp," a second belt, and four pairs of earrings--for $8. Woo hoo! As we took to the highway again, Alix basked in that particular high that comes from thrift store success.

We stopped later at another thrift store in Livingstone, but it fell short of the high standard set by in Billings. Alix did get a purple scarf, as her hair--that is, what to do with it--is starting to become an issue.

We paused in Bozeman in the rain before turning south off the interstate to follow the Gallatin River down towards Big Sky. The road travels through a lovely, narrow valley, heavily wooded, and repeatedly crosses the fast stream. We spotted kayakers shooting down the rapids.

We stopped for firewood before settling in for the night at a secluded national forest campground, Swan Creek, on a wooded site on the tiny, noisy stream.