Wyoming flew by in a blink, the few free camping spots were great along the way, but Yellowstone was a bust. The dogs weren’t too impressed with Old Faithful, and I wasn’t too impressed with the crowds. It amazed me that people were in such a rush to get through such a beautiful place, tailgating poor Skippy through the mountains, but now I understand. 20 minutes within driving into the park, I was ready to leave. Between not being able to park anywhere, and the mass of tourists there on a Thursday, most of which had never seen an elk before, I was ready to be out of there myself. Fortunately, one could spend months exploring the public forests around the park without ever growing tired of it, despite the never ending rain going on at the time. Needless to say, since I could hardly find a spot to park in the park, I decided against trying to find a campsite. Then before I knew it, I was in Montana, in the little town of West Yellowstone. A seemingly cool little town, but I was ready to be in my own little secluded piece of the forest again.
After a quick stop for essentials like Coors and Benchmark (thanks for this delightful combo Grizzly), it was a short drive through forbidding mud to a little campsite along Red Creek in Montana. I’ve grown fairly impressed at the off-road capabilities of my little Skippy. I don’t think I’ve ever been as relieved to find a beautiful little valley and creek campsite to myself, despite it being sopping wet. Donning my ski gear, I proceeded to collect and saw through soggy wood to get myself a delightful campfire going. That’s when I drew some attention to myself from a visitor, we’ll call him Eli, but I can’t remember his name, just that it had a bunch of vowels. Eli was going through a hard time in his life, and I did my best to try and help him talk through it, but in the end I was just trying to shake him. He drew me in because I thought he was just your average friendly vagabond. He had lived on the road for the last 25 years, and worked every random job imaginable. I’ll always remember this quote, “I’m not gay, but I hate women”. He was currently working as a handyman at a campground just down the road from where we were camped, but didn’t know if he had quit his job or not, so he was stressing about whether or not he was going to head back that night. From what I gathered, he was at the end of his shift the day before, when his dog, Rupert (this name I do remember), was wandering the campgrounds and stirred up some trouble with the owner’s dog. Rupert was not on any length of leash that I could see, but got along well with my dogs, as much as they could get along with an adolescent 1 year old Aussie with boundless energy. One lady on a bike came by and said his dog had followed her from the highway, which was not close by.
I was having fun talking to Eli about life, until that conversation took random turns of depression and racism. It was time to try and depart, so I said I was going to eat some lunch and go for a hike, to which he replied that he would join me for the hike. So he rolled up to my campsite about a half an hour later to go for the hike up the creek. He lasted about a quarter mile, saying that he had been, “hibernating all winter and hadn’t gotten his legs working again”. So he turned around and that was the last I saw of Eli. I went to go check on him after the hike, and he was sleeping in his car, which I figured was a good thing so I let him be. In the morning he was gone, so I figured he had returned to his job as I had advised. It’s funny how abrupt the relationships you make on the road are, but still leave a lasting impression. I hope Eli works out his demons and remembers how much he loves the forest and camping in his old Suzuki station wagon.
After Red Creek, I made some headway, filled up on supplies on a cool little mining town Ennis, and found a remote little hot springs spot, Potosi Hot Springs. This was one of my favorite spots so far. The hot springs was nothing special to take pictures of, but felt amazing. I met an awesome little naked family there from somewhere in Southern Oregon that offered me a job on their farm. They were on a road trip to Michigan where they had family, and it was the first time they had left their farm to the tenders. They were rightfully stressed having no cell signal and trying to handle business on the road. They were the most well-seasoned campers I have ever met, had the process down, and obligingly fed me some fire-roasted zucchini fresh from the garden. Their 10 year-old boy had definitely done more traveling than I have in my 30 years, and I was impressed with his educated curiosity. He even accompanied them on their trip to Cuba, an adventure he was ecstatic to tell me about, and I was just as excited to hear about it. Also worth mentioning are the two girls that were going to college at Montana State University in Bozeman, I couldn’t tell you their names. One of their dads had lent her a tent for the camping trip, failing to tell them that the tent poles didn’t have any bungee cord. I spent an entertaining hour helping them set up their tent, since we didn’t know how many sections made up each pole, and figured it out through trial and error. It seemed like a top-of-the-line tent though, from 1972.
After Potosi, I was due for a shower, so I spent a night at Bozeman Hot Springs, soaking in the resort, doing some laundry, and feeling like a king with amenities like hot nacho cheese and ice cream. Well worth the $70 for an RV spot for the night, I highly recommend it. There were definitely some characters rolling through there, including some hippies on their way to The Gorge from New York, but I was too tired and had too many chores to hang out with the people much. I was just happy to relax in the pools.
After Bozeman, I wanted to get rid of my pistol since I was getting close to Canada, so I stopped by a pawn shop in Missoula to get it shipped back to Farmington. Missoula seemed like a pretty sweet little town, kind of reminded me of Durango, CO. Next time around I’ll have to stay a night or two there. Free camping spots were getting slim in this area of Montana, but I wound up finding a pretty remote spot 10 miles down a dirt road, Gold Creek Rd. When I got there, the road to all the campsites was gated up and wouldn’t open until mid-July for some forest restoration. I read that this site had been well-used, and I could see plenty of evidence of careless, littering assholes. So, I went down another dirt road, another gate. But there was a nice pull-around area, so I parked er and called it since I didn’t want to drive all the way back into town. I ended up staying two nights there, and it was surprisingly a great, peaceful spot. I hiked down the road I was on, and ended up in a beautiful meadow with giant, 500 year-old Ponderosas, Primm Meadow. It had an amazing history, including surviving a fire that burned down the entire surrounding forest, and was home to couple of homesteaders until the 70’s. “Imagine living here alone without electricity, phone, neighbors, or a passable road in winter. When a cow kicks you in the leg, the only option is to grab a cane and keep up with the chores, which is exactly what Mahala Primm did at age 74 in 1972.” I had a little picnic while Beans cooled off in the creek. I explored a good while around the behemoth Ponderosas, until I found a huge steaming pile of doodoo, which I could see nothing but a big ole grizz pooing out… and it was still warm….yep, I touched it, necessary under the circumstances. Needless to say, I didn’t linger.
