Sunday - July 16, 2006

We awoke at about five as the sunrise began to transform the sky into a pinkish blanket. Mustering our energy, we returned to the road, noticing how ordinary and friendly our parking lot lodging seemed in the morning light. We studied our maps and confirmed that US-2 through Glacier National Park was the best path to take. Neither one of us had heard much about that Park, but we figured it might be a nice highlight for the day's travel. We confirmed our decision to visit the park at Cislo's Family Restaurant in Kalispell, Montana, which we agreed offered the best breakfast we'd had in a long while, certainly at the best price. Returning to the road, we navigated long packs of bikers and bumbling local traffic before handing over twenty five bucks to enter the park. Would it be worth it?

Before long we agreed that the Park was worth the price of admission. Winding circuitously through the mountains, the road carried us past waterfalls and alongside glaciers that hung onto the peaks despite the summer sun. The guide we received from the park ranger at the gate mentioned vast seas of wildflowers near Logan Pass, so we continued our climb even as traffic began to mount. Within about 45 minutes, we reached the Pass and its huge parking lot that had already begun to fill. Our guide mentioned that afternoon traffic means that some folks can never park here but must keep driving. So, at least for a little while, we were glad that we'd awoken so early. We parked and decided to hike a bit, choosing the Hidden Lake trail. I put on walking shoes, but Vienna stuck to her flip flips - a choice she would soon regret. The hike is labeled as mildly strenuous, and that adjective is apt. Nevertheless, we gamely climbed the rolling boardwalk and many steps higher and higher the mountain. We were met with creatures that looked like prairie dogs as well as a couple of hoary marmots. I guess the highlight was the various groupings of mountain goats that ambled along the pastures. Occasionally, we'd spot little families whose baby goats would squeak to get their parents' attention. Little by little while we visited with the goats we noticed that the fields of wildflowers had given way to fields of snow.

Here in July, we had entered a wilderness of melting ice water and white sheets whose trail was only marked by an occasional orange pole. Higher and higher we climbed before seeing the lake at last. And it was worth the march. Set in a vast valley, Lake McDonald is perfectly blue and unspoiled. The glaciers sparked in the distance under the sun. We continued our walk a bit, finding more goats and talking with an old man (whose grandson had raced off) before deciding to return to the Logan Pass headquarters building. I clomped through the snow while Vienna struggled not to slip in her flip-flops. Eventually, we made it back to the car and began the long descent from the peaks.

For miles and miles we wound around before spotting the plains for the first time. The land was flat and open, and we were happy to avail ourselves of the relatively generous Montana speed limits. Whenever we got bored, we entertained ourselves by playing Simpsons trivia games and repeating a phrase from the Super Bowl episode that for some reason amused us endlessly ("No boss, I swear"). Road trip humor can often become infectious and easily transferred among persons in cramped quarters. I thought this particular virus would turn out to be one of the 24-hour variety, but the phrase stayed with us throughout the trip. As days passed, we would add many more.

We returned to US-2 and burned east, stopping only for a heaping lunch at a cafe in Cut Bank. The Jensen guide assured us that the Golden Harvest located downtown serves a swell meal and sublime pies, and we agree with the assessment. One minor detail: the cafe's name has changed to Bon Appetit. Stop by anyway; the pies are still worth the visit. We departed Cut Bank, passing by a giant penguin whose sign announces that this is the coldest place in America. On a 95-degree summer day, we could only imagine. For about 120 miles, we drove toward the center of the state with only grain silos at flyspeck towns to see. By 6 o'clock, our early wake-up caught up with us and we decided to crash in Havre and its seemingly endless number of tiny casinos. Two motels offered particularly photogenic signs: the Circle Inn on the east side and the Siesta on the west side. We stayed at the Siesta and got another cheap meal at Subway before enjoying a long night's recuperation.