Travel as a state of being

Three weeks now on the road and somewhere over 3,000 miles of asphalt, concrete and gravel under our tires. I’m beginning to sense how long-haul truckers feel on the return leg of a cross-country haul. It can be a chore, and some days almost an incarceration—I’m thinking of Will Turner’s dad on the Flying Dutchman (Pirates of the Caribbean). And some days a meditation. Tracking along the highway, passing by and passing through different land forms, weather patterns, communities, at once apart and part of a place and its consciousness, be it only momentary, we adapt to the rhythm of shifting vistas and viewpoints. Travel becomes a state of being.


Photos lately have been monochrome as I think that best gets at the essence of Montana. There is the whimsical (the expresso stand in the previous post), but also much integrity in the architecture of the range. I am noticing it more on this excursion than when we lived here two decades ago.




Heading east out of Paradise Valley yesterday (we had camped, fittingly, in Emigrant), we traveled along the Yellowstone River, past the same points of interest we had noted 18 days ago, through Billings and then northeast toward Glendive.

At the rest stop outside Custer I encountered this example of a welcoming ministry. And it really illustrates what good signage does for visitors: prominent placement (on the sidewalk leading to the restrooms); clear and concise with no hidden code; conveys vital information for a newcomer; and is up to date (there really are rattlesnakes in the sagebrush).


Out of Mile City we hit heavy rain and wind, or it hit us. Gusts to 60 mph from the west and torrents powerwashing our truck and trailer. So a slow go to Medora, North Dakota where we endured a lightening show and marble size hail (fortunately after parking and unhitching). So back on the plains. No more 7 percent grades, or falling rock signs. Three days here to recollect and reassess our experience as we explore the Badlands. Then due east.