DOWN MEMORY HIGHWAY IN THE PASSING LANE

I love traveling west on Hwy. 2. I guess I just love traveling west period. It brings back so many memories and always creates more. It started in the 50’s and 60’s with my folks. Traveling with another family, our little caravan of trailers would stop every 50 miles in some little burg. The adults would set out lawn chairs on the side of the road and the kids would let off enough steam to contain themselves for another 50. The subtle changes in landscape tell you how far west you have progressed. I am always looking at the western horizon anticipating the first glimpse of snowcapped peaks in the front range. You don’t see the peaks of Glacier National Park until you leave Cut Bank, MT and head west into Blackfeet country. It is a land that captured me at age 10 or 12 and never let go. My parents let us run the trails and explore the many National Parks of the West. We were never burdened with the fear that so many people bring with them today. I have spent years wandering the backcountry of Glacier and never tire of it’s grandeur.
Traveling west we pass broken down historic sod-roofed cabins slowly surrendering back to the land. I picture the family of immigrants that carved it out of this vast prairie. I am also reminded of all the agony thrust upon the Native Americans as we pass through the various reservation lands. The struggle to hold the land is ongoing. Spring 2011 was devastating to Minot, ND. Historic flooding creating life-changing challenges for many.
But as I drive the long days across the flat prairie states my mind is revisiting my dad promising ten gallon hats, horseback riding, snow in the mountains, grizzly bears and bighorn sheep.
The Empire Builder with it’s many passenger cars passes us eastbound out of Glasgow, MT. I stick my arm out the window and make the motion of pulling on a air horn. It always worked for my dad. I must have an ornery engineer. I get no response. Maybe there are new rules over fifty years of time and train travel. Perhaps the engineer is no longer permitted to give a short blast to friendly passing travelers. We were usually headed for a big annual Airstream Travel Trailer Rally in Garden of the Gods near Colorado Springs, the Seattle Worlds Fair or Cheyenne Wyoming.
Gaila and I still today like to find little out of the way overnight stops. In my parent’s day it could be anything from A&W Root Beer stands to a friendly gas station owner, an empty farm field or a motel parking area. There were few trailer parks then and zero RV parks. Today there are numerous RV parks but we rarely partake. We prefer finding small town city parks. Our first night in Montana we find just such a park in Culbertson, MT. It is just a small city park on a dead-end residential street. A small parking lot actually. It has restrooms, a dump station, picnic tables and friendly neighbors with kids and dogs and lawn mowing. We wonder why they want to put up with a new group of traveling strangers every night but we find this in many small communities about the West. We spent the night with a couple from Vancouver, Canada who tucked their motorcycle in behind our rig and set up their tent. During the night a few more stragglers meander in quietly and spend the night. Like most, this is a free, safe place to circle the wagons for the night. Change comes slow across the prairie. Life is slow moving at a steady pace. The land is vast, the horizon endless, just like the old movies playing in my head as I roll through.
--Keep Smilin’, Dick E. Bird