A Real Mixture
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Day 19: June 24, 2021 A Real Mixture Comment via blog |
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After spending the night at a chain motel in Billings, MT, I picked this
place for breakfast purely on its nearness to my motel but got two
pleasant surprises. One was the special of the
day. I'm sure all their food is good but that was outstanding. My
second surprise was meeting some "neighbors".
The women's restroom was out of commission so everyone was using the men's which resulted in a line now and then. I was sitting at the end of the counter, an at one point the line reached me. The lady who got stuck waiting next to me struck up a conversation by asking if I was local. I answered that I was local to Cincinnati, and she was from Ohio, now lived in Kentucky, and was in Montana visiting relatives. At that, the fellow on my right chimed in that he lived in Indiana and had flown out with his brother to go fishing. Learning that the entire tri-state was represented required nothing more than chatting with a woman in line for the men's room. |
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River, rails, and road all headed west.
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In 1916, when the Atlas Bar really was new it wasn't called that. Only as
it got older did someone decide to tack the word "New" onto the
name of this Columbus, MT, establishment. It rivals the Montana in Miles
City as an authentic old time cowboy bar with two huge back bars, built in
spittoons, and stuffed animals everywhere.
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Several miles before reaching Reed Point, MT, I could see the gravel road
winding towards the mountains. There doesn't appear to be too much going
on in Reed Point right now but there probably will be. A sign says that
the Waterhole Saloon will be reopening July 3rd and I think that means
2021. By fifteen miles on the west side of Reed Point, the road is asphalt
and the mountains are looking pretty close. Nearing Livingston, the paving
is gone and the road has moved back to hug the Yellowstone River.
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I had thought of spending a night at the historic
Murray Hotel, but
by the time I actually called, it was full. That's probably a good thing
since the place is definitely above my target price point during the
season. A spur of the Yellowstone Trail connected Livingston with
Yellowstone National Park and the city is still a popular staging point. I
settled for a beer at the bar and a peek at the lobby.
Before leaving town, I learned that there was a brewery just up the street from the Murray and I put that information to use. My last stop in Livingston was at Sacajawea Park with this statue and its explanatory plaque. |
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I think I may have seen an "IMPASSABLE WHEN WET" sign once or
twice before but I don't recall where. I'm pretty sure this is the first
one I've seen on this trip, and while I don't doubt that it applies to the
slope in front of me, I suspect it could also apply to a few slopes I've
already driven. I'm guessing this is Harrison Hill where the Ridges warned
"watch out for the gumbo". It is about six miles south of Willow
Creek. It wasn't wet so I verified that it was passable. It was not
without some challenges, however. Pronounced ruts here and there required
some careful path selection.
There are a couple of stories that go with that fourth picture. Shortly before taking it, I'd come upon a girl in her late teens or early twenties walking with a dog. It really surprised me since I felt like I was miles from civilization. I spoke with her long enough to make sure she was OK and learned that she was staying in the house at the bottom of the hill. I continued on my way and learned that going down this hill was about as tough as coming up the hill in the second picture. Just now, as I was writing this, I pulled up a Google satellite view to see if I could locate the house and make some measurements. Not only did I find it, I found it has a name: Jackson Morgan Horse Ranch. After determining that the girl was a little less than a mile from the house when I spoke with her, I naturally plugged the name into an internet search and found a website for the ranch. Below the title and menus, the first words on the site's home page are "IN LOVING MEMORY". William T Jackson, the third generation to own the ranch, had died, at the age of 96, just five days before I drove by his house. |
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About thirty miles west of the Jackson ranch, I spotted the old Butte Taxi
ad on a relatively civilized stretch of gravel road. Then, on the fully
paved but not always civilized MT-2, I spotted an old horse watering
trough.
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My troubles started when I tried booking a room in Butte, MT. I had
anticipated that things would ease up once I'd passed Livingston and its
Yellowstone Park connection but that did not happen. I found nothing in
Butte so glanced at the map and hurriedly picked Missoula for my next
attempt. The third place I contacted had one room left so I took it. I now
had a place to sleep but it was a hundred miles away from where I had
expected to end the day. I continued to follow the Yellowstone Trail as
stored in the GPS but set up my phone to direct me to the motel in
Missoula. I planned to head directly to the motel when the estimated
arrival time reached 9:00 or when the estimated travel time dropped below
an hour. I did not want to be driving much after dark, and I felt an hour
was a reasonable amount of backtracking to undertake in the morning.
I followed the Trail through Butte but made none of the stops I'd thought about. On the west side of town, my path was blocked. The estimated time to reach Missoula was nearly two hours but the ETA was 8:50. I turned around and hit the expressway. |
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