Yellowstone

This Land: Idaho

The Great “Hot Springs or Busk” Tour Rolls Back Downhill (Dispatch from Pocatello, Idaho):
So, like a clown car perpetually overflowing with misfortune, here we are again, loopers. Remember that meticulously crafted itinerary, the one that promised a triumphant northward march to the Canadian border? Yeah, about that. Turns out, fate – that sadistic ringmaster with a penchant for rusty hubcaps – had other plans. Rocinante, our trusty (usually) mount, coughed up a lung full of power-pack trouble, forcing a U-turn south towards Wayfarer Central in Colorado Springs. Parts, bless their slow-moseyin’ selves, would not arrive for a fortnight, so we chose to spend the downtime at homebase, Hays, KS where we could also get Rocinante’s windshield replaced and a running board added.

But hey, a scenic detour is a scenic detour, right? We shivered through a one-night stand in Bismarck after a stunning sunset stretch through South and North Dakota’s rolling countryside. Then Billings Montana offered a brief respite before hightailing it through Bozeman, then Cody Wyoming. Cody, bless its remote tourist-trap hide, is where we met up with some excellent friends who steered us towards Thermopolis – a haven of hot springs so numerous they’d make Bacchus proud.

Then, Idaho Falls, a land in need of some highway adopters, became our next pitstop. After that, Pocatello, where we nestled in the bosom of a decent public library contemplating the next leg – Salt Lake City, a place that holds… hmmm… let’s just say Ronnie Hays has some “post-9/11 baggage” with SLC (stay tuned for the glorious details).

But the real star of this show, loopers, was the stretch between Cody, WY and Idaho Falls. Yellowstone National Park, in all its technicolor glory, unfolded before our bleary eyes. Mountains that scraped the underbelly of heaven, meadows bursting with wildflowers, switchbacks that would make a pretzel shout in pain. Mammoth Hot Springs, a geological freak show that would make P.T. Barnum envious. And the wildlife, oh the wildlife! Foxes with mischievous glints in their eyes, Elk foraging with enormous racks, bison as big and grumpy as your grunting uncle Melvin, and bears – enough bears to staff a Russian circus. The only downside? No dang AT&T service. Talk about being stranded in the technological dark ages!

Speaking of stranded, it was right here, in the middle of Mother Nature’s art gallery, that Rocinante decided to shed a hubcap like a bad habit. Thousands of miles under our belts, and this is when she decides to play Hide the hubcap? Believe you me, loopers, we were sweating harder than a sinner in church. But fear not! Rocinante, bless her engine that could, soldiered on through the park, hubcap-less but unbowed.

So, Idaho, the state with the motto that sounds like a drunken Latin scholar’s mumbling (Esto Perpetua, for the curious). Rough translation, “It shall be perpetual”. And what have we learned? Well, for starters, hot springs are a national treasure here. And speaking of Hot Springs, Idaho covers the gamut, from redneck mud baths to swanky spas… a soak for every soul. And though the higher-ed scene may not be ivy, these universities offer a decent education without the heart attack-inducing price tag. And who knew Idaho was such a literary hotspot? Shakespeare under the stars, Hemingway’s ghost haunting cafes – it’s enough to make a bibliophile sue for custody.

The Idahoan Identity? Self-reliant, community-driven, with a healthy dose of fresh air and a side of “get off my lawn” thrown in for good measure. And nature’s playground? Yup! From the Sawtooth Mountains that could pierce the heavens to Yellowstone’s geothermal freak-out, Idaho’s got scenery that’ll knock your socks off (assuming you’re wearing any). And they have grown some famous loopers, from Aaron Paul (aka “Yo! Mr. White… Science!”), Papa Hemingway himself, and the silver screen siren Lana Turner. Not a bad lineup, eh?

The Bread and Butter, agriculture, tourism, and the service industry keep Idaho humming along. Relatively affordable housing, decent wages – what’s not to love? Plus, there’s always a mountain to climb or a river to raft, so you won’t get bored.

A land of contradictions. A double-edged sword. There’s a fierce sense of community, a rugged self-reliance, and a love for the great outdoors that would make John Muir weep with joy. On the other hand, there’s a whiff of insularity, a resistance to change that’s about as flexible as a petrified log, and pockets of militant social conservatism that could curdle milk at fifty paces.

But hey, that’s the beauty of this crazy mixed-up country, right? From the boiling cauldrons of Yellowstone to the necessary return to Wayfarer Central, it’s a never-ending carnival of delights and disasters. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment of Rocinante’s hubcap shedding saga!

Onward through the fog… R.H.

And now… another apology to Woody:

For fields of tubers…
And chaos preppers…
Idaho… spicy as a pepper…
You got your Shakespeare…
Pound and Hemmingway…
Esto … it will be … Perpetua!

This Land: Montana

So here we are, a new “This Land” tour motto ringing in our ears: “Ever thus to the best laid plans,” like some cosmic Rodney Dangerfield whispering sweet nothings of misfortune. Or, as Iron Mike Tyson would say, “everyone has a plan till they get punched in the face.”

Yessir, Rocinante, our mostly-trusty mount, decided to throw a wobbly right in the heart of Big Sky Country. Talk about a plot twist worthy of a pulp novel! Forget the quaint plan to hug along the northern border till autumn’s cool embrace washes over the central states. We were in Bismarck, North Dakota, staring down the barrel of a Northeast heat wave that could roast a side of beef, when Montana beckoned like a siren song. First stop: Billings. A strip mall Mecca, with Wal Mart to the left and Planet Fitness to the right, and a gloriously semi-shady parking spot (complete with a complimentary grass carpet for Rocinante).

But as the Bard himself might have quipped, a rolling stone gathers no moss, and the siren song of geothermal bliss in Chico lured us onward. The journey was a technicolor blur – us, the befuddled tourists, waltzing through a funhouse of wrong turns, misplaced tickets, and a staff that looked at us like extras from a particularly bizarre reality TV show. But hey, all’s well that ends well, and the mineral pool? Pure, unadulterated bliss.

Bozeman is where we scribbled this dispatch with the ghosts of cowboys and prospectors whispering in our ears. Oro y Plata, they rasp, that dusty state motto – a gold-rush relic that speaks of Montana’s glittering past. But Montana’s more than just a bygone era. Here, Native American oral traditions echo through the canyons, while literary giants like Norman Maclean and James Welch spin tales that capture the rugged soul of the place. Forget your fancy bookstores, loopers. The real stories are whispered by the wind and etched in the faces of the locals.

Yellowstone? Sure, it might be Wyoming’s crown jewel, but Montana holds the key to the back door – a secret stash of less-crowded wonderlands for those who know where to look. As for famous Montanans? Think beyond Hollywood. Charles M. Russell, the cowboy artist, paints a truer picture, and Jeannette Rankin, the first woman in Congress, is a testament to Montana’s maverick spirit.

This state’s lifeblood? It pumps to the rhythm of ranching and agriculture, a slow, steady beat that some might find intoxicating, others isolating. Tourism throws a splashy cymbal crash into the mix, a double-edged sword for these close-knit communities. But for the everyday worker? Montana’s a symphony of affordability, a chorus of friendly faces, and an entire concerto dedicated to wide-open spaces and the thrill of self-reliance.

The locals? They’re a rugged bunch, fiercely independent, possessing a deep connection to the land that borders on the spiritual. But don’t be fooled by the gruff exterior. Hospitality here is as vast as the sky, and looking out for one another is the unwritten melody that binds them all.

Of course, no symphony is complete without a discordant note. Isolation can be a haunting melody, opportunities a little thin on the ground, and change? Well, let’s just say some folks prefer the classics. There’s a whisper of a lack of diversity too, and a tension between those who’ve always known this land and those just discovering its charm.

But hey, that’s the beauty of Montana – a land of contradictions, a place where the unexpected throws a monkey wrench into your meticulously planned itinerary, and the soundtrack of your journey is a wild, unpredictable jazz riff played out against a backdrop of breathtaking beauty. Strap in, loopers, because in This Land, you never quite know what the next verse will hold.

And speaking of verses (again, apologies to Woody Guthrie):

It might be cozy…
In Big Sky country…
Sharing campsites…
With tourists bluntly…
And if you can’t swing…
Winter’s fury…
You might want to go ahead…
And move along.

Onward through the fog… R.H.