...and, Bob's your uncle.

Alright, I've had the better part of a week to get my ducks in a row and summarize my trip out West to Bozetucky/Bozeangeles, and it seems like I've all but given up. Much like when I was there. Well, let it never be said that I am a complete quitter. Here's day one:


I did not want to go on vacation.

While mostly untrue, I had plenty reason to dread this particular trip to Montana. At the time I faced these truths:

1. The only way to travel required driving 15 hours each way in a vehicle I'd just rescinded on replacing (from what appeared to be serious engine issues but wound up requiring only slight repairs)
2. Though affordable, all said and done I'd likely be dealing with a pricey stay at my friend's place that week (potential car troubles aside)
3. From arrival to departure, I was looking at only a handful of days to spend around a friend I only get to see about once a year, if that (incidentally, this wound up being its own counter-argument)
4. The night before I was to leave I slept terribly.
5. TWO FIFTEEN HOUR DRIVES

So I wake up, drag myself from the sheets and shower up. While eating breakfast I review the weather and find that a solid storm is expected along the way. Suddenly my distaste for driving in heavy rain magnified tenfold as I considered the list above. Had anyone said, "Gee, maybe you should hold off" I would have put the computer to sleep and followed suit.
But hell. I had ten days - mid summer - away from work and anything resembling it. Add to that the only place my friend was moving to in the near future was at least 100 miles furter West - it then became time to put on my Man Pants (in this case shorts) and get on the road.

As I left city limits the sky was a beautiful gray (dark + no rain = beauty; think of a goth Blind Melon) and it was early enough that there was no one on the back roads to slow me down (also - being a Sunday morning - nary a cop to care). Heading through the northern parts of Minnesota I was reminded of the same path I took seven years prior in moving to PDX, while the music I played rang hints of a much earlier trip to the Portland of the East. Music, as you would imagine, played a large part in the drive. My past few long hauls included long periods of silence shared with whatever the AM stations provided but this time I was more interested in soaking up albums I'd abandoned intentionally or accidentally from years ago. For example, I was reminded that somewhere, somehow, I lost my copy of MXPX's Slowly Going The Way Of The Buffalo which, oddly enough, I felt was also their best album. Which reminds me...

By the end of the drive I'd crowned myself King of the Road as I'd only stopped when necessary: three stops to re/defuel myself and the car - and while making good overall time I never once stirred the 5-0. Although as it should be, just as I made it into BZN city limits I hit a rare construction detour and promptly led some cop cars through the maze of orange cones - all at the refreshing speed of 20 MPH (it wasn't that refreshing).

All in all the day's travels felt like a total of four hours - no joke. Almost as soon as I'd gotten on the road I was in great spirits, and thankfully that held out all day long. I was also under the impression that my host was working that day until 10, so being that it was 9 I stopped at a WalMart just outside of town (it's all they have) to pick up some essentials I'd forgotten. In town I messaged him on my arrival and said I'd stop by a pub until he got home. He then mentioned he'd taken the day off for the World Cup. Honestly, that I didn't figure this out beforehand is my own fault. It would have been nice to have an extra day there (and to have seen that game), but I wasn't going to leave that Saturday...and being what it was, I'm glad I didn't.

Finally I arrived, I unpacked a bit, and then we swapped some local brews along with well-wishes. Just as I'd remembered it, Casey's place was comfy and full of fans on full-blast. And, surprisingly enough, I was still pretty alert so we stayed up a bit enjoying and shooting the breeze.

But once I moved from the floor to the couch, the previous night's lack of sleep kicked in and we called it a night. So far no plans for the week were set, and I was sure glad I'd kept my Man Pants (shorts) handy.

Tomorrow: The Dangers of Being Friendly


*I also learned that all this time I've been badmouthing Fargo, when it turns out that Billings is the city I can't stand. Billings.