kvetching up

  We left Missoula around 930 or so, after getting coffee. Our goal was to get to Garnet to see the ghost town there. I don't think it was actually on our way, we went  miles off course to get there. The ghost town sits smack dab in the middle of land owned by the Dept. of the Interior. It was a few miles in before the pavement ended. I was driving. Up ahead was a gate with a hobble to prevent livestock from entering or exiting, as I soon discovered. I was about 30 yards from the start of the gravel road when I saw the longhorn. It was just standing there, chewing it's cud I suppose. I was driving so I didn't snap a photo. The road, although rustic, could handle two cars, so the beast wasn't blocking. At 30 yards I couldn't tell if it was a young anemic bull or a cow. I stopped the car. As I was contemplating what to do, a truck pulled up behind me, forcing me to decide. I stepped on the gas and drove up and through the gate, onto the narrow road, passing what I dis...

It's almost 11 p.m. Mountain time. Driving through the town tonight we saw at least 3 men wearing John B. Stetson cowboy hats. I also saw homeless drug addicted men, and wondered where they spend their days when the weather turns cold. Here in deeply red Montana, where Fuck Biden flags compete with velvet paintings of solitary wolves howling at the moon as top of the schlock, one wouldn't expect a bevy of pot shops. One, me, therefore was quite surprised to see no fewer than three dispenseries within two blocks on what I believe are the outskirts of downtown. I sense a disturbance in the farce that is the right-wing Christian "rigorous" moral code; an abandonment of pretending to just say no to drugs. If the homeless drug addicts that we see all around us in big city and small hadn't  already made it evident, the pandemic of addiction doesn't check political affiliation at the door. Life, it appears, is a gateway drug. We drove through some pretty wild thunder...

  Driving through the vast nothingness which is I-90 in Eastern Washington, Chappell Roan singing about doing drag in West Hollywood, Abby next to me. The 2001 CRV, packed to the gills with Abby s gear for her sophomore dorm. I often ask myself how we got here. By car, is the obvious answer. More specifically, I am riding across the country because Abby wants her car at Holyoke, which I support. She had planned to drive with a friend, but that person had something suddenly come up--the realization that taking out 50k a year in loans to go to a private art school is insanity.  Can't say I disagree with that assessment. So, here I am, using my precious vacation to spend quality time with Abby. The good news, besides spending a few more days with her, is that we have similar taste in music. A Carole King cover is  playing now by Lucy Dacus. I can do that. We reach Missoula tonight, a mere 500 mile drive. Tomorrow we will stop driving when we reach the Crow Nation. On Monday ...