There are three kinds of roads in Montana: the freeway (75mph), dirt roads (10mph in our van), and all the rest (75mph, too). Thus, if one desires a scenic 35mph-ish afternoon cruise, you’ll quickly line up a train of 15 or so big pickups all looking to gun it around you en route to their desperately urgent every single day appointments. Even if it means risking the blind curve.
Helicopters carrying massive loads of liquid hover over a forest fire just a mountain ridge away. The smoke is not evident from our spot at the RV park, but the dust and ash kicked into the air from it all have turned the moon orange. I wondered perhaps if it was on fire as well.
Between us and the downtown area what Google Maps continues to claim is “12 minutes away” despite easily being twice as far with traffic, is an expanse of strip mall, industry and a few housing developments. It’s only been a day, but I was hoping, I think, for a bit more from Missoula.
We’ll spend the week fixing up a few idiosyncrasies around the Airstream in an attempt to get our 37 year old home on the road in shape to at least try and hold her own as we look forward to meeting a bunch of shinier, newer models in a few weeks. First though, Glacier is calling even as repairs are hard to tackle when there’s so much open mountain range to explore.