My stop in
Using the Untappd app I
decided to head to the Montana Brewing company for a beer and some food.
One of the only problems I
ran into was deciding if I should pay for parking in a lot, or drop coinage
into the meter on the street. Pulling into the parking lot several blocks from
the Brewery, I approached what appeared to be the payment booth. What I found at
the ‘payment booth,’ for lack of a better term, was a box with a slot and a bin
that contained small envelopes and a pens:
The definition of the Honor
system.
Well… Several problems
presented with this rather old method of rectifying the exchange of monetary payment.
First: I only had large
bills. I was expecting to pay with a card.
Second: Billings
Third: I naturally had no
desire to pay for parking.
I moved on to the idea of street
parking. Upon finding a spot I was in turn presented with the issue of parking
meters.
Problem One: I have no change.
Problem Two: Its Saturday
evening, there aren't exactly a lot of businesses that are open in my proximity I can
go into and make change. Zero on this block, in fact.
Problem Three: I naturally have
no desire to pay for parking.
In turn, I began checking all
the meters other various cars were posted in front of. I noticed only several
had been paid, but indicative of the expired Liquid Crystal Display that was
flashing in the view windows, many had not.
By law of averages, I decided
not to feed the meter or endeavor to find change to do so.
With that decided I made my
way to the Montana Brewing Company and as I 'the Skypoint' :
I in turn asked some ‘local
appearing’ folks walking down the street if they knew if it was necessary to
pay the meters on the weekend. They verified for me it was not and I in turn
began to figuratively skip my way down the street to my destination.
Approaching the Brewery it
was obvious Sturgis Bike week was having an influence. Even as far away as it
still was there were many bikes parked out front. The business was bustling.
The patio area was chalked full of folks as was the interior. But as usually happens, there
is room at the bar. Upon ordering food (Mac and Cheese) and a Custer’s Last Stout:
Finally a home brewed stout. - Drinking a Custer's Last Stout @ Montana Brewing Company - http://t.co/BNOT6YVYtR #photo
— A Dyke In The Life (@ADykeInTheLife) August 9, 2015
it seemed the rather homely
woman sitting to my left’ on the other side of a curve was staring at me the
whole time. I tried casually glancing to affirm this was the case and maybe see
if I would catch her turning away, as people do when they are caught staring.
This wasn’t the case. Her attention was dedicated. I decided if she wanted to
watch me eat, that was her awkward prerogative. At some point I finally
realized she was in fact watching the coverage of some sports event on a silent
Television I was sitting directly in line with.
Ticketlessly hitting the road
after, I found gas and began to advance to the outer edges of the Montana
Border. With physical fatigue beginning to set a road sign along Interstate 90/Highway 87
informed me I was closing in on Custer’s Last Stand. I had forgotten I had
planned to see the area. Energy emerged from the depths as I realized something
would be breaking up what I had foreseen would simply be a mashing of the
pedals for the remainder of the evening. I found myself getting anxiously
advancing to see the area.
Once I was upon the exit and
over the highway overpass I made the corresponding turn onto Highway 212. To my
immediate left was what was toted as a Custer’s Battlefield Trading post. A
building with an exterior composed of old, unpainted wood, surrounded by other reclaimed,
empty old and equally rustic and rotting wood structures; the likes of which
may have previously existed as chicken coups or smoke houses that had been
picked from areas obviously foreign to its current resting existence, I pulled
the car over and made my way inside to… purchase a ticket or… whatever I needed
to do to see the site.
I was quite surprised when I
found the Trading post was strictly a gift shop. Obviously… a gift shop. A
comprehensive one at that, Native American and Last stand souvenirs and
literature galore, I utilized the misappropriated stop to relive myself and
also buy a few conservative souvenirs. Feeling like I had been commercially
fooled stop in, I verified with the woman selling me the trinkets “the
battlefield is across the street.” She nodded and as quickly as I could without
drawing attention to the fact I was trying to rush, I made way to the car and
made way to the actual location of the ‘Last Stand.’
Why in my mind I imagined;
what actually exists as a National Park, would for some reason be located
behind what was tantamount to ‘a themed attraction’ I couldn’t begin to say.
But it began to resonate as foolish to me as I pressed down the gas and spun my
tires upon the parking lot’s gravel to make it to the ‘Actual’ Last Stand.
So, it goes, I once again couldn’t
believe I had been duped again into going to the wrong place, as is my way. I
advanced up the long road I imagined was a that long drive way to the
Battlefield.
To think I would have to
‘purchase’ a ticket to see a graveyard. I smiled and shook my head as I pulled
up to the closed, black, wrought iron gates. Seeing no one in the guard shack I
slowly shifted my attention to the sign with the Park’s posted hours.
‘8:00 AM - 8:00 PM ’
My watch: 20:06 (8:06 PM )
God damn, Trading post. My
eyes look over the rest of the information:
Cost for the day:
Private Vehicle : $10.00
Pedestrian : $5.00
… Tickets.
Negotiating the car into a U
turn, I figuratively throw up my hands knowing even if I hadn’t gone into the
gift shop I wouldn’t have had time to see anything in the park worth the
fifteen bucks I would have had to pay to go in; had they even let me do so with
such a short amount of time before the 8:00 closing time.
And with the sun setting
directly ahead of the length of the park’s long driveway I set out to find put
some of Wyoming
Somehow the darkness made the
drive drag on. And dark it was. Aside from the headlights of other cars, there
was a complete lack of ambient light. Nary star, moon or street light it felt
as if nothing existed outside the limits of my car’s own illumination. Pulling
into a gas station that cut the night with its own signage I verified this
observation with a local that gassed up his own rig. “Where do you live,” I
asked, aiming my sightline up and down dark streets that didn’t exist past the
limits of the light the station emitted. “Here, in town,” he said. “Dark as sin
out here,” I added. A complete absence of light being something I hadn’t been
around in quite some time…. Maybe never. He laughed and replaced the Gasoline
Nozzle. “Have a good night,” I said before he replied some respective courtesy
and disappeared.
Strange that small talk seems
to be so foreign or abstract now a days. Even mustering the courage to advance
it sometimes seems ill conceived.
Advance upon
Gillette was much of the same: Zero to little light. That was until the city
lay two or three miles away. But when I was outside town I knew it. Billboards littered both sides of the highway.
Hotels, Motels,
Mcdonalds… whatever.
My aim though, was
Walmart. Why?
Well, apparently;
as unglamorous as it may seem, Walmart allows people that are traveling… in
R.V.’s anyway, to stay in their parking lot. I gambled that, maybe me camping
would go unnoticed, or at least, wouldn’t be frowned upon and if it was, I’d
explain myself and angle to be able to stay until morning if it was a problem
and or sleep in the car or move on to somewhere inconspicuous… who knew, I’d
cross that bridge when I got there, should it present itself.
Reaching Walmart,
I drove around its sizable, shared and occupied parking lot. There were many
R.V.’s and even a Semi Tractor Trailer or two occupying the area. I drove
around for quite awhile, looking for the most pristine area to bed down for the
night. Most of it… like a Walmart parking lot would, looked unappealing. Donation
Dumpsters, Bright lights, for better or worse, illuminating the grounds, and a
lot of open, treeless ground in areas where I might like to set up and go
unseen from the road and parking lot, if possible. Advertising my presence wasn’t
exactly my goal, should camping there without an R.V. be unwarranted.
But before too
long I made my way to the empty portion of the parking lot shared with Walmart by
a KMart.
Funny, as I remember K Mart being the shit when I was a child… Home of
the Bluelight special and Cherry Icee. Anymore… who knows what’s in there. KMart
seems to stand as more of a beacon for the White Trash of our times that even the
White Trash attracted to Walmart won’t lower themselves to entertaining.
Before too long, at
the very back of the parking lot, in the grass next to a Van was a tent. With
plenty of space behind the van for me to pull in ahead of an RV I decided to
pull in and set up my bed for the night. Unlike Walmart, the Kmart portion of
the lot; for better or worse, was not illuminated. Beside the tent were two
men. As it turned out one was sleeping in the van that night and the other was going
to be occupying the tent.
As I broke out
and began setting up my cot the man in the tent approached and we began
talking. The other man retired to his van and I began to learn the gentleman in
the tent was, what he calls ‘Walking on Faith.’
Apparently everything
he had was gifted to him by people he met on his journey to Colorado Colorado
This was quite
the man to meet. He was a close talker, at times getting in the way of me
trying to set up my own camp and at others, pumping me for information I wasn’t
too keen on offering up to a stranger. Well intentioned enough, I came to find
out he also had a Dog with him (in the tent) that he spoke of affectionately.
Named ‘Bear,’ of all things he spoke of having to often talk to the authorities
because reports of animal abuse would often get called in as he walked the
roads and highways of the nation. People being highly concerned with the
welfare of the dog, assuming it was under duress being so far away from towns
and cities on the road; at least as it was related to me.
Looking at his
tent as I opened my car doors and closed them on the top of a camouflage tarp I
purchased (also at a Walmart) several days before, I eyed a sizable Radio Flyer wagon under a
heap load. “Some people gave me the wagon,” he said, making his way over to the
load. “Another guy gave me these materials to fashion into this harness,” he
said, lifting the Wagon’s handle and showing me the harness I could barely see
in the low light. “Everything I have has been gifted,” he reiterated. He
continues to regard his trip and how things have worked out; the harness coming
into his life when he just about couldn’t physically pull the wagon by its
handle anymore, Dog food and water coming into his life when he was just about
out, et cetera.
Listening and
interacting, asking questions and trying my best to engage I decide to let my
fellow camper know its time for me to crash. Not taking the hint, he continues to talk about an ailment he recently found out his wife is suffering with; heart aneurysm or some such seeming death sentence, if I remember correctly. He relates that people he has encountered and explained this to have asked him if he is doing the walk for her, for donations, et cetera. He says, no its not for that and goes on to talk about the things he is directly concerned about, making it to Colorado, his dog. I figuratively scratch my head at the idea he just left his wife to her life to 'Walk on Faith.' His concern really seems to be for immediate concerns and relating what he has discovered during the course of his journey. He then tells me he's asked many veterans if they have 'Killed anyone,' a question he also asked me. I let him know it isn't the best of questions to ask Veterans, rude more or less. And he doesnt seem to understand. He says he likes to do it to test and see if the people he is talking to think they are 'Bad Asses.' I internally shake my head, he doesn't want to be told my concerns for asking such a question and the harm it could potentially cause him asking the wrong question. Up until this point he hasn't seemed like the kind of person that would instigate conflict, but with his resolve to seem amused at the prospect and continue to justify asking people even as I try to explain my view, I let it go and reexamine if only for a little while who he might really be underneath his seeming exterior.
I ask about social media, if he is relating his journey via that medium. He skirts the topic aside from mentioning he has considered it so far as activating an account, but not checking in with it. He further introduces the fact he has a phone but doesn't really use it for that. And even though I am quasi curious how he pays for data and service 'On Faith,' I skirt the idea of actually asking, not really one hundred percent committed to finding out if it such realities blow a hole in his holistic journey on generosity; finding myself I'm also puzzled
I again expound it is probably time for me to go to sleep he finally gets the clue. Taking a final drag on his
cigarette he agrees and retires to his tent as I crawl under my tarp, onto my
cot and into my sleeping bag.
My first night
openly ‘Urban Camping’ I restlessly toss and turn at the sound of the tarp
pulling taut and slack against the incoming gusts of wind. I obviously didn’t pull
it tight enough against the cot and under its legs. Learning a lesson for future
camp set up.
Merits mentioning:
The Painted Road Project:
I was searching for info on
the downtown Billings Skypoint sculpture and in the midst of looking through
results on Google images I saw an image of the hay sculpture I saw when heading
to Dobson, MT. In their particular post along they covered the advance this post
concerns and more. I was a little jealous they went through the Badlands of
South Dakota, as I drove right through it but that's later... Anyway, check 'em
out and see some of what I saw on my way to Gillette , Wyoming
