July 10, 2014 - The Great American Road Trip Parts VI & VII ... the final entry

I sit here on the bank of the Northfork of the Flathead River, on the NW side of Glacier, which is far less traveled by tourists. We had to take a long dirt road to get out here, and we noticed all of the campsites have vacancies. I'm a little nervous due to the bear prints we saw in the mud as Taylor led me from the car to a gravel bar off the bank of the river.

Since I'm not technically posted up on the side of the river--but rather IN the river--I somehow feel a bit safer. We weren't planning to come up to this river, but then again, we haven't really planned much of this trip, so why should I be surprised by my current position?

We actually set an alarm this morning so we could get out on the road ahead of tourists, hoping to see some much-anticipated wildlife. Taylor said last night was his worst night's sleep yet, and I hated to agree. The rustic accommodations allowed us to hear every flush of any toilet above, below, or beside us, and before 5 a.m., I thought a group of people must have been climbing down the escape ladders outside our room for a pre-dawn hike, when, in fact, it was just the water running through the exposed pipes in the room.

Regardless of the noise, we took two showers each in less than twelve hours simply because we could.

The Going to the Sun Road was much less populated, and seeing the spectacular sights in reverse order was equally as amazing as yesterday. When a group of cars pulled over and tourists stood staring up at a hill, I glanced up and saw the backside of a grizzly. But by the time Taylor could safely pull over, the bear had tucked away into some trees. Not even a few miles up the road, however, I spotted a longhorn sheep. Taylor saw three more.

After taking a few photos and continuing on our journey, we saw one more lone sheep, prancing up the highway and straight into the Logan Pass Visitor's Center without a care in the world. We continued looking for wildlife as we exited the park and made a mental list of things we want to do next time and locations we still want to see.

Taylor kept mentioning the town of Polebridge, but in all honesty, we thought it would have been too much of a haul to try and get up there, just less than 20 miles from the Canadian border. Then we saw a mileage sign, just as we were about to head for Whitefish. Polebridge: 25 miles.

With that sign, we headed north.

A Missoulian (?) bartender spoke fondly of Polebridge a few days ago, and once we arrived we knew we made the right directional decision. There's a mercantile and a cafe, and that's about it. Oh, and this river and the NW entrance to Glacier.

We were told the cookies were heavenly and the breakfast sandwiches were to die for, so we stocked up on both, which are now probably melting in the car as I write this.

The town is on the national list of historic places, and--like McDonald Lodge--is celebrating its 100th year this summer. I love a good centennial celebration, and I enjoyed serendipitously stumbling upon both of these. I'm not sure where we'll end up tonight, but the hot sun here, intermittently reprieved by a soft breeze, sure isn't something to hurry along.

A few random Montana observations: There are so many casinos here! They're small but frequent. The Rocky Mountains are spectacular, a gorgeous border along the highway up to Flathead Lake from Missoula. It seems no matter where we've been, the locals--or summer locals--are used to visitors and tourists, and everyone seems so genuinely friendly. Oh, and today (Thursday) was the first time I turned on my phone since Sunday, and I really only turned it on to see if my sister had gone into labor yet. For all we knew, we could have a new niece or nephew. We also just realized we have no clue what's going on in the news or back home. We called our moms to let them know we're safe, and we aren't ready to be back in the city yet.

I forgot to mention that there are quite a few historic Catholic missions sprinkled around the Indian reservations of Montana. Not only are these structures and surrounding towns beautiful, but they got me thinking about what the area must have looked like when these churches were painted.

...

Picking up again from home to recap the conclusion of our final night on the road.

After departing from Polebridge, we planned to stop in Flathead Lake by way of Whitefish. After a longer-than-intended lunch in this adorable--albeit tourist-heavy ski and summer lake town--we decided to keep driving through Flathead to reach Missoula and then continue to Idaho. We made a choice to hit home Friday, instead of Saturday, to give us a few moments to readjust to schedules and alarms...emails and phone calls...before Monday inevitably arrives. We made it to Missoula at 5:45, just fifteen minutes before the fly shop closed.

...

Well. It looks like that's where my journal entry ended. As I recall, we got a couple of souvenirs at the fly shop, hit the Big Dipper Ice Cream stand, and drove until dark. We ended up staying at an RV park on the side of a river in who-knows-where Idaho. It was a little sketchy, to say the least, but we ran out of daylight and had no choice. The bathrooms were amazing, though. And I caught my first glimpse into the life of RV'ers. Wow. Those people were serious with their patio sets, potted plants, full-size barbecues, and endless equipment to settle into their time away from home.

Even now, eight months removed from this trip, it sits at the top of my mind as one of the best weeks of our lives together. It was just Taylor, me, and the open road. Without a home. Without a cell phone. Without a plan. It was summer as it should be. Wild and free. And I'll never, ever forget it.

July 7, 2014 - The Great American Road Trip Part III

{Side note: I have to laugh a bit at just how long it's taken me to post these passages. Pretty much the story of my life. I've uploaded all my holiday photos, just waiting to write a brief note about the holly, jolly festivities, but I told myself I can't do that until I finish my summer musings.} 

... 

After I put my journal down last night, we encountered a couple visitors at our campsite--two deer, keen on snacking just feet from us. They must have loved that specific foliage, as our rustling around didn't scare them at all. My camera sat inside the car, and I didn't want to risk their running away to retrieve it. We hit the pillow after s'mores and a nightcap, just as the daylight finally fizzled out.

When we awoke in the morning, neither of us wanted to emerge from the tent. We were sure it was just dawn like it seems to be every time we wake camping. Taylor got out first and exuberantly exclaimed it was 8:30! We slept more than ten hours, which I attribute to the air mattress and the fortress of solitude in which we camped. We threw together oatmeal and a pot of coffee--another brilliant luxury of car camping--and we packed the car for our departure. 

We stopped twice along Fish Creek as we exited the winding road, I dove deeper into my book, soaked up some sun rays, while Taylor unfortunately couldn't prove the creek true to its name. We stopped to photograph the derailment disaster that made local headlines--a train carrying fuselages derailed and a few of the planes plummeted into the creek. We'd never seen anything like it.

Then, we hit the open road again, passing through Missoula en route to Hamilton, in the Bitterroot Valley. We pulled up to a campsite that could not have been any more the antithesis {questionable grammar there} of yesterday's experience, with bathrooms, SHOWERS, a store, and ... people. Luckily, there was a semi-tucked-away slot in the back of the campground, butting up to the river. I could easily do without the amenities, and I don't enjoy the additional people. Tomorrow we'll be headed elsewhere again, though, so for tonight it will do just fine. 

I posted up at the campsite, and Taylor tromped down the back of the river. Just as I was about the take off on a run (believe it or not there is a paved walkway from Lolo all the way through Hamilton), Taylor walked up and shared the good news. He caught a brown trout. {Collective sigh.} The only bit of this news that came with any despair was the fact that he was alone in his success. There was no one to enjoy it with him before he released the sucker back into the Bitterroot. Rather than running, I packed up my camp chair and accompanied Taylor back down the river, where I perched on the bank as he tried to recreate history. No fish this time, so we headed back to camp for dinner and perhaps some post-feast fishing. 

July 6, 2014 - The Great American Road Trip Part II

No alarm clock, please. I mean, what's the point? We are on vacation, regardless of the impending check-out time. We slept until about 8, and we slapped on some running clothes. A quick bite at the complementary continental breakfast, and we were off to the highly recommended fly shop, followed by a hearty run along the river and past the university. We made it back to our "motel" by 11:30--just enough time to shower and be out by noon.

I made Taylor and me sandwiches on the side of the road in downtown Missoula, out the tailgate of our SUV. I felt like my mom, pulling it all together right there in the car. We planned to strategize (is this even a word?) the next few days at a local coffee shop, maps in hand, but we walked into the local running store first, which also came highly recommended from our dear friends. Not only did we pick up some gear and an invitation to run the city marathon or beer run next weekend, but we received some great recommendations for fly-fishing and camping spots, some more remote and less-traveled than those suggested at the fly shop. We semi-changed our tentative plans and opted to embark on these leads.

We backtracked from Missoula and ended up at Fish Creek. After winding many, many miles off the highway, along a dirt road, we made it to the Hole in the Wall Lodge, part of the Hole in the Wall Ranch--honestly and easily the most remote oasis I was just not expecting. There were cabins for rent and a sweet 20-something who ran up to our car to greet us when we arrived. We'd been told there was camping, and she directed us up the road about a mile, where we found our new home for who knows how many nights. We're nestled in a camp slot--just one of three--along the creek. There's no cell service, which is idyllic. I turned my phone off before we left Missoula, but there is something extra freeing about the inability to connect or be reached. Who do we really need to talk to besides each other? We told our co-workers we were anticipating going off the grid, and our families know that, too.

The air is so crisp here, and the colors are vivid. It's like Central Oregon in a way, except more wild, if that even remotely makes sense. Right now, I'm sitting along the creek while Taylor fly-fishes. He's left my line of sight, but right now he's in his heaven, and his heart must be singing. He's never been to Montana, and this trip has always been on our radar, so it's pretty fun to be realizing this little dream together. I know he feels something spiritual when he's in, on the bank of, or in sight of a river. Different than a lake, it's always moving and changing. It's unpredictable and something to admire and also fear, in the sense of respect. It's Mother Nature, after all. No human created this beauty and splendor.

I'm not wearing a watch, but the sun's placement makes me think it's around 4 or 5. We've already set-up camp, and our only to-dos are cooking dinner and starting a campfire. Almost all of our previous camping trips have included the rain and cold, so I'm pretty thrilled to be writing in the mid-summer heat, with my roadtrip uniform on--cutoff jean shorts and a V-neck T-shirt, instead of shaking and pouting as the rain seeps through my slicker. This is the life. Right now. No place I'd rather be.

First snow of the season and six months of bliss

If it were up to me, I'd live in Bend. Well, yeah, I mean, I'd live in Austin first. But, Bend is a close second. 

We take off to Sunriver whenever we get the chance, and two weekends ago, we brought the Greenbergs with us. It was a quick trip, but we managed to fit in a "hike," a couple of breweries, and Ben's first snow. 

Christmas card-worthy shot here, guys! 

A man in his element. 

This guy...not so much a fan of the backpack. Needless to say, our hike didn't last long. 

It was COLD. This smile is hiding my disdain for the cold. 

Ben's first ROCK pic. We didn't make Kat and Mike sit on the rock since it was covered in snow.

He was all smiles with auntie and uncle.

Here's what happens after one giant glass of wine and soccer on the tube. 

Sunday--sans Greenbergs--we hit up Three Creeks Brewery in Sisters and the Metolius River at Camp Sherman on our way home. This day was pretty much perfect. Taylor fished, and I read on the bank of the river. Then, we visited the headwaters, a site my dad took us to explore when we were kids. When we finally made it home, a friend of mine texted me: "Happy six-month anniversary!" Awe. We didn't even plan such a spectacular day. Love it.

Trying to get the perfect shot...take 1.

Take 2...

Take 3...

SMILE, TAYLOR!

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

Money shot. 

Luckily, there was another couple checking out the headwaters (yes, that's it in the background...just a little trickle of water coming out of the ground), and they took our tourist pic. Can you believe that little patch of mushy moss turns into the glorious waters pictured above?!