We left the campground early, and Alix slept on, till we
stopped several hours later for gas in Terry, Montana. The drive from the
Montana border west and south along the Yellowstone River is one of my favorite
stretches in North America. We got off the interstate and drove the old highway
where possible, closer to the river, down along the shallow valley bottom where
the cottonwood trees grow thick and tall. It had rained all night but the
morning sky cleared and the sun shone bright on the low hills, smooth
crenelations a mile apart at the edges of the river valley.
In Billings we tried the downtown thrift stores, but none
were open on a Sunday, and neither was Sarah’s a Mexican restaurant we have lunched
at in the past. We parked outside a hospital and Alix used their wifi to check
on restaurant options…and for some reason came up with Cracker Barrel. She was
curious.
The parking lot beside the interstate was large and full,
and I thought we’d have to wait. But no, capacity was not a problem. The long
porch out front was lined with rocking chairs, each with a tag indicating it
was for sale. The marketing of the supposed past continued just inside the
door, where we came into a gift shop, the shelves full of gimcrackery…. On the
far side of the room a young woman grabbed two menus and we followed her
through the restaurant, past a huge open fireplace (fireless), past busy tables where
people were working hard on big plates of fried food.
We got a table in a corner by a window, but after a moment I
had to go back out for a sweatshirt. The ac was aggressive…. The walls of the
restaurant were festooned with old-timey stuff: tin advertising signs for seeds
and soft drinks and sparkplugs; implements such as rolling pins, oil cans,
muffin tins, and saws, all patina-ed with age; black and white portrait photos
of people a century-dead…. The chilly room was noisy with the loud talk of
diners, the clank of their silverware on thick white plates…. An army of
servers rushed about.
Alix ordered the fried chicken and mashed potatoes special,
I had beef stew and apple sauce and green beans and biscuits. Sounds good, but
the country-style food was as ersatz as the décor….
When I paid the bill in the gift shop, the man in front of
me was buying a dog statue, a life-sized canine wearing a straw hat garnished
with a sunflower. I admired him for his purchase; I wouldn’t have had the joie
de vivre….
We stopped in Bozeman too, at a target and a Safeway, then
turned south towards the high, snow-covered mountains, and soon entered the narrow Gallatin Valley. We
camped at Swan Creek, a campground a mile off the main road. Rain storms had
been chasing across the mountains in short bursts, and soon after Alix put
chicken breasts on the fire grill, it began to rain. She crouched over the fire
and held a plate over the meat to shield it. Then hail started falling,
bouncing all around the fire pit and off Alix’s head. I stayed back a few feet
under the shelter of a big spruce tree. But Alix was indefatigable in protecting our
dinner….
A campground attendant came by in a small pick-up and
stopped to collect our fee ($14). He wore a Vietnam Vet ball cap, and had a
small wiener dog on his lap. The dog licked the man’s forearm with an untoward intensity
during most of our short conversation (which focused on the standard, the
weather).
We ended up eating in the van. I put up the table in the
back and we sat side by side. We watched the next
portion of New Moon while enjoying
the chicken, pasta salad, and a plate of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes. I
thought that Bella was meaner than necessary when Jacob tried to stop her from rushing
off to Italy to save Edward.
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