We're out of that . . .

Sunday, September 3. Sheridan, MT, to Dillon, MT.

We awoke to cows mooing this morning; the ones making all the racket last night were the same ones making all the racket this morning, we supposed. We lay there for a bit, listening to them, before finally getting up around the crack of 8.

We had camped for free in the Sheridan town park, and for a change the morning was warm (surprise!) when we got out of the tent. We had our usual camp breakfast of oatmeal, peanut butter and honey wraps, and coffee, before packing up and heading off downhill to Twin Bridges.

We managed to average nearly 15 mph on that first leg to Twin Bridges, heady stuff after some of the laborious and difficult days we have had before. In town, we turned west onto SR 41, in the direction of Beaverhead Rock and Dillon.

We had been warned by eastbound cyclists about this 18-mile stretch of highway 41; there are no shoulders and, with rolling terrain, limited sight distances much of the time. We knew we would have to ride VERY defensively, and perhaps even tick a few drivers off in the name of safety, but we felt up to it. Since it was a Sunday, I even thought people might be a little more courteous; these are proudly God-fearing people, after all.

Well, I was wrong. There were lots of rude drivers on 41, even one woman driving a car full of children that flipped us off and shouted an obscenity as she passed. Many drivers, unable to see far enough ahead to safely pass, stomped on the gas pedal and brushed by us far too close as they tried to stay in their lane. By the time we finally reached the part of 41 that has a decent shoulder, I was livid; I wanted to tell Montanans that in 5500 miles, through 16 states, two Canadian Provinces, and even WASHINGTON DC, we had not encountered as many jerks as passed us on 18 miles of a Montana road, and that they should be profoundly embarrassed. Even the drivers in SOUTH CAROLINA seemed like the epitome of courtesy by comparison.

We passed Beaverhead Rock at about 23 miles, and stopped to read the markers for the wetlands there, and for the rock formation itself. The wetlands, the Montana DOT is very proud to tell you, were created by the DOT on land that USED to be wetlands but which were drained for grazing purposes. This effort was done to mitigate the effects of road construction elsewhere in the state (which, one should infer, involves the destruction of wetlands). The area was populated by large numbers of sandhill cranes, ducks, herons (we think), and at least one deer we could see. It made for a nice diversion from the idiot Montana drivers.

There were no hotel rooms in Dillon, as we expected, but the KOA was just down the road a bit, so we went there to set up camp and leave our trailers to ease the ride around town. We got some free water from a church group doing "community service" and handing out information about their organization before going to get a campsite; we also stopped in at the Chamber of Commerce to find out where the Patagonia outlet was, and while there also saw a beautiful Lewis and Clark quilt that had recently been made specifically for display there.

After setting up camp, we went off to the Patagonia outlet; it was a busy place. Numerous people, like us, were busily pawing through every rack in sight looking for things in their size. We got two new waterproof jackets, four thermal layers, two hats, a scarf, and a pair of swim trunks for, all told, the regularly-marked price of just one of the jackets. We had decided to get new jackets because our old ones have stopped being waterPROOF and have started being waterABSORBENT. Nancy would later donate her old jacket to a nearby church thrift shop.

We also went to Sagebrush Outdoor, right next door, and got Nancy's sunglasses replaced (20% off!); she has been dealing with a cracked lens ever since she accidentally sat on them in Indiana. They had the very same pair, so naturally, we saw that as a sign that she had suffered enough, and bought them.

Back at camp, we went swimming while doing the laundry; there, we watched several kids tormenting each other with an inflatable raft (and happy about it, apparently). We tried to occupy a few spots at the far end of the pool but inevitably got splashed repeatedly, and ultimately had to admit defeat and get out.

Once all our little housekeeping chores were done, we decided to go get some dinner. The seemingly straightforward job of finding a place that had viable vegetarian options (for the newly-converted Nancy) and which did not reek of smoke proved more difficult than you might think. Finding the first three separated from the public by smoky "casinos" or "saloons", we were thrilled to finally find one that proudly proclaimed itself smoke-free. There was really only one vegetarian option for Nancy, though - not a problem in itself, at least not until the waitress informed us that the chef was OUT OF PASTA (I wanted pasta too). We were in some disbelief that a good portion of their menu was simply not available on this, possibly their busiest weekend; the truth was that the chef had run out of COOKED pasta, and that some was being prepared as we quizzed our waitress about whether there really wasn't any more pasta, and prepared to tell her that there was an IGA right ACROSS THE STREET.

So, there was pasta, but it would be a little while before it was ready. That was fine; Nancy got a glass of wine, and I ordered the restaurant's signature Margarita. But, strike two, the bartender couldn't make their SIGNATURE DRINK because she was OUT OF TWO OF THE FIVE INGREDIENTS. I felt like I should point out that there was a liquor store WITHIN SIGHT of the restaurant, but refrained, and got a soda instead..

Then, strike three, the chef informed us that he was OUT OF ALFREDO SAUCE. He had enough for Nancy's dish but not for my order, and wanted to know if substituting shrimp scampi (and tomatoes and mushrooms) would be OK. I agreed, figuring we had already found the only smoke-free restaurant and that leaving now would just leave us hungry.

To the chef's credit, the dinners were great. We were pleased to see that they were not out of coffee, and so we each got some, and asked about desserts. Strike four, they were OUT OF ICE CREAM. I couldn't help myself; I finally pointed out that there was a grocery store across the street, but I don't think it registered with the waitress. We got the tuxedo cheesecake instead, which turned out to be pretty good. All in all, we were satisfied, despite the many things they were out of. I gave them high marks for effort in the face of those embarrassing shortages.

Returning to our campsite after dark, we knew it would be a while before the ambient sounds died away; there was the Aaron Tippin concert that started at 8, and the Beaverhead County Fair would be going until late. We also realized that we could hear the music coming from the downtown square, nearly a mile away, and that would not cease until after 2am.

We decided to lay in our tent and read. I still had nearly 180 pages to read in my book, so I figured I could read until I was tired and sleep regardless of the noise.

I finished the book around 3am; the people at the adjacent campsite had returned around 2am and had stood around talking loudly until nearly 3. I could also hear the sound of a truck engine idling: I figured when they were done talking, someone would get in the truck and leave, and it would be quiet.

In retrospect, I should have gotten up to investigate when, finished with my book, I could still hear the engine idling but nobody talking. I lay there for quite a while, getting more and more irritated that someone had just left their truck idling so near that I could smell the exhaust; I think I finally slept a half-hour or so but after the alarm went off at 6, and I abruptly realized that THE TRUCK WAS STILL RUNNING, I was in disbelief. I finally got up to see what was going on.

Our neighbors had stuck some of their drunk friends into one of their trucks and PARKED IT ON OUR CAMPSITE, which is why it seemed so near. It was near. Hell, it was just about on top of us.

Later, I realized what I should have done; I should have gotten in to the driver's seat, driven the truck to the road out in front of the campground, parked it in the middle of the street, and then taken the keys, arming the alarm before I left, with the three passed-out passengers still in it. Instead, I was so incensed that I went straight to the office to ineffectually complain. They said, in essence, that it was better than last year, and that it wasn't really all that bad.

Nancy has helped to teach me how to take this kind of transgression in stride; earlier, I was emotional and angry, but later I was able to laugh about the sheer idiocy of the whole situation, including my own stupidity. I hope to be able to just roll my eyes and let it go soon. Soon.

Tomorrow is a big day - two mountain passes. That's why we wanted pasta - for the carbohydrates. We'll see how that pans out.