I'm hooked! Keep it coming Lee.
Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (17 Viewers)
- Thread starter Sea Knight
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i´m on a bussines trip far from home, I just had three beers and a bunch of wings, just got here to the hotel and nothing could be better than finding another chapter, Thanks again!
All caught up now, what a read, a roller coaster ride for sure.
I've often thought that being from the deep south gives one an advantage or ability to tell a nice non-linear story with lots of tangents, locale factoids, and interesting personal notes all rolled together.
"A Pirate Looks at 50" by Jimmy Buffett is a similarly laid out story, and also a good read.
I've often thought that being from the deep south gives one an advantage or ability to tell a nice non-linear story with lots of tangents, locale factoids, and interesting personal notes all rolled together.
"A Pirate Looks at 50" by Jimmy Buffett is a similarly laid out story, and also a good read.
I have been following since the beginning and am as hooked as the rest. I have a bunch of miles under my belt and a ton of stories that folks have said I should put in print, a trick my childhood buddy, who owns a book store in Paso Robles, said, was to carry a small digital recorder and anytime I felt a story about to happen, to just hit record and let it go, then send him the file and he would get it down in print, havent done it but really should, the memories for the future are priceless.
On another note, Lee, I have a new family on the Big Island, my youngest daughters fiancee's family lives in Hilo, Aina lives here on the mainland, we are going to be in Kona in August for the wedding, give me a location and I can get a live picture of uncle Meldon and the 40
On another note, Lee, I have a new family on the Big Island, my youngest daughters fiancee's family lives in Hilo, Aina lives here on the mainland, we are going to be in Kona in August for the wedding, give me a location and I can get a live picture of uncle Meldon and the 40
- Thread starter
- #705
I don't know what path you went down to conclude that this story was free material for the Mud 40's section, but I would have paid good money to read about this epic journey, and it certainly would have been a great multi-part series for TT. Followed by a made for TV movie with Lindsay Vonn playing the part of "Jen."
Thanks for keeping it going.
Here's the long answer. This thread was started with the intention of being a straight-up repair thread. I'm not sure exactly what happened but it was spinning out of control by page 3, and we're way beyond turning back now. I'm well aware that the thread could have been moved to chat, where it would have quickly self destructed, so I have to keep thanking Poser for leaving it here. There's actually tech content ahead, but not for a while.
On the book/TT/movie thing. I've received some solid advice from Todd, our TT editor, and from my son, who's an English Lit professor. This tale is way too long for TT, even for a series of articles. Clearly it could be condensed for that purpose, but it would take years to get all this material into a periodical. Many of the MUD posts, or chapters, contain insider Land Cruiser references that the general public wouldn't understand. In a book, those references would have to be explained, or removed. That said, I don't think a book is out of the question, but it would take some work and a good editor. There certainly seems to be enough interest to pursue the idea. Every chapter that you read here, was edited down into a manageable MUD post. Dave Gonz has been transferring each chapter to a Google document, and he says we're already close to 100 pages of text. I don't think a 300+ page book would be out off the question, if we ever get that far. Since this thread has become an interactive thing, I'd even suggest including some of your comments in between chapters. Just an idea. If a book happens, be assured that everyone here will be offered a special MUD price.
A movie? Never gonna happen, but I could actually picture a half befuddled Jeff Bridges playing me in some of the scenes, at the New Mexico road stop with Gayla for instance, or entering the motel room and seeing Jen on the bed. He's about the correct age too.
Lindsay Vonn. Funny you'd bring her up, because she's as close to Jen in appearance as anyone I can imagine. Uncanny resemblance.
Yeah, a roller coaster ride for me as well. Just like real life eh?
If you're interested in digging into some really great contemporary southern writing, check out anything from the late Larry Brown. Former Marine and firefighter, and self taught writer. Fiction and non-fiction, he was a fascinating guy who died way too young.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larry_Brown_(author)
Larry Brown, Mississippi writer of Dirty Work, Big Bad Love, Fay, Billy Ray's Farm, The Rabbit Factory, Facing the Music, Soldier and Son, Father and Son from Oxford
I haven't read Buffett's book, but I did meet him in an Austin restaurant, a bazillion years ago, mid 70's IIRC. He was a nice down to earth guy, before he was famous at least. I'm sure you know he's from Alabama, and graduated from Southern Miss.
I agree with your buddy. Try to preserve those stories as best you can, even if no one ever sees them but your children. I wish my parents had done something like that. Now that they're both gone, most of what I know of their early lives isn't found anywhere but in my head, and that's just sad.
Congrats on the wedding.
When your departure date nears, PM me and I'll send Uncle Meldon's contact info. He's at sea a lot, so I can't say if he'll be in Kona in August. He reads this thread, so he may chime in after seeing your post.
Lindsay Vonn = Jen, hell yeah!
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
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Yeah, I knew about Buffett's locale, and figured most here were sharp enough to get the deep south connection between the two storytellers here.
I shall check out Mr. Brown from the library the next time we are out to get some books, thanks!
Yeah life, thought I had a plan in my mid-late 20's, now in my mid 30's I realize how much more I know now than I ever thought I did then. The twists and turns make it interesting, and I'm still learning to take it all in stride better and better, patience and understanding are key.
Now back to the regularly scheduled broadcast....
As far as local writers that write about our area, I really recommend Christopher Cook's Robbers. If I remember correctly, he is not a writer and this is his only book, it is fantastic..
If this tale never makes it to 'book' status, I really hope you'll consider a PDF format. I keep telling my GF about this tale and I think she'd be more receptive to reading it if it were in one piece and I certainly would love to have a copy of it in it's completed form..
Thanks again..
Andrew
If this tale never makes it to 'book' status, I really hope you'll consider a PDF format. I keep telling my GF about this tale and I think she'd be more receptive to reading it if it were in one piece and I certainly would love to have a copy of it in it's completed form..
Thanks again..
Andrew
- Thread starter
- #708
I think you'd like Barry Hannah as well.
Barry Hannah - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
MWP: Barry Hannah (1942-2010)
I recommend Airships Amazon.com: Airships (9780802133885): Barry Hannah: Books
and Bats Out of Hell Amazon.com: Bats Out of Hell (9780802133861): Barry Hannah: Books
Reminds me of the ancient Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times."
Never heard of Christopher Cook and Robbers is out of print, but I found it on the net for $.97 at several used book stores. Will have to order a copy. Thanks for the tip.
We'll get 'er done, eventually.
- Thread starter
- #709
Author's Disclaimer
"There's something happening here
What it is ain't exactly clear."
--Buffalo Springfield
What it is ain't exactly clear."
--Buffalo Springfield
Here it comes, but with a disclaimer. The next chapter was built using my notes, the same notes I took at Montana Ale Works in 2005. There's a small problem. As the evening wears on, my notes become increasingly hard to read. By midnight, they're completely unintelligible. Be advised that the account you're about to read may have happened exactly as described, or only some of it may have happened. I know for certain that I stayed at the Blue Sky Motel in Bozeman, and spent the evening at Montana Ale Works with Jen and friends. I think I got it all right, but maybe not. 
- Thread starter
- #710
Bozeman--Part Three
Jen stands, stretches again, says she hopes to see me later at the pub, winks, walks out and closes the door, leaving me sitting in the chair wondering if that encounter actually happened. After all, I am dead tired, and it's possible that second pint of Custer's Last Stout could be causing me to hallucinate. I've heard such things can happen. I decide to conduct a short investigation to determine whether I'm going mad. Chris is a good starting point. I hoist my duffel bag onto the dresser and dig out a bag of dirty clothes, two weeks worth. Chris should be able to tell me if there's a laundry on the premises, and whether Jen is a figment of my imagination. I walk back to the office through the covered passageway and he's still there, feverishly thumbing through a pile of class notes, furrowed brow, fresh mug of coffee in his hand.
Me: "Is there a laundry here?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "I need to wash some clothes."
Chris: "How many clothes?"
Me: "One load should do it."
Chris: "We have a washer and dryer. For towels and linens. I guess you could use them."
Me: "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."
Chris: "Be quick about it. I leave at 7. Next door to the office. Door should be unlocked"
That's what I call friendly service. Now that we're buds, I'll sneak in a stealth question, and try to establish my sanity.
Me: "Is there a girl who works here named Jen?"
Chris: "Why?"
Me: "No reason. I think I just met her."
Chris: "If you met Jen, you'd know it. Tall chick. Smokin' hot."
Me: "Sounds like the one. She told me to stop by the ale works for a pint."
Chris, with a wistful look: "That's Jen. She barely speaks to me."
Poor Chris. I guess Jen is out of his league, but at least I know she wasn't an apparition. I thank him again, fetch my dirty clothes, find the laundry, start the wash, and return to the room. It's early. I should be able to knock out the laundry chore, shower, work in a short nap, and be revitalized in time for a late supper. I shave and shower and go to retrieve my clothes. Returning to the room I see a group of people standing beside the truck, but they're on the opposite side and I can't tell who they are or what they're doing there. I dump my armload of clean clothes on the near bed and go out to The Turtle. It's Jen, leaning on the driver's side door,along with two other girls and a guy, chatting, hanging out.
Me: "What's goin' on?"
Jen: "Oh, Hello again. Is this the old Land Cruiser you're taking to Hawaii?"
Me: "Yep, that's the one."
Jen: "I saw your Texas plate. You didn't tell me it was a 40."
Me: "Most people don't know a 40 from a Kubota tractor."
Jen: "I do. There's several around Bozeman. But I haven't seen one like this."
Me: "Yeah, she's a beast. Built up a bit, for off roading."
Jen: "Take us for a ride?"
Me: "I don't think so. I really need a nap."
Jen: "Maybe later then. Sleep well. Don't forget to drop by the pub."
Me: "Sure"
I collapse onto the bed furthest from the door, the bed where Jen was lazing barely an hour earlier. The pillow still has the imprint of her head, and on either side are small impressions left by her braids. It smells good, not perfumy, kind of a fresh vanilla scent. Very nice, intoxicating. I take it in, several deep breaths, and think of Hamlet's famous line, "To sleep, perchance to dream." Within minutes I'm dreamin'.
An hour later, from within my dream or somewhere outside it, I think I hear laughing. I sit up and get my bearings, walk over and peek out the window. The Blue Sky parking lot is full of cars but I don't see any people. I do hear laughter, and remember the jacuzzi. Must be the late night action Chris mentioned earlier, but I'm too hungry to be interested. Food and a cold one sound better. It's 8:30; I check the weather channel and see that it's 35 degrees, headed for a low of 23. I'm hoofin' it so I dress for the weather, the way my mother taught me. From the heap of freshly washed clothes I pull out Ray's flannel shirt and a pair of trou, cap it off with the boots and Patagonia jacket I scored in Wyoming, and begin strolling down Main Street.
In the three short blocks between my motel and the pub, I see three 40's parked on the street, all stockers, all pocked with rust in the usual places, working trucks, one per block. Jen was right, old Cruisers are common in these parts. I walk on and in the distance it's easy to pick out Montana Ale Works. It's the largest structure in sight, an old railroad freight terminal, built in the 1930's and recently converted to a pub. Immediately inside the door is a small waiting area with chairs and a sofa, most of which are occupied. There's a smiling girl standing at a waist high counter, hostess with a list. From the entry I can see into the bar area--booths, a few tables, and a big circular bar. The place looks packed. Judging from the crowd, this must be a Bozeman hot spot. I check in with the list keeper, and learn there's an hour wait for a table, 45 minutes if I don't mind sitting at the bar. I don't see Jen and I don't have an alternate dining plan so I give my name and take a seat on the sofa. There's a stack of menus on the counter top, and I'm a beer nerd, so I pick up a beer list and start reading. According to the list, they feature "the most extensive draft selection of regionally brewed craft beers in the Northern Rockies," almost 40 craft brews on tap. The only beer I've heard of is Moose Drool but several others sound worthy so I pull out a scrap of paper and begin jotting down possibilities for future tasting. I've been sitting there for less than five minutes when a well dressed lady in a dark business suit appears in the waiting area, looks around, walks over and takes a seat beside me. I keep reading and taking notes.
Her: "Excuse me, are you Lee? The writer?"
Me: "I beg your pardon?"
Her: "The travel writer. We were told you might be coming by this evening."
Now if I wasn't dreaming, the following conversation occurred about three hours ago:
Jen: "So you are a writer."
Me: "Well, yeah, but I prefer to keep a low profile."
Jen: "I won't blow your cover. I promise."
Great. Thanks for not blowing my cover, Jen. I ponder the situation for a minute and think, what the heck. I'm sitting here writing, and being a writer doesn't require any special credentials. So I'm not really fudging the truth, not by much. I don't see any downside to playing this out. I'll roll with it and see where it goes.
Me: "Why yes, yes I am. A writer that is. Freelance."
Her, extending her hand: "We're so pleased to have you. I'm Jane, the manager. Are you waiting for a table?"
Me: "Yes, I'm on the list."
Her: "Well there's no need for you to wait. We'll seat you in the Grill Room. It's quiet, and private."
Me: "There's no need for that. I really don't mind waiting."
Her: "Oh but I insist. The Grill Room is lovely, and tonight we have tables available."
Me: "I'm curious. How did you recognize me?"
Her: "Oh, Jen tipped us off. She said to look for the gentleman who resembled that Seinfeld character."
Me: "What Seinfeld character?"
Her: "Peterman."
What the hell? Peterman? Elaine's boss, the buffoon. I guess it could have been worse. She could have said I resembled Kramer, or George Costanza. I can live with Peterman, as long as we're only talking appearance. We stand, and Jane leads me into the Grill Room. She wasn't lying. It's elegant, and intimate. Antique brick, massive exposed beams, western paintings decorating the walls, dim lighting, and it's completely separate from the bar area, quiet and isolated. I count six rectangular tables, and a single round table just inside the service door, all dressed with linen tablecloths and formal place settings, Only two tables are occupied. Jane seats me at the round table and says "Enjoy your meal, and if you decide to mention us in your article, we hope it's positive." I assure her that I'll do just that, while thinking "What article? What did Jen tell these people?"
I sit there for a short time thinking this has to be another of those bizarre Twilight Zone situations that I seem to bumble into with regularity, when Jen appears from behind the service door. She looks different and it takes a moment before I recognize her. The braids are gone, hair is down, and she's wearing a starched white shirt and jeans, and her LL Bean boots. She's carrying a pint of something dark and without asking, sets it on the table in front of me. A peace offering?
Me: "Peterman? Gimme a break. And what was that bit about not blowing my cover?"
Jen: "This is Hippy Highway Oatmeal Stout, from Big Sky. It's new. I think you'll like it."
Me: "Don't change the subject. Come on...Peterman? Seriously?"
Jen: "Just helping you out. He was the only gray haired person I could think of, and Jane remembered him."
Me: "Thanks a lot."
Jen: "Hey, it got you a table. Nobody sits in here but celebrities and rich locals. Robert Redford ate in here. At this very table."
Me: "I'm honored."
Jen: "Try the stout. I ordered something for you, something that's great with stout."
Me: "I can't wait. What is it?"
Jen: "You should trust me by now. Our house specialty--Bison Potstickers, with Mango sauce. You'll love 'em."
Jen leaves and another girl comes with a platter of potstickers. I recognize her as one of the two standing by The Turtle at the Blue Sky. If I heard her name earlier, I don't remember it, but her name tag says Anne, so I act like I do remember and mumble "Thanks Anne." I chomp down on a juicy potsticker. It's superb, and I must have been starving because they all disappear in short order, washed down by the fine Hippy Highway stout. On cue Jen returns, with a Moose Drool.
Jen: "Thought you might be running dry."
Me: "No, I'm good. The potstickers were great."
Jen: "Told ya. What's next?
Me: "Meaning what?"
Jen: "Meaning pints for the famous writer are on the house tonight, so what's your pleasure?"
Me: "I never claimed to be famous, but since you asked...I'm partial to West Coast IPA's"
Jen: "Got it. You decide on food. I'll decide on refreshments."
I study the menu and everything looks good, but I think this would be a good time to eat healthy. Anne comes back and I order a spinach salad with Applewood bacon and roasted pecans. Today's chef's special is grilled mountain trout, which they tell me is a fresh local catch, so I go for the special. While I'm frantically scribbling all this down for my upcoming article, Jen brings a pint of Bent Nail IPA, She says it's a good session IPA, light and citrusy; she says it goes with the salad. My trout arrives on a bed of wild rice, along with steamed asparagus, and there's fresh baked bread. My glass seems to be empty, and Jen brings a pint of Hop Zone IPA, a local brew from Bozeman Brewing. It's a bigger beer, and by this time I'm feelin' pretty good. I take my time eating, and it seems I'm never alone for more than a few minutes. Jane comes by and asks if I'm enjoying the meal, Jen pops in periodically, and Anne is attentive, occasionally sitting at my table. Nobody seems rushed around here. I finally clean my plate and for the first time I notice there's no one left in the Grill Room but me. I don't even remember anyone leaving.
I look at my watch and if I'm reading it correctly, it's just past midnight. I've been here almost three hours. Jen shows up with two more pints--Hop Juice Imperial IPA, one for each of us. I'll say this; the girl knows her beers. This one is magnificent, and huge. I shift positions in the chair and notice that I have almost no feeling in my legs. I begin thinking about whether I'm capable of walking back to my motel. This could present a problem. Maybe they'll let me sleep on the floor, or on the sofa in the foyer, being that I'm such a big celebrity. In any case, I'm gonna need some help. Jen explains that she's taken off an hour early, and now she's here to hang out. Anne, and the third girl from the Blue Sky parking lot join us in the Grill Room. Ahh..so they all work here. Their shifts have ended and we have the room to ourselves, the four of us sitting around the table, shootin' the breeze. Jen seems mature but the other two...I feel like I'm being interviewed by a bunch of pubescent reporters for a junior high newspaper.
Them: "How long have you been writing?"
Me: "Since I was 5"
Them: "Pardon?"
Me: "Never mind."
Them: "Did you study writing?"
Me: "No, I just wing it."
Them: "What did you do before?"
Me: "I flew. Navy."
Them: "Wow, you mean jets, like Top Gun?"
Me: "No, just old slow helicopters."
Them: "Where?"
Me: "All over. Texas, California, Viet Nam."
Them: "In the war? You ever get shot?"
Me: "Yes."
Them: "Did it hurt?"
What a stupidass question. Of course it hurt. How do you think it would it feel to have a sharp stick jammed in your eye? But they are young, and I guess I asked for it. I'll be gentle.
Me: "Damn right it did. It still hurts."
Them: "Wow. Where?"
Me: "Let's change the subject."
Them: "Sorry, we didn't mean to get personal. So what do you write about?"
Me: "Non-fiction. Things I've done, places I've been. people I've met. That sort of thing."
Them: "So you're an adventure writer, like that guy who wrote Into the Wild?"
Me: "You mean Jon Krakauer. Excellent book, but it wasn't about his own experiences."
Them: "Tell us what you're writing now."
Uh oh...Here we go. Before I know it we're talking about my upcoming book. Yeah, I know; first it was only an article, but that was a couple of hours ago and thanks to the IPA, now it's a book. And why not? Aim high, right?
Jen may or may not have brought out more pints of Hop Juice. I'm not sure, because I can't read my own notes from later in the evening, but she probably did. At one point, in a sudden moment of clarity, I remember that I haven't paid. I tell Anne that I need to close my dinner tab. She says that I must have already paid and I tell her that I'm sure I didn't. I don't even recall seeing a bill. She says "Oh, then I must have accidentally lost your bill," and they all laugh. I don't get the joke, and finally Jen says that Jane instructed them to comp my meal. It's clearly a bribe and I'm deeply offended. They think I can be bribed? Um, well, it's a harsh truth, but evidently I can. I'd bet even Robert Redford wasn't treated this well. I decide on the spot that the Blue Sky Motel isn't the friendliest place in town. It's Montana Ale Works. I'll have to put that in my article. And my book. Yes I will.
To be continued....
He's a poet, he's a picker, he's a prophet, he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home
--Kris Kristofferson
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home
--Kris Kristofferson
Jen stands, stretches again, says she hopes to see me later at the pub, winks, walks out and closes the door, leaving me sitting in the chair wondering if that encounter actually happened. After all, I am dead tired, and it's possible that second pint of Custer's Last Stout could be causing me to hallucinate. I've heard such things can happen. I decide to conduct a short investigation to determine whether I'm going mad. Chris is a good starting point. I hoist my duffel bag onto the dresser and dig out a bag of dirty clothes, two weeks worth. Chris should be able to tell me if there's a laundry on the premises, and whether Jen is a figment of my imagination. I walk back to the office through the covered passageway and he's still there, feverishly thumbing through a pile of class notes, furrowed brow, fresh mug of coffee in his hand.
Me: "Is there a laundry here?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "I need to wash some clothes."
Chris: "How many clothes?"
Me: "One load should do it."
Chris: "We have a washer and dryer. For towels and linens. I guess you could use them."
Me: "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."
Chris: "Be quick about it. I leave at 7. Next door to the office. Door should be unlocked"
That's what I call friendly service. Now that we're buds, I'll sneak in a stealth question, and try to establish my sanity.
Me: "Is there a girl who works here named Jen?"
Chris: "Why?"
Me: "No reason. I think I just met her."
Chris: "If you met Jen, you'd know it. Tall chick. Smokin' hot."
Me: "Sounds like the one. She told me to stop by the ale works for a pint."
Chris, with a wistful look: "That's Jen. She barely speaks to me."
Poor Chris. I guess Jen is out of his league, but at least I know she wasn't an apparition. I thank him again, fetch my dirty clothes, find the laundry, start the wash, and return to the room. It's early. I should be able to knock out the laundry chore, shower, work in a short nap, and be revitalized in time for a late supper. I shave and shower and go to retrieve my clothes. Returning to the room I see a group of people standing beside the truck, but they're on the opposite side and I can't tell who they are or what they're doing there. I dump my armload of clean clothes on the near bed and go out to The Turtle. It's Jen, leaning on the driver's side door,along with two other girls and a guy, chatting, hanging out.
Me: "What's goin' on?"
Jen: "Oh, Hello again. Is this the old Land Cruiser you're taking to Hawaii?"
Me: "Yep, that's the one."
Jen: "I saw your Texas plate. You didn't tell me it was a 40."
Me: "Most people don't know a 40 from a Kubota tractor."
Jen: "I do. There's several around Bozeman. But I haven't seen one like this."
Me: "Yeah, she's a beast. Built up a bit, for off roading."
Jen: "Take us for a ride?"
Me: "I don't think so. I really need a nap."
Jen: "Maybe later then. Sleep well. Don't forget to drop by the pub."
Me: "Sure"
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something.
--Annie Lennox
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something.
--Annie Lennox
I collapse onto the bed furthest from the door, the bed where Jen was lazing barely an hour earlier. The pillow still has the imprint of her head, and on either side are small impressions left by her braids. It smells good, not perfumy, kind of a fresh vanilla scent. Very nice, intoxicating. I take it in, several deep breaths, and think of Hamlet's famous line, "To sleep, perchance to dream." Within minutes I'm dreamin'.
An hour later, from within my dream or somewhere outside it, I think I hear laughing. I sit up and get my bearings, walk over and peek out the window. The Blue Sky parking lot is full of cars but I don't see any people. I do hear laughter, and remember the jacuzzi. Must be the late night action Chris mentioned earlier, but I'm too hungry to be interested. Food and a cold one sound better. It's 8:30; I check the weather channel and see that it's 35 degrees, headed for a low of 23. I'm hoofin' it so I dress for the weather, the way my mother taught me. From the heap of freshly washed clothes I pull out Ray's flannel shirt and a pair of trou, cap it off with the boots and Patagonia jacket I scored in Wyoming, and begin strolling down Main Street.
In the three short blocks between my motel and the pub, I see three 40's parked on the street, all stockers, all pocked with rust in the usual places, working trucks, one per block. Jen was right, old Cruisers are common in these parts. I walk on and in the distance it's easy to pick out Montana Ale Works. It's the largest structure in sight, an old railroad freight terminal, built in the 1930's and recently converted to a pub. Immediately inside the door is a small waiting area with chairs and a sofa, most of which are occupied. There's a smiling girl standing at a waist high counter, hostess with a list. From the entry I can see into the bar area--booths, a few tables, and a big circular bar. The place looks packed. Judging from the crowd, this must be a Bozeman hot spot. I check in with the list keeper, and learn there's an hour wait for a table, 45 minutes if I don't mind sitting at the bar. I don't see Jen and I don't have an alternate dining plan so I give my name and take a seat on the sofa. There's a stack of menus on the counter top, and I'm a beer nerd, so I pick up a beer list and start reading. According to the list, they feature "the most extensive draft selection of regionally brewed craft beers in the Northern Rockies," almost 40 craft brews on tap. The only beer I've heard of is Moose Drool but several others sound worthy so I pull out a scrap of paper and begin jotting down possibilities for future tasting. I've been sitting there for less than five minutes when a well dressed lady in a dark business suit appears in the waiting area, looks around, walks over and takes a seat beside me. I keep reading and taking notes.
Her: "Excuse me, are you Lee? The writer?"
Me: "I beg your pardon?"
Her: "The travel writer. We were told you might be coming by this evening."
Now if I wasn't dreaming, the following conversation occurred about three hours ago:
Jen: "So you are a writer."
Me: "Well, yeah, but I prefer to keep a low profile."
Jen: "I won't blow your cover. I promise."
Great. Thanks for not blowing my cover, Jen. I ponder the situation for a minute and think, what the heck. I'm sitting here writing, and being a writer doesn't require any special credentials. So I'm not really fudging the truth, not by much. I don't see any downside to playing this out. I'll roll with it and see where it goes.
Me: "Why yes, yes I am. A writer that is. Freelance."
Her, extending her hand: "We're so pleased to have you. I'm Jane, the manager. Are you waiting for a table?"
Me: "Yes, I'm on the list."
Her: "Well there's no need for you to wait. We'll seat you in the Grill Room. It's quiet, and private."
Me: "There's no need for that. I really don't mind waiting."
Her: "Oh but I insist. The Grill Room is lovely, and tonight we have tables available."
Me: "I'm curious. How did you recognize me?"
Her: "Oh, Jen tipped us off. She said to look for the gentleman who resembled that Seinfeld character."
Me: "What Seinfeld character?"
Her: "Peterman."
What the hell? Peterman? Elaine's boss, the buffoon. I guess it could have been worse. She could have said I resembled Kramer, or George Costanza. I can live with Peterman, as long as we're only talking appearance. We stand, and Jane leads me into the Grill Room. She wasn't lying. It's elegant, and intimate. Antique brick, massive exposed beams, western paintings decorating the walls, dim lighting, and it's completely separate from the bar area, quiet and isolated. I count six rectangular tables, and a single round table just inside the service door, all dressed with linen tablecloths and formal place settings, Only two tables are occupied. Jane seats me at the round table and says "Enjoy your meal, and if you decide to mention us in your article, we hope it's positive." I assure her that I'll do just that, while thinking "What article? What did Jen tell these people?"
I sit there for a short time thinking this has to be another of those bizarre Twilight Zone situations that I seem to bumble into with regularity, when Jen appears from behind the service door. She looks different and it takes a moment before I recognize her. The braids are gone, hair is down, and she's wearing a starched white shirt and jeans, and her LL Bean boots. She's carrying a pint of something dark and without asking, sets it on the table in front of me. A peace offering?
Me: "Peterman? Gimme a break. And what was that bit about not blowing my cover?"
Jen: "This is Hippy Highway Oatmeal Stout, from Big Sky. It's new. I think you'll like it."
Me: "Don't change the subject. Come on...Peterman? Seriously?"
Jen: "Just helping you out. He was the only gray haired person I could think of, and Jane remembered him."
Me: "Thanks a lot."
Jen: "Hey, it got you a table. Nobody sits in here but celebrities and rich locals. Robert Redford ate in here. At this very table."
Me: "I'm honored."
Jen: "Try the stout. I ordered something for you, something that's great with stout."
Me: "I can't wait. What is it?"
Jen: "You should trust me by now. Our house specialty--Bison Potstickers, with Mango sauce. You'll love 'em."
Jen leaves and another girl comes with a platter of potstickers. I recognize her as one of the two standing by The Turtle at the Blue Sky. If I heard her name earlier, I don't remember it, but her name tag says Anne, so I act like I do remember and mumble "Thanks Anne." I chomp down on a juicy potsticker. It's superb, and I must have been starving because they all disappear in short order, washed down by the fine Hippy Highway stout. On cue Jen returns, with a Moose Drool.
Jen: "Thought you might be running dry."
Me: "No, I'm good. The potstickers were great."
Jen: "Told ya. What's next?
Me: "Meaning what?"
Jen: "Meaning pints for the famous writer are on the house tonight, so what's your pleasure?"
Me: "I never claimed to be famous, but since you asked...I'm partial to West Coast IPA's"
Jen: "Got it. You decide on food. I'll decide on refreshments."
I study the menu and everything looks good, but I think this would be a good time to eat healthy. Anne comes back and I order a spinach salad with Applewood bacon and roasted pecans. Today's chef's special is grilled mountain trout, which they tell me is a fresh local catch, so I go for the special. While I'm frantically scribbling all this down for my upcoming article, Jen brings a pint of Bent Nail IPA, She says it's a good session IPA, light and citrusy; she says it goes with the salad. My trout arrives on a bed of wild rice, along with steamed asparagus, and there's fresh baked bread. My glass seems to be empty, and Jen brings a pint of Hop Zone IPA, a local brew from Bozeman Brewing. It's a bigger beer, and by this time I'm feelin' pretty good. I take my time eating, and it seems I'm never alone for more than a few minutes. Jane comes by and asks if I'm enjoying the meal, Jen pops in periodically, and Anne is attentive, occasionally sitting at my table. Nobody seems rushed around here. I finally clean my plate and for the first time I notice there's no one left in the Grill Room but me. I don't even remember anyone leaving.
I look at my watch and if I'm reading it correctly, it's just past midnight. I've been here almost three hours. Jen shows up with two more pints--Hop Juice Imperial IPA, one for each of us. I'll say this; the girl knows her beers. This one is magnificent, and huge. I shift positions in the chair and notice that I have almost no feeling in my legs. I begin thinking about whether I'm capable of walking back to my motel. This could present a problem. Maybe they'll let me sleep on the floor, or on the sofa in the foyer, being that I'm such a big celebrity. In any case, I'm gonna need some help. Jen explains that she's taken off an hour early, and now she's here to hang out. Anne, and the third girl from the Blue Sky parking lot join us in the Grill Room. Ahh..so they all work here. Their shifts have ended and we have the room to ourselves, the four of us sitting around the table, shootin' the breeze. Jen seems mature but the other two...I feel like I'm being interviewed by a bunch of pubescent reporters for a junior high newspaper.
Them: "How long have you been writing?"
Me: "Since I was 5"
Them: "Pardon?"
Me: "Never mind."
Them: "Did you study writing?"
Me: "No, I just wing it."
Them: "What did you do before?"
Me: "I flew. Navy."
Them: "Wow, you mean jets, like Top Gun?"
Me: "No, just old slow helicopters."
Them: "Where?"
Me: "All over. Texas, California, Viet Nam."
Them: "In the war? You ever get shot?"
Me: "Yes."
Them: "Did it hurt?"
What a stupidass question. Of course it hurt. How do you think it would it feel to have a sharp stick jammed in your eye? But they are young, and I guess I asked for it. I'll be gentle.
Me: "Damn right it did. It still hurts."
Them: "Wow. Where?"
Me: "Let's change the subject."
Them: "Sorry, we didn't mean to get personal. So what do you write about?"
Me: "Non-fiction. Things I've done, places I've been. people I've met. That sort of thing."
Them: "So you're an adventure writer, like that guy who wrote Into the Wild?"
Me: "You mean Jon Krakauer. Excellent book, but it wasn't about his own experiences."
Them: "Tell us what you're writing now."
Uh oh...Here we go. Before I know it we're talking about my upcoming book. Yeah, I know; first it was only an article, but that was a couple of hours ago and thanks to the IPA, now it's a book. And why not? Aim high, right?
Jen may or may not have brought out more pints of Hop Juice. I'm not sure, because I can't read my own notes from later in the evening, but she probably did. At one point, in a sudden moment of clarity, I remember that I haven't paid. I tell Anne that I need to close my dinner tab. She says that I must have already paid and I tell her that I'm sure I didn't. I don't even recall seeing a bill. She says "Oh, then I must have accidentally lost your bill," and they all laugh. I don't get the joke, and finally Jen says that Jane instructed them to comp my meal. It's clearly a bribe and I'm deeply offended. They think I can be bribed? Um, well, it's a harsh truth, but evidently I can. I'd bet even Robert Redford wasn't treated this well. I decide on the spot that the Blue Sky Motel isn't the friendliest place in town. It's Montana Ale Works. I'll have to put that in my article. And my book. Yes I will.
To be continued....
Last edited:
- Thread starter
- #711
Montana Ale Works
Forgot the obligatory pics...
Pub shots, and Jen's doppleganger.
Forgot the obligatory pics...
Pub shots, and Jen's doppleganger.
awesome......probably my favorite chapter so far....then again I think i've said that before.
Go boy. I can taste those pot stickers....
What a great way to enjoy my lunch hour thanks Lee
"Since I was 5"
LOL
Great stuff.
LOL
Great stuff.
Texican
s-Moderator
DAMN for a brief few minutes I was in Montana, now stuck back at work. ...... but I'm luckily still in Texas by God!
sterling
SILVER Star
Great read as usual sir.
Had me grinning from ear to ear.Thanks!
Had me grinning from ear to ear.Thanks!
Peterman!!! 
That's funny!!! Good Chapter Lee, great adventure.
That's funny!!! Good Chapter Lee, great adventure.
yooper
SILVER Star
Peterman
I don't usually spend alot of time at home on the internet. Tonight I had to listen to a cd, unemployment claim against me. So I take my laptop into the garage. On my stereo I fire up some Joe Bonamassa for back ground noise. Listen to the cd roll my eye's and decide to check out rust bucket. Damn a new chapter excellent. HHHeeeyyy, I have a milk stout even better. Pour myself a milk and proceed to read. Than I have to reread so another milk. Excellent chapter, now I must retire to the house I have been reminded that it is our 26th anniversary. Keep them coming I check several times a day for a new chapter. Glad I missed your chapter earlier toady.
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