Bozeman--Part One
Who is this woman in my bed?
Who is this woman in my bed?
I can't savvy her name and she probly can't do the same
I said who is this woman in my bed?
---South Austin Jug Band
Pulling away from Montana Brewing, it's 1500 Mountain Time, a generous four hours to sunset. According to my trusty road atlas, Bozeman is 144 miles due west, two and a half hours of leisurely 55 mph motoring. With The Turtle's tank full of 85 octane high altitude blend, and my tank full of sweet potato fries and Custer's Last Stout, there's no reason we can't make it to our motel without stopping; we should be settled in well before dark. There's only one direct route to Bozeman, Interstate 90 West, which winds its way through southern Montana skirting the Custer and Gallatin National Forests. We ease our way out of town and once we hit the highway, the old 2F clatters along sounding like my Grandmother's freshly oiled Singer sewing machine, pushing and pulling us over rolling hills and through gentle curves without breaking a sweat. It's an uneventful drive, not much company on the road, and just enough interesting scenery to keep me alert. Leaving Billings we have a clear view of Sacrifice Cliff looming stark and beautiful above the city. According to Crow legend, in the early 1800's two young boys returned home from a hunting trip and found their entire village infected by Smallpox, their families sick and dying. Grief overcame the boys, and they decided to commit suicide by riding a white horse over the cliff. Like most legends, details of the story vary widely depending on the source, but true or not, the name stuck and it's now a well known tourist attraction, the last thing I see as we leave Billings behind. Proceeding westward toward Bozeman the topography begins to gradually change from prairie lands to hills, then finally to mountainous terrain. By the time we reach Livingston, surrounded by stunning views of the Crazy Mountains to the north and the Absoraka Range to the south, we're well into the foothills of the Rockies. Bozeman is thirty miles ahead.
Coming up with a rigid travel plan for this trip seemed counter intuitive and a waste of time, so I didn't bother making one. My thinking? Since this is a solo mission, there's no reason that I shouldn't have complete flexibility. From the outset I've considered delivering The Turtle to be an adventure in progress, and I know from past experience that over planning can quickly turn a good time on its head. Maybe I'm overcompensating, but I'm determined to keep this trip unpredictable and fun, by staying loose. Obviously I know where I need to end up, but most everything that happens between Austin and Seattle will be the result of seat of the pants flying. My planning consisted of collecting several maps and tour guides from AAA and outlining an approximate route. That was it. No advance reservations and no fixed ideas on what to do and see or where to eat. Thus far the flexibility thing seems to be working pretty well, and thanks to The Turtle, we haven't had a dull day. Today has been particularly stellar, beginning with my breakfast humiliation at the Silver Spur diner and continuing with Little Bighorn and a fine lunch at Montana Brewing. The day is young, and I expect it to only get better. Early this morning, prior to leaving Sheridan, I borrowed the Motel 6 computer and spent a few minutes investigating Bozeman accommodations. It didn't take long to find a winner.
"A Mom and Pop motel Built in the 1940's, The Blue Sky Motel is one of Bozeman's oldest. A single level, ranch style motel with only 30 units, The Blue Sky has charming homelike features. Located next to the ever popular Lindley Park, Main Street and the mountain trail system are a very short walk away from your front door. Feeling like a Montana style meal? Within walking distance of your room is Montana Ale Works where you will always find an incredible meal, live entertainment, and fine local brews...We really are the funnest, friendliest staff in town."
A charming and homelike 1940's inn, with the "funnest" staff i
The reservations guy says they're located near downtown on East Main Street, a mile off IH-90; it'll be a sky blue building on the left. He advised me to go slow and look for their sign, because "We're little. Blink twice and you may miss us." I take the Bozeman and West Yellowstone exit and have no trouble spotting the Blue Sky sign. It's a distinctive art-deco tower standing in a grassy courtyard near the street, easily forty feet tall, huge block letters outlined in neon and a red-orange VACANCY light flashing. According to the sign they even have microwaves and fridges, and the Disney Channel. It sounds homey, and we're here none too soon. After spending most of the day in the saddle I have a big honkin' cramp in my accelerator foot, no feeling in my butt cheeks, and I'm covered with Little Bighorn dust and a layer of road grime. Vegetating in the room and finding a cool Lindsay Lohan flick on the Disney channel is sounding pretty appealing.
Everything I know about Bozeman came from a little tourist flyer that I found at the Billings brewpub, and it all sounds good. It's a college town, home to Montana State U, selected as an All-American City in 2001, and Outside Magazine says it's the best all around city in the west for skiing and outdoor recreational activities. The surroundings are scenic and downtown is quaint, which has attracted the attention of Hollywood producers. The River Runs Through It and parts of The Horse Whisperer were filmed here, and the Bridger Bowl Ski Area and Big Sky Ski Resort are minutes from town. Just north are the Bridger Mountains, immediately south is the Tobacco Root mountain range, and Yellowstone National Park is ninety miles further south. In some ways it sounds like a mini-Austin, with mountains and snow. If I hadn't been stuck in Pueblo for three days, this is a place I'd definitely have wanted to spend some time.
In the office there's a haggard looking young man swilling coffee and pouring over a huge textbook--Romer's Advanced Macroeconomics. I wait, finally catch his attention, and learn that he's the same person who took my reservation a few hours ago. He introduces himself; he's Chris, and he apologizes for being distracted. He has a good excuse. He's a Montana State senior cramming for final exams and hasn't slept for 72 hours. Chris has dark bags under his eyes and looks like he could keel over without warning at any time, not anything I care to witness, so I hurry things along. I fill out a registration card and he gives me a key, but doesn't ask for a credit card. I assume he forgot, so I ask if he wants to swipe my card. He says no, he'll take care of that little detail when I check out. Better to wait, in case I order something from room service. Really? I ask if there's a menu in the room, and he bursts out laughing. "Dude, you don't really think we have room service here? We don't even have a vending machine. But we do have a jacuzzi. Usually something happening there. You should check it out. Later is better." Hmmm. I wonder what that means. I'm not a jacuzzi kind of guy, but it might do wonders for my cramping foot and aching arse. I remind myself to consider the possibility later, if nothing else is happening.
Blue Sky's building is a single "U" shaped structure with an enclosed all weather porch wrapping the front, allowing guests to unload gear without being exposed to the elements. It's a nice feature, probably built for the ski crowd, and there's parking directly in front of individual rooms. When I booked, I was told they were almost full for the night, but this afternoon I only see a dozen cars in the lot. I assume they're expecting a number of late arrivals, which is good. I'll be able to nail down a parking spot near the room. You can't be too careful, and I like to be close enough to keep my eye on The Turtle. Chris said my room is roughly in the middle of the "U", a section that fortunately, doesn't look crowded. I pull into a spot directly in front of the center porch door, pull out my bag, and go looking for room No. 16.
The door is covered with several layers of peeling paint, old wood, warped and weathered, probably the original 1940's door, and it's rickety, with squeaky hinges. If I was worried about security this would be a problem, but I'm not and the old door just seems like a mark of character. I like old stuff--old trucks, old highways, old diners, and old motels, and this place fits the bill. So far, so good. There's no deadbolt. The only lock I see is the little passage lock in the doorknob so I insert the key and nudge the door open with my shoulder, duffel in my hands, and step inside. The room is dark and it takes a few moments for my eyes to adapt. As soon as they adjust, it takes only seconds to see that things don't look right. For starters, I rented a single room, and this is a very large room with two queen beds, definitely not a single. Second, the television is on, and there's a woman in one of the beds. A grown woman, and a very nice looking one at that. She's fully clothed, lying on top of the spread, legs crossed, head propped up on pillows, hands folded behind her head, and she's watching TV.
I begin backing out the door, hoping I can get out before she starts yelling for the police, and I manage to mumble something along the order of "D'oh, Sorry, I'm in the wrong room. Sorry...Sorry." That dumbass Chris must have given me the wrong key. Actually he gave me the right key, to the wrong room, the idiot.
But the woman doesn't scream. She half turns her head toward me and says "Oh, Hi there. What's your room number?"
Me: "16"
Her: "This is 16. You got the right room."
Me: "I'm not following you?"
Her: "Didn't he tell you? When you checked in?"
Me: "Tell me what?
Her: "No single rooms available, so we're sharing a double. I'm Jen by the way."
Me: "But, but...."
To be continued....
