Day 36 Back in the USA

 Aug 5 Day 36

We both had mixed emotions yesterday morning as we crossed the border into Montana. It felt good to be back in the States, and the fact it meant we were only a few days from home. But it also meant saying goodbye to the mountains and glacial streams, and to all the fine people we met across Canada and in Alaska.  We thought about swinging straight south from Kananaskis and spend a day just driving through Glacier National Park. But we need to get home, and to do Glacier now on a pass-through, after Alaska, Banff and Jasper, might diminish its impact, and lessen our experience due to supersaturation. We'll save Glacier for another day, when we can do it right, and enjoy it like we should. So we headed southeast out of Lethbridge to the border north of Sterling. Going through border checkpoints with a gun, a freezer full of fish, and a contraband basil plant is always a bit stressful. The American border guard was pretty stern, as if he was compensating for a small "pistol," but once he cleared us, Peach decided to ask him a question. I wanted to hit the gas before the guard changed his mind, and also because there was a line of cars waiting behind us. But she was determined, and when that's the case, there ain't no stopping her. Besides, I couldn't reach the gas pedal; Peach was driving.  She asked him what those huge fields of golden crops were we had seen most of the way from Lethbridge. It was not as tall as wheat, and was being baled in large cylinders as far as the eye could see.  He looked at her and asked, "Why do you want to know?" Oh great, I'm thinking, the stuffs probably used in the production of meth or something and the guards about to pull his pistol (the other one) and call for a head to toe search of our truck, our camper, and our body cavities! Instead, when Peach answered that  we were just curious, the guard says, "I don't know, but I can find out for you." So he nicely goes into the main building where the other guards and computers are, and makes a phone call. Meanwhile the drivers behind us are turning off their engines to save gas as they wonder what the idiots from Wisconsin have done to warrant such scrutiny. The guard comes back and tells us the crop is hay. Hay! We didn't recognize hay? Maybe it's a shorter crop in Canada, but you'd think we'd know what hay looks like. But then again, the guard didn't know, and he lives there! Peach next asked where he was from (West Virginia.) I could tell she was about to ask more questions, like, "Are you married?" or "How many kids do you have?" or "How'd you end up in a place like this?" Before she did, I convinced her to drive on, much to the relief of the increasing number of folks behind us.

Highway 2 runs from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon; a distance of 4000 miles. We took it 400 miles across Montana yesterday to Glasgow. There are frequent historical markers along the way. Each site had a pleasant looking wooden sign, embossed with a story from that location. They tell us of Native Peoples, battles, massacres, homesteaders, oil discovery and outlaws. We didn't want to spend the time stopping, so we performed drive-by history. We'd catch the title of the story as we drove by at 60 miles an hour, write it down, and Google it when we got coverage. That's how I learned about Hwy 2. 

We stopped in Glasgow because that's where our son, Tony spent summer working as an underground lineman, installing fiber optic cable on the Sioux Reservation. We had intended to just take a picture of us at the city signpost, gas up, see the motel he stayed at, and continue on. The woman at the gas station told Peach of a microbrewery in town that we might be able to boondock at. We found the Busted Knuckle to be welcoming, and tasty. It was built into an old auto mechanic garage, with a gravel parking lot big enough for us to park for the night in. After three beer flights, and a pizza from across the street, we crawled into our camper and went to bed. One other feature of Hwy 2 is it parallels the main cross-country BNSF railway line. If you've ever driven across the Great Plains, you've seen those huge trains pulling hundreds of cars, using four or more  locomotives, some in front and some in back. Well, that train line ran right behind the brewery, 25 feet from our camper. The trains run all night, rumbling, banging, and squealing. If that wasn't enough, when they come to the road intersection near the brewery, they blow their air horns, not once, but three times. We had plastic plates falling off our kitchen shelves! We found a great place to park the camper to taste some beer and have some pizza. But we found a lousy place to sleep!

An example of a historical sign along Hwy 2. This is the one about Hwy 2.

At Glasgow

Our camping spot at the brewery. (The camper is visible on the right side.)