Forsyth, Montana

We left Fargo this morning carrying Sarah’s hospitality and kindness in full coffee mugs, an ice pack for Charlie’s hot dogs (the fridge was off in Clyde over night), and a container of pistachios for an afternoon snack.  We had a lovely visit, and Sarah and I got out in the afternoon to see The Seagull, which we both enjoyed. Jim’s poor cat, Lola, spent our visit in a bedroom, and Charlie spent a lot of the visit sitting outside the bedroom door, pining to meet her.

The drive west from Fargo is pretty monotonous until Bismark where we cross the Missouri River.  And then the monotony resumes until Dickinson (where we camped on previous trips). West of Dickinson there are oil derricks, and in not too long the grasslands give way to beautiful badlands. With the topsoil worn away or blown away the hills are angular, their history exposed in colored layers. The earth is in shades from nearly whites to nearly blacks, through browns, greys, ochres, and iron rich oranges. The colored stiff hills and deep canyons run to the horizon, a beautiful sight.

Across the border into Montana at Glendive we first cross the Yellowstone as it makes its way northeast to empty into the Missouri. We follow it upstream for the rest of the day through grasslands and scattered badlands. In Montana, at least along I94, there is almost no corn.  There is hay, there are small herds of cattle, there’s a rare oil derrick, and not much else. In North Dakota and Montana more than half of the exits off 94 notify the traveler that there are no services. And at most of them, it’s hard to guess why there is even an exit. I know I’ve written about this before, but it makes me a little crazy, especially in the current political climate, to think that North Dakota and Montana, each with populations far smaller than San Jose, have four senators between them and six electors. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

We are in the tiny RV park of Wagon Wheel, just off 94 in Forsyth. We pulled up in front of the trailer that serves as an office.  Two old men sat in the shaded heat of the porch, and as I climbed the stairs, one of them called out, I think Mother’s inside.  She was.  She took my $30 (only cash), gave me the wifi password, pointed out the restrooms (which have showers) and assigned us to space #1 (of 10) which has nice shade. As usual, by the time I had walked Charlie, Jay had water, electric and sewer hooked up. Here in our tiny Casita, we have everything we need.  Except ice cream.