Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
not being where I am until I'm somewhere else, and that's not how I want to ride. I'll
have to figure out something.
Just before Cut Bank there's a brief respite from the sameness as the road plunges into
a river gorge and clambers out again, so when you get there it feels as though you've as-
cended to a hilltop aerie. It was welcome even though I was beat and climbing to end the
day isn't what I ever wish for. I rode completely through town and took a motel room
on the far eastern end, just where Main Street heads off to rejoin U.S. 2 and spills the
refreshed traveler back out onto the endless pancake of prairie.
I ate an early dinner at a nearby steakhouse—my entrée's family probably lived
around here—and then took a brief walk past my motel to the highway entrance. The
sun was still an hour or so from going down, but the moon was already up, night chasing
day, and I had the humbling thought that time itself, passing so quickly, was making fun
of my progress. It was quiet and beautiful in a lonely way. I hadn't noticed while I was
riding, but standing still I did; the wind actually whistles out here.
