It was time to say goodbye to the area I love - northern Montana - and begin working south. I briefly dropped in to Big Sky BMW in Missoula and fondled a few things to make me feel better, then headed for Idaho on the trusty, dusty one…
It was a clear day and a bit on the cool side despite the stinging sunshine, but I decided to get ahead of the heat game and just wear a long sleeve nylon shirt for the ride south. Less than 20 minutes later I was on the shoulder zipping up in my jacket.
As I passed from town to town, I started looking for gas and passed a station with a big black ‘59 Cadillac at the pump, a long haired dude dressed in black with a black cowboy hat and sunglasses pumping gas. My speed had caused me to miss the entrance, and there was no way I’d pass a sight like that so I made a U-turn and pulled into the station to the vacant pump adjacent.
I peeled out of my gear and walked over to the big dude, who was digging in the trunk of the car. He had long hair, silver sunglasses, a black leather vest, complete with matching bulges betraying a couple of handguns concealed beneath it, black t-shirt, black jeans and an air of serious badass about him. Each hand was adorned with multiple skull rings and a mixture of silver and turquoise jewelry. The ‘59 caddy was in great shape and had been painted matte black, with half moon wheels.
He looked at me silently and I asked if he minded a picture of his car. He said that was fine, and we started talking cars. He’d found the ‘59 behind a neighbor’s barn, having driven past it daily for 30 years and never knowing it was there. He restored it up to a point, leaving it mostly original to use for a daily driver.
I shot a couple of pictures of him and the car and we talked a bit more before he said Hey, come by my office and I’ll give you a t-shirt. Its like a museum and you might get a kick out of it. I asked what he did and he said he was a bounty hunter and bail bondsman.
He made quite the scene cruising through town in the black caddy with me trailing close behind.
We pulled into his business and went inside. It was indeed like a museum, festooned with trophy mounts, flags, posters, guns and high tech toys. He told me to look around while he moved a few motorcycles and parked the caddy in the garage. I spotted the rebel flag, a Don’t Tread On Me flag, a U.S. flag, movie posters of Clint Eastwood and John Wayne and more than I can remember.
While he was out, one of his “clients” came in and proceeded to share with me his current situation and story while we waited for the guy to return. When he did, I was privy to the client’s situation and knew far more than I’d wanted to know...
Around the room and within arms reach of most anywhere, multiple loaded guns lay at hand. He picked up an older Mossberg pump shotgun by his desk and said I call this one Beulah. Beulah has saved my life two times and I love her dearly. In the corner was a leather ZZ Top “Mexicali Tour” vest and we started talking music. He said ZZ Top was coming to Missoula and Jeff Beck as well. At this point I realized I had finally met my evil twin, or he had met his.
He said Let me get you a t-shirt and then returned from the back room with two. The first, he said, was his regular and showed it to me, then he said I’m going to give you this one as well, and it’s rare. I only have a couple left but I want you to have it.
On the back it said Does Not Play Well With Others. He said There’s a special story about this shirt and proceeded to share. He said a man he knew only by sight, had suffered a stroke and was paralyzed on one side of his body. This man walked down the alley in front of his business every day, struggling along in difficulty, which the man did as therapy to try to rehabilitate himself. One day when the bounty hunter wasn’t there, three teenage boys accosted the stroke victim in the alley and began imitating his distorted face and voice, calling him Retard! and finally threatening him. The leader said they were going to make his face look the same on both sides and began trying to beat him. The man threw his back up against a telephone pole for support, then proceeded to knock two of the teens out cold with his one good arm, the third running away. When the bounty hunter heard the story, he had the t-shirt made up especially for the guy and they ended up becoming close friends.
The t-shirt and the story gave me chills, as a memory from an event 7 years before came flooding back to me. I shared with him that in 2007, I had taken my first motorcycle trip to Montana and just about 10 miles down the road from this place, I had pulled into a bar/restaurant to get something to eat. It was getting dusk and I went in looking for food. As I walked in the door, a man who appeared seriously drunk staggered past me and out the door.
While waiting by a pool table, I looked out the front window and saw the man lying on the concrete sidewalk. I went outside and helped get him off the concrete and onto a bench under the window awning. It was then I realized he wasn’t just drunk, but had had a stroke in the past and was unable to walk well or speak. I told him to sit there while I went back in and tried to find out if anyone knew him. When I turned around, the man had attempted to walk away and had fallen again. I ran back out and picked him up, a passerby staying with him this time. The bartender said he saw the man frequently and thought he lived a block or two away. I half carried him in the rain the direction the bartender had pointed. A block away I saw a duplex and got him over to it, helping him sit on the swing before knocking on the adjacent front door. A young guy came out wearing no shirt, tattoos and cut off jeans, surprised by my knock. Then he saw the man in the swing and I asked if he knew him and he said yes, that the man was his neighbor. He helped me get him inside his house and we dried him off with towels, setting him in a recliner and covering him with a blanket.
The young guy and I went outside and I asked him who took care of the man and who we needed to call. He said that he checked on him daily, as well as a visiting nurse and meals on wheels. He then told me the man had no family because when he had the stroke, his wife left him and his kids did as well. They left no numbers or anything and had completely abandoned him. The man couldn’t speak and could barely walk, going to the bar every day to drink - I can imagine to dull the pain. It was heart wrenching to hear, and I went back inside to check on him. I said a prayer over him and made sure he was covered up and warm enough. From there I walked back to the bar to find that food was no longer being served. The waitress apologized but thanked me for helping him. I found it so odd, to be given a t-shirt 7 years later, after hearing it was made for a man who'd had a stroke, just a few miles down the road from where I'd helped another man who'd had a stroke.
The bounty hunter shook my hand and grinned and time was slipping away, so I shot a few pics of him and got ready to leave. He told me to come back sometime and we’d ride together around the area.
I thanked him for the time spent and the t-shirt and headed south again through the Bitterroot Valley towards the corner of Idaho and Wyoming.
The narrow, tree lined canyons of northern Montana slowly slipped into lower, redder rock canyons as the terrain changed. It was still beautiful, a differing beauty as the road curved and twisted along.
I rounded a bend to see several bighorn sheep in the road - or maybe they were Rocky Mountain sheep - and I slowed to watch. Several wandered onto the roadway, and before long I noticed movement on the hillside next to me, looking up to see maybe 30 others eating less than 40 feet away.
I watched for a while then headed east and into Wyoming and the Big Hole Valley, passing the Big Hole Battlefield National Monument - the final battle of the Nez Perce Indians. This terrain was familiar from my trip to Montana years before, and I enjoyed seeing it again.
I enjoyed the immense valley and open spaces, the beauty in a much more subtle way. If Glacier was a symphony, it would be Wagnerian, and the subtle colors and shades of the Big Hole Valley would be a piece by Claude DeBussy.
The first town after Big Hole was Wisdom, a place I’d stopped previously for lunch and a tour of the old hardware store downtown. I was a little disappointed to see its bright colors now painted a respectable and drab tan, as well as being a bit more chic than when I’d been a few years earlier.
After Wisdom, I continued south for Jackson and planned to stop in at Bannack State Park again, the most excellent ghost town that had been abandoned as the state capitol, however having been through it before and pressed for time as the day slipped away, I passed it and continued south on the dirt road to bypass the town of Dillon.
It had become clear and sunny when I connected with Interstate 15 for Idaho Falls, however the temps were a bit cooler than expected as I blasted on south, my goal still a couple of hours away.
All in all, a good day.