My Migration Day 2: Dear Missoula

      Woke up to a gray, snow covered world, and it was still falling straight down when I made it to my car. Poor Judy Blue Eyes looked like a giant snow cube. Not the best omen for another day on the road. But then again, I had snow boots, ice scrapers (more than one is the only way to go), plenty of warm clothes, and some hot tea, so I wasn't unprepared. My short frame cleared off my RaV4's not so short frame fairly successfully and off we went.
       Getting back on to I90 was a harrowing experience. The roads were covered in brown, thick slush waiting to pull unsuspecting cars off the road, like the car right behind me. At first glance I thought they were making a very illegal U-turn until they nosedived into the ditch. I debated more than acceptable before I called 911, and after a few minutes of providing information I hung up, left with hope that they were okay, while I kept driving into the stormy western horizon. Originally, Helena, MT was on my detour list, but with this snow I didn't want to risk leaving the interstate, so I drove right on by the exit with a pang of regret, but wearing a cloak of sensibility.
      Montana is gorgeous. Beautiful, expansive, diverse, and plenty of awe-inspiring vistas made up the stretch of interstate I kept to. There were behemoth mountains playing peek-a-boo behind not-unimpressive hills. Not once while I've been driving have I felt alone. I've felt small and I've felt empowered, but never lonely. There are sleeping giants, elegant herons, distracted, winding rivers to keep me company. So often, feeling small is regarded as a negative emotion, but my height is my strength and feeling little equates being humbled, at least in this circumstance. And, if you know me, you know I could use some humility. Another good place to be humbled is brand new driving environments. Cue Missoula!
      First of all, have you driven through there? And secondly, sorry about that rough transition, but I found it absolutely terrifying trying to find the college and then escape town when that venture nearly caused a few mishaps. Being from a small rural town and having never driven in a bike-friendly town, there was a lot of confusion. Are all the roundabout thingies really necessary? However, now that I've semi-formally lodged my complaints in a public forum, I must admit that Missoula is a gorgeous city. All of the trees and flowers were in bloom, the houses are quaint, and there looked like a lot to do, plus the mountains, river, and general beauty of the area were easy to love. All in all, I'd say Montana is a new favorite, but I've still got aways to go.
     

My Migration Day 1: Love and Fear

     So, for future reference, writing memos is extremely challenging while driving! Now that I've gotten you properly concerned, I'd like to inform you none of the notes were terribly exciting or blog worthy. Really, they include major snoozers like:
- A lot of pronghorn! A whole bunch, and yet the only large four-legged road kill I saw were deer. So, are pronghorn faster or smarter or just luckier?
- While in Montana I drove past these giant creatures laying in the fields. Looked like several bison were dead, just left to rot... Until one moved. I have never seen cattle that large or that many sheep hanging out with cows, bulls, and horses. Speaking of sheep...
- Driving along my merry way, focused on the road and out of the corner of my eye I could have sworn I saw a herd of sheep statues. The thing about having an open-mind is that sometimes your common sense filter breaks, would definitely use this as an example.
- I'm mildly surprised (and relieved!) I didn't get whiplash today while I was trying to take in every-single-thing along the road.
- Having cruise control on this car is wonderful. My knees hurt a lot less, I am a lot more focused driving, AND I've actually been going the speed limit.
- My car finally has a name: Judy Blue Eyes. She's named after my mom, sister, and I's road trip song (Suite: Judy Blue Eyes) because everything with a name needs a theme song.

That's it for my notebook notes, as for my non-recorded notes, here are few:

At the beginning of all of this, when I was barely starting to outline getting to Alaska, I was terrified. There was no way I could manage this on my own. What if something happens or I get bored? What if my depression hits or I get too lonely? At the very least, I'm prone to becoming extremely drowsy after only a few hours driving. For weeks the risks outweighed the benefits of going solo. Until it became obvious these were only excuses. There was an answer for every concern, comment, and complaint. Now that I'm on the road (a day in the books), I can't imagine doing this any other way. Meeting people along the way and at checkpoints is my ideal amount of socialization. No disagreements about music or random stops. Just a girl, her car, and the road. Perfection.

    
  Stopped at the Little Bighorn Battlefield today... Sites of murder, death, war, etc always carry a heavy weight. So many lives lost and reclaimed by the earth, for reasons that would have been resolved if humans could refrain from greed. The white and red memorial stones seemed to watch me as I tried to grasp what I had been taught in school (a rez education in this regards is much different than your average textbook) and how that compared to the pamphlets provided by the Park Service. But I'm no good at critical thinking in a historical frame, that was my dad's job. I could always rely on him to know everything about war history... Innumerable times along this visit I'd grab my phone, ready to call or try to remember a question or details, only to be overwhelmed with reality.
      I think I've been to the Battlefield with him, years ago. Although honestly, I'm not sure if I had visited that site with him before... If I had I wouldn't have paid any attention and if I hadn't, well maybe that's best, especially since it would be chalked up with the memories I no longer have access to. Often I wish I could hear his voice, but I never assumed I knew what he was going to say or do because he was unpredictable and I can't even imagine what he knew. Which leaves me with this empty place, waiting for him to come back. Despite the sadness, that's the closest I've felt to him since he passed away almost four months ago. 

My first leg of the trip ended in Bozeman, MT with a snowstorm, a hotel, and 400-ish miles fresh on the odometer.