The alarm sounded at 3:30 and by 4 a.m. I was on the road. Today I was going to meet up with U.S. Route 2 and travel across Montana. This trip had started in Milwaukee, WI four days ago. My destination is Seattle, where I will meet my wife, who is flying there from Milwaukee. I have five days until I meet the plane, which is plenty of time to explore the high plains of Montana along historic U.S. Route 2.
Traveling with me is my 32-foot Airstream trailer which we have named Chummy, and my Garmin GPS which is named Dora. I am driving a new Ford E350 van which still does not have a name but it tows like a mule and up to now has exceeded all of my expectations.
Somewhere deep inside Dora’s diodes she is programmed to take me to the nearest interstate highway and this has been a problem. My intention is to avoid the interstates all the way to Seattle and take U.S. Highway 2. Route 2 is not as famous as Route 66 or Route 50 which travel through the states further south but in the north Route 2 is the king. The road does not make a continuous run across the country but can be found in Maine and Vermont and we have traveled parts of the route in those states.
We have also traveled the length of Route 2 through Michigan and Wisconsin and parts of Minnesota. I started on Route 2 out of Grand Forks, ND but detoured north to visit the International Peace Garden from where I am starting today. To my great surprise Dora has routed me not toward an interstate but on a state road north of route 2. I decided to let her have her way and try this road for a few miles.
The road was smooth and straight and at four in the morning you don’t see much scenery plus I have never been a purist who has to be on the route I have chosen. I drove on this state road for almost three hours when I looked down at my gas gauge and realized I had under a quarter of a tank of fuel left.
Those of you who drive today’s gas sippers would not understand my panic. My wonderful, but yet unnamed van, gets about 8 MPG in good conditions. I was now driving through some serious rolling hills in a very deserted area. I stopped in the middle of the road, since I had yet to encounter any vehicles since starting off this morning and tried Dora’s "find the nearest gas station" feature. I am certain I heard laughter coming from her circuitry. The display read, "none." I turned to my map.
There was a town, Williston, ND south of me and some county roads leading toward it. I turned off this nice straight, smooth highway and started driving toward Williston on a series of poorly marked but generously potted back roads. My fuel gauge kept going down. I passed no cars, no houses, no barns, no cows, just two oil wells pumping oil. My low fuel light came on with the ringing of a bell.
Now I kept one eye on the road and the same eye on the fuel gauge. The road had no shoulder to pull off onto if I did completely run out of fuel and the hills have become taller. I turn off the radio, the vent blower, and crouch in the seat to make myself more aerodynamic while driving. The fuel gauge drops lower, below the empty line.
I see a shadow of a water tower in the distance, could it be? Yes it is. Williston. But, this road came in on the back side of town and no gas stations are available here. I drive across town gliding through stop signs and easing around turns, then I see it -Sinclair. All fifty-five feet of me coasts up to the first pump and lets out a sigh. The unnamed van took 34.5 gallons in its 35-gallon tank.
The clock in the station said 10:00 and my watch said 11:00. Somewhere during fuel panic I crossed a time zone and gained an hour. I decided right then that I would spend that extra hour in church. Searching the sky I saw a steeple and drove toward it. I was greeted at the First (and only)Episcopal Church and had a wonderful worship time with the folks there.
After the service Dora took me to Route 2 and we were headed toward Montana. Approximately fifty feet beyond the welcome to Montana sign there was another sign which read "Your Tax Dollars at Work," then the pavement ended. The road was reduced to a rutted, weaving, single lane of gravel. And to think my taxes tore up the road. The next sign read: "Uneven Pavement Next 20 Miles." All the way to Cuberston was single lane ruts. Dora’s route would have taken me around this mess. I will never doubt her wisdom.
The road did not improve much after the pavement was put back on. Driving in Montana was a real challenge for the first hundred or so miles. What I missed as I tried my hardest to keep all fifty-five feet of me going in a straight line was the area where Route 2 actually borders the Missouri River. Here is where Lewis and Clark started to talk about splitting up into two parties, which they did a few miles ahead at Traveler’s Rest. I missed seeing Fort Peck lake which is the largest body of water in Montana and proves the theory that if it flows in the west someone will dam it.
What I did not miss was the sensation of climbing. When you are towing 10,000 plus pounds, you are very aware of climbing. This region is known by several names, the Hi-Line, the High Prairies, Open Sky Land, The High Plains, and Big Sky, and all are appropriate. The High Plains is an area with an elevation of about two thousand to three thousand feet sandwiched between The Missouri River to the south and the Canadian border to the north.
You can see mountain ranges north and south for the most part as you drive across this great plain. It is very flat. It is amazingly flat. It is "seeing the horizon and curvature of the earth miles away" flat. This is beautiful country with some of the most productive farm land in the country and startling scenery.
The Montana High Line is scarcely populated and I decided to never allow my gas gauge to creep near the quarter mark again. There are towns along this route but most of them are no more than a gas station and with this being Sunday they were not open. Fortunately, with pay at the pump and self serve I was always able to get fuel. Chummy’s bathroom and kitchen took care of my other needs. The only towns I drove through with actual people walking about were Glasgow, Malta, and Havre and this along five hundred miles or so of driving. If you are seeking a route with good shopping opportunities, this is not for you.
This is dinosaur country. Numerous fossils have been found of prehistoric animals and the locals are trying to exploit the fact. Billboards announce roadside museums which are said to be filled with wonders from the Jurassic and beyond periods. One rancher cleverly structured dinosaur looking objects out of hay bales and rusted iron. Too bad I could not stop in time for a picture. A few miles south of Route 2 on state road 117 just past Nashua is the Ft. Peck Paleontology Field Station operated by the University of Montana.
It is not hard to imagine dinosaurs roaming these lands and one would not have surprised me if it showed up. Route 2 is promising something else a step back in time, maybe the 1950’s before the rush of interstates when we used to take family vacations in the old Ford wagon. Route 2 follows the Missouri river to the south and the Canadian border to the north. The BNSF railroad is always directly next to the road. There are no McDonald’s, Denny’s or other franchises.
This is lonely country. The last gas stop had just the gas pumps working and a pop machine buzzing. No one passed by walking or driving while I was stopped there. There are also no radio stations. So to pass the time I put in a book on tape, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter. Hester, Pearl, and the good Rev. Demmesdale will be my new companions.
About half way across Montana I spotted the mountains for the first time. They were not in front of me as I expected but directly to the south. I got out my map and guide book at the next stop and found them to be the Bear Claw Range which runs for about thirty miles, twenty or so miles south of the highway.
This middle section of the high plains is less flat and boasts some rolling hills and odd rock out formations. When I approached the town of Havre there were actually large hills or very tiny mountains. Route 2 does not bypass this sprawling city of almost nine thousand people but runs right through the center of town. My intention was to find a place to camp for the night so I began to search.
Havre has a lovely downtown with about six or seven casinos. A grouping of movie set cowboy bars and a few other businesses. On the west end there was actually a shopping center with a K-Mart and Walmart plus the one store which makes any town legitimate, a Radio Shack.
The Walmart parking lot was filled with campers, motor homes, trailers and I think I even saw a tent or two. That was not a good sign. I have to be really desperate before I’ll spend the night in a Walmart parking lot; however, by the number of other campers here it may be the only show in town.
I tried Dora’s POI feature to find a campground and she told me she had no POI’s for this area. I asked at the gas station if they were aware of a campground and they sent me down to the county park. Once at the county park I did not locate any fellow campers or a place which would appear to be a campground.
I left Havre, thinking there would be camping down the road or at best in the next town. As I drove past what was probably the last place to safely turn around, I began thinking how nice that Walmart parking lot would have been for the night. When I saw that the next town was 70 miles away I really thought that Walmart would have been fine.
The next seventy miles were spent with Hester being shamed and the good Reverend hiding behind his collar. The people of Salem were properly proper and the governor still did not know his sister was a witch. Reading the Scarlet Letter I could understand why some people would risk their lives to journey out to the west and start a new life.
These seventy miles produced no campgrounds or any commerce beyond a few shuttered gas stations. There were clusters of homes and a name assigned to the cluster but no more. I was treated to a view of the Sweet Grass Hills, but I would call them mountains. These were three mountains north of the road all of about the same height with rolling hills between. They appeared to be just a few miles north however, I later found out they were more than 50 miles away along the Canadian border.
Eventually I reached Chester. Chester was like the other small towns along the way. There were a few storefronts with one or two of them being occupied, a café, a grain mill, and a gas station. However, there was something else, a sign which promised camping if I turned left at the next street.
I did not miss that turn and soon found myself at the Chester city park. There was a motor home parked on the gravel drive and I pulled ahead and put Chummy at the other end. Here was my night’s campground. The park offered bathrooms, water, weber grills, picnic tables and a lovely garden. This would be a great night.
The garden still had peonies in bloom and they were gorgeous. There were several colors of Iris and day lilies also booming. Another part of the garden had pink and red roses in bloom. How they ever managed to get the early spring and summer flowers to bloom together is a mystery?
After dinner I took a walk around the town. Those people who were out returned my greeting and were very welcoming. This had been a great day and I was very happy. Chester and their little city park was the perfect ending to my drive across the Montana high prairie.
