Greet the sun at dawn and make the most of this day. Yellowstone National Park is within driving distance and I end up there due to faulty directions. I want to make the most out of this momentary lapse in orientation, so I continue on until the first turning point. Seventy-four miles and I turn back past Cody on the way to Sheridan, Wyoming. I am speeding along passing by tunnels and lakes (TWO & THREE) and mountains (TWO). Set a course eastward through towns with populations smaller than most college lecture halls. In Greybull, a patrol car sits on the main drag. The officer rolls his window down as I enter town and waves at me, welcoming me to his home. This is the cordial demeanor that is missing back home: Good old fashioned camaraderie. Not some pedantic hierarchical bullshit where an authority figure is above embracing a stranger in a strange land.
This is Bighorn National Forest. A sensational drive that fills me with serenity. You climb to an elevation nearly two miles high. The clouds are drearily hovering and rain appears imminent. It holds off long enough to explore the Shell Falls (ONE & TWO & THREE) and taste the cool mountain air. Windows and sunroof opened to let in the infinite. When I reach the summit, a slow decent through steady rain commences. I slow down when I spy a mother elk with child drinking from a creek just off the road. A moment later, a large deer crosses the street narrowly escaping a passing car. When I am alone on a stretch of road, two baby deer are sitting in the middle of the street playing. I inch forward and crack my window. One stops and looks in my direction. I salute the infants, and off they run.
Sheridan is 20 miles away, but I turn west and head back to Montana. The Big Sky. The tagline for my childhood camp was, “Up Where the Sky Begins.” That’s not even remotely close to accurate. In Montana, the sky both begins and ends. It has beat the ground into submission and dominates the landscape totally. Step outside and feel dizzy underneath the blue canvas.
Little Bighorn Battleground is a great big tomb. In this wide open space you feel very small. It is surreal and frightening to think the ghosts of at least 263 members of the 7th Calvalry and numerous Sioux and Cheyenne (ONE & TWO) rest on these grounds. Last Stand Hill is where Custer and his men lay. With Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse leading their warriors to envelop Custer in a pincer move, Custer demanded his men shoot their own horses to build walls in front of them. Countless horse carcasses fill a mass grave. Take a hike down a lonesome trail that is spotted with graves (TWO) and you’ll find Deep Ravine, where the Natives first waited before attacking Custer and his men. Later, they chased stragglers back into the ravine, trapped them between its steep sides, and finished them. After the battle, the Indians mutilated every body they could find. Their folklore states that in this condition, the soul cannot ascend to heaven and must walk the earth for eternity.
Sheridan, Wyoming. I regaled a group of bikers on their way to Sturgis with my sad pop songs. For forty minutes I sat and strummed and hummed and sang. They seemed to enjoy my cover of Donaldson’s/Whiting’s “My Blue Heaven” the most.
Tomorrow will be incredible.
