Butte’s Low Budget Production of The Shining

& other notes from cross country travel

The hotel has white walls and long hallways and an employee who clearly hates his job, a shower with a “hot” and “cold” setting but no in between, and we didn’t mean to end up there, but I’m definitely getting ahead of myself.

North Dakota is flat until suddenly it’s not— grass & plains drop away and there below is red rock cut deep into the ground, laced canyons, bison & wild horses.

The wind was so bad a layer of dust accumulated in the bottom of our tent. It was cold at night with stars, and we woke up to smoke on the Little Missouri River.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park in western North Dakota is a unique Badlands ecosystem, and one of the last refuges for the American bison. We camped at the Cottonwood Campground in the park, right on the river (site 55). In the evening bison grazed just down the bank from us; by the morning they were up on the ridge.

I would rate this campsite an arbitrary 7/10– not a lot of tree cover, dusty, but excellent view and wildlife viewing, and decently spaced out from the other sites. Very beginner friendly. TRNPS is chilly at night in the shoulder season, but it was fairly empty in early May, which made for an extra pleasant experience. I’d like to come back again in the fall, or thru hike from the north unit to the south.

We did the scenic drive and a few of the quick hikes in the evening, made dinner, then went to bed early.

In the morning we broke camp and hit the road, bound for another campground in western Montana.

I remember when I was little, watching the hills turn to mountains and mountains give way to valleys outside the window, watching the shapes of the earth like a story. It’s sort of like that now. Outside, the badlands drop away and turn to plains. Then, the badlands rise again out of the green. We climb and climb, green and blue skies and I can imagine what it’d be like to ride horses on those rolling hills and deep gullys, how impressive it must gave been to watch hundreds of bison migrate just 200 some years ago.

We round a corner and there are the mountains— purple with white tops. We’re sort of following the Louis and Clarke route, but on highways. It’ll take us four days to reach the Pacific, not three years. There’s something in the changing landscapes and the just vastness of the country that makes it a little easier for me to conceptualize the wild differences in American culture and schools of thought— the country is so damn big. How could any one person understand the needs and background of every community in it?

We make the decision not to camp before the snowstorm— snow and low 30s overnight, plus staying in a hotel off the highway would save us in gas, time, and emotional damage the next day.

Mountains rose and we climbed and clouds brushed snow capped peaks— crossing the Continental Divide the snow started, building to white out conditions while the highway skirted the sides of cliffs. It snowed hard the entire way to the Days Inn in Butte, and could not be more grateful we’d decided not to camp.

I love divey places— bars that smell local, diners with eclectic mugs where everyone calls each other by name, gas stations with homemade food, motels with the lights burnt out of signs. I have a soft spot for Americana.

The Days Inn in Butte is like that— long white halls and a snowstorm outside, mostly empty and objectively 2-stars, one channel on the TV (Aquaman was playing), lukewarm coffee, view of the mountains out the window, classic fiction novel feel. Between the snowstorm on the high pass, late evening winter light, and the long white halls it felt like a low budget sequel to The Shining.

The coffee in the morning from a storage room repurposed as a kitchen with peeling green wallpaper was served in styrofoam cups and weak. We left with frost on our car and ice on the straps of our boats.

10 hours to the Pacific. Blue skies and big mountain views in Missoula, snow and an AIS (aquatic invasive species) stop in Idaho, views of Coeur d’Alene Lake, then Spokane. Sun and high desert and a sketchy gas station with a long line in Eastern Washington, Cascade Range in blue in the distance like some kind of mirage, deep blue of the Columbia River cut deep into rock, then up and up into foothills, jagged white peaks, more snow, and sleet, and waterfalls off cliffs, round the corner and suddenly summer. It’s all kind of a blur, Montana to Washington.

Hi there! If you enjoyed reading & want to support our trip (AND get access to tons of additional content, Midwest trail guides & a download of my book!!) consider becoming a paying subscriber of Hello Stranger:

But we made it. And now, just a few more last minute things to prep on the Pacific side before it’s paddles in the water for three months. To be honest, the drive was grueling, and just enough little things went wrong with planning that I’m feeling a little demoralized and apprehensive.

I’m a planner, and while I know no wilderness trip, especially one of this scale, goes completely according to plan, I’d been hoping prep would go a little more smoothly. Biggest mistake for us was probably trying to move out of our apartment and turn around to leave for this trip in the same week. We’ve been stressed for three weeks straight, and some gear was lost/misplaced in the moving process.

Hopefully after we pick up some of the gear we’re missing and mail out resupply boxes I’ll feel a little less apprehensive.