Trip to Billings Part 1

Road trippin'. Bottle sippin'. Joints achin'. Lots of pissin'. We left on a brisk and bright Friday afternoon. 5:30pm to be exact. Caffeine shots, bananas, local citrus, a bag of popcorn, kettle cooked sea salt chips, seven rice krispie marshmallow bars, granola bars, apple sauce, blankets, extra shoes, extra clothes, chains, jumper cables, and tools. Benny's tools. Don't know what they were. Benny knew. We brought 'em. Just in case of a major mechanical error. You never know if you're gonna have to pull an engine on a cross country road trip to the wilds of Montana. Gotta be prepared you know?

The weather was balmy. The lighting ochre. Early Mediterranean spring in full swing. You could't tell it, but soon the trees and the bushes and the grass and the weeds on the sides of the road would produce that brilliant bright beautiful springtime green that only happens once for a few weeks of the year. From 12:30pm to about 2:00, the sun at its zenith washes the landscape with its brilliant light, highlighting the tremendous color of the surrounding scenery. The rays of the sun act as a highlighter, revealing the dazzling colors of life as they are meant to be seen. Vivid purples and scintillating yellows and gleaming blues. Splendiferous Springtime. We hoped to see it again soon.

We drove from chaparral to desert. It was getting dark. The sun dipped below the horizon. Civil twilight ensued. We took the back roads, dodging traffic. A warped and windy backcountry road took us through canyons and hills and sleepy little towns and a little French restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Civil twilight turned to nautical, then nautical to astronomical, then, finally—night. Strange shadows and the occasional passing headlights became our only reality.

Then—the interstate. Smooth and boring sailing. Very tedious. As the hours ticked by less and less vehicles occupied the road. Even driving through Vegas was mundane. In Mesquite, today became tomorrow and the long drive continued. 1:00am, 2:00am, 3:00am, 4:00am. Every twenty minutes or so we'd pass a semitruck. Truckin' along. The night shift. An edifying time of night. Or morning. Whatever you call it. 

Sometimes there'd be a van or a car or a motorcyclist. Some had their GPS displayed on the dash. Others had windows that were far too tinted to reveal anything interesting. Some were bobbing their heads. Most were gripping the steering wheel. Who were these people? And where were they going? What were they doing at this time of night, driving alone on Interstate 15, 95mph, in the middle of Utah? Were they going to Billings like us? Probably not.

Fillmore, Provo, Slat Lake City, Ogden and then Idaho. The sun rose. It revealed a cold and quiet land. Nineteen degrees Fahrenheit, snow on the mountains, ice on the road. It was still winter here. No brilliant colors. No greens or blues or yellows. Definitely no Mediterranean climate here. 

It was something else. Something different. A different kind of beauty. Instead off the glistening and golden and glittering colors of spring here was a place defined by cool, calm, tranquil colors. Soft white. Soft blue. Soft grey. Serene. Placid. Cozy. Despite the obvious cold, something about this landscape made me feel warm inside. I didn't know what it was; I only knew how it made me feel. 

Rexburg, Rigby, West Yellowstone. We stopped there for breakfast. McDonald's. Spent $28 there. Pancake breakfast, two sausage mcmuffins, two hash browns, two orange juices, and a sausage egg and cheese mcgriddles. We were hungry. And we gormandized. And we were happy.

North to Bozeman then east to Billings. We got there after driving 21 hours straight. I don't recommend this type of travel. Lots of white lines dashing across your closed eyelids when you're tryna get some sleep. If you get any at all. We both got a good 40 minutes each. 

Daniel gave us a tour of his abode. He showed us the TV, the homemade tiki bar. The bathroom and the kitchen and the two bedrooms were thoroughly looked upon, Daniel leading us through the house as if it were Hearst Castle. Then came the tour of the college. The the tour of the town. There was an early St Patrick's Day celebration going on in downtown but we missed out on it. Showed up too late. Oh well. No drinkin' today.

Or not. We were then taken to a place of pure hedonism. A front lawn covered with empty cans, their sweet nectar rumbling in the stomachs of those who were standing around them. Interesting folks there. Very tough, very open, very honest people. Each one of them living their lives in the present moment. I looked at them. I looked at their eyes, their actions, their words. I saw in them the conscious universe looking back at itself. They spoke to me. The universe spoke to me. And you know what? The universe said it had been drinkin' since 9am that morning. 

Off an away we went to a national championship basketball game, cause you know, why not? The stadium was small, not much bigger than a high school gymnaseim. It was a bizarre scene. Students yellin'. Alarms buzzin'. Popcorn poppin'. Here for a moment, in this small stadium, packed to the brim with heated hordes of people and banners and cameras and food and noise, I was able to forget everything that had happened in the world. As far as I knew, the whole world existed right there in that little stadium. Right there. Right then. Every time the home team scored a point the crowd erupted into a roar. The roar would build and morph and contort until it reached its apex, a jarring and screeching and poignant and beautiful sound. It sounded like pebbles scraping against one another, bumping into one another, falling into my brain. It was remarkable. Divine. The game kept going and the crowd kept roaring and the ball kept moving and coaches kept yelling and the people in the stands were eating popcorn or talking or sitting silently by themselves. People came and left and sat down and stood up, switching seats, moving above the court, getting a better view, getting more popcorn. It was like a living organism, this stadium, and we were the blood keeping it alive. An extraordinary moment. Transcendental. I was very drunk.

From there we moved on to a small get together with one of Daniel's close friends. It was a modest gathering, no more than seven people in the paltry dorm room. We talked and drank and danced and talked some more. We were going with the flow, our brains wracked with exhaustion. We were in Daniel's hands now. He would be our guiding light.

We made it back to his abode. We sat down on the couch. I tilted my head back and immediately fell asleep. We were spent. Pooped. Exhausted. It wasn't even 8:00pm. But our journey had just began. Our trip to Billings. In the coming days we were going to absorb the vibe of the town. The aura of the surrounding countryside. We really wished to get a feel of what it was like out there. But first: some sleep. We needed it. 

Downtown Billings