Trip to Billings Part 3

Breakfast. Early. The Tippy Cow. It wasn't busy. We entered and ate our fill of good ol' American cooking. "Mountain Man Meal." Three eggs, three cuts of bacon, hash browns and biscuits with country gravy. The food was excellent. The place was great. You can always tell how good a place is by how they slice their hash browns. The thicker the cut, the better the place. These weren't no string bean taters that you'd find at a Denny's or something like that. These were some big boy cuts. Mountain Man cuts. Mountain Man Meal cuts.

This place is the real deal. You walk inside and immediately smell old carpet and grease. There's a lot of old folks sitting in booths, some with oxygen machines. A lot of families too, with toddlers and babies and stuff like that. And the waitresses come by and crack dry jokes with the customers and the fry cooks in the back shout orders and the gravy is rich and creamy and has little bits of sausage in it and they give you ice water in plastic Pepsi cups and there's ancient gum stuck underneath the table and the whole place exudes benevolence. A small little cafe, a small little slice of heaven. Unless you're vegan. If you're vegan stay away. You wouldn't like it. 

After our morning engorging session we decided to head into the hills for a little fresh air and adventure. Our destination: Woodbine Falls. Or whatever. We didn't really have a plan. The wind hindered yesterday's opportunities for entertaining ourselves in the wilds; hopefully this wouldn't be the case today. We drove for a good hour until we finally made our way deep into the Beartooth Mountains. Ok. Not that deep. But deep enough to where we had spotty cell service. In this day and age it's practically considered wilderness if you've got spotty cell service. God forbid you get to an area with no cell service at all. That would be just plain crazy!

End of the road. Time to walk.

We reached the end of the road. A gate blocked our path. We'd have to continue on foot to reach our destination. Much to our chagrin, the wind was worse than it was the day before. It was ripping through the valley, pushing the clouds in the south up and over granite peaks and down into sketchy canyons. The wind was so strong it looked as if it were tearing these clouds apart, spilling their crystalline innards all over the rugged landscape. Daniel wasn't too worried about the wind. His chagrin fell upon the lovely temperature of 50 degrees. 50 degrees meant springtime. Springtime meant bear time. Hungry bear time. Starving bear coming out of hibernation time. Ravenous, voracious, coming-out-of-starvation, large hungry predator time. Not a good time for hikin' in a valley where the wind takes away your voice and smell. Daniel knows people who have been mauled by grizzlies. He knows what they can do. But not to worry. For our safety he brought along his trusty shotgun. But we didn't have no slugs. All we had was birdshot. No worries. It would scare the bear with its menacing sound. If not...well...

Making our way through the forest

No Bear

The wind whipped through the tops of the trees, blocking out the sound of the the gurgling creeks and the crunch of snow beneath our feet. We'd stop every few minutes and look for bear sign; saw nothin' every time. We'd stop every few minutes and listen; heard nothin' every time. We'd stop every few minutes and piss; felt good every time. After walking a good half mile or so through spooky forest we became more and more comfortable with what we were doing. We were exiting the woody and entering the rocky and cliffy. We had a view, a vantage point. We could now see if something was charging towards us and have time to react. We were seemingly in the clear. No bears to be seen. We could rest easy, at least until we had to walk back through those dang woods. Spooky, spooky, spooky.

Out of the spooky

Planning the route

Once you get out of the forest the landscape really opens up. The trail dumps you out on a massive cliff face with commanding views of the surrounding area. From here it's basically choose-your-own-adventure. We wanted to get a good look at the falls so we decided to push further on. Up, up and up, the views getting better and better, the rocks steep and slippery, the cliff face devoid of foliage, the ever present raging wind—good times, good times. I should mention: you don't need to climb up anything sketchy to see these falls. We could see 'em just fine from where the trail dumped us out. But we wanted a better view, you know? Plus we wanted to do something cool (AKA: stupid). 

Woodbine Falls as seen from the end of the trail. 

Making our way up

After a while we decided that we had made it to the best spot on the cliff face from which we could see the best view of the falls. We sat down, took a little breather, and enjoyed the stunning 180 degree views. The country that sprawled before my eyes was some of the most beautiful I had ever seen. I try to stay away from cliché, but in this case I just gotta use it. Truly, no words can describe the unbelievable beauty that exists within these mountains. The clouds, the wind, the endless sky, the granite peaks, the lush forest, the light blanket of melting snow, the harrowing cliffs, the gargantuan frozen waterfall—all of it is far too sublime to put into words. A writer of superior intellect could possibly capture the immense pulchritude that inhabits these lands. I know my limits. And I am lazy. So I do the easy thing: I take pictures. 

Wow

From our vantage point we could see the creek that spilled over the side. This little creek, quite impressively, being the creator of the massive frozen sculpture that was Woodbine Falls. It was at least 40ft tall, maybe more; a towering icy behemoth with a noisy interior. Some of the creek water managed to escape Jack Frost's icy hands; every so often, staring down at the behemoth, we could make out little caves and holes and whatnot where the water had hollowed out the inside of the waterfall. This created an interesting audio phenomenon; the sonorous howls and roars echoing forth from these icy windows could be heard over the sound of the raging wind. It was a little scary observing the water moving beneath the surface. From the top of the falls down to the creek below we could see the water creeping its way underneath the ice, much like blood beneath the skin. Images of one being sucked into these falls and becoming trapped under the ice entertained my mind while I gazed upon this wonder of natural beauty. Nature really ain't done its job if you don't feel awe and terror at the same time! Staring at these falls, in this place, in these mountains with the wind and the clouds and the snow—it was terrible yet terrific. Awful yet awesome. It was the wonderful contemporaneous results of observing the sublime. Or maybe it was just because I decided to sit right on the edge of the cliff but who knows for sure!

Getting a better look 

The frozen behemoth. Note the many holes.

He may not show it, but he really didn't
like me sittin' on that ledge

Once our eyes were satisfied with their meal we headed for a spot were Daniel would try some fishing. We went back down through the spooky forest, back out to the road, and back down other roads until we made it to the parking lot of the next destination. There were hardly any people there. Just two other vehicles. One of these two was leaving just as we got there. Daniel set up his fly fishin' rod while Benny and I sat by the creek and watched the water carve out the ice from underneath. This creek, being considerably larger than the one feeding into Woodbine falls, was not entirely frozen. Because of this it had created many fractured ice shelves, ice bridges and whatnot that Benny and I were too scared (and too smart) to walk on. So we threw rocks and stuff at 'em. Watched 'em break. Silly stuff like that. 

The walk to the spot Daniel had mentioned was real short but real pretty. I mean real pretty. For a walk as short as this you would expect the place to be mediocre at best, likely covered with human detritus and the 21st century rock art of graffiti. But no, no, no. This place was pristine. Once we rounded a corner and entered the canyon we were transported miles into the backcountry. Or so it seemed. In just a few hundred yards we went from asphalt and outhouses to a primeval land of water and ice and stone.

Go around the corner. You won't be disappointed

See!

The wind was strong. Daniel couldn't catch nothing. He tried in multiple spots but the wind was just too much. Can't really fly fish in a tight canyon with raging wind. But no worries. The canyon was reward enough. We continued our saunter through this astonishing landscape, gawking and gazing at the water and the ice and the canyon walls above our heads. We ran into a hiker and his dog and exchanged greetings. He was the only human contact that we had made the our entire time there. Really added to the feeling that we were out there even though we were only a few hundred yards from the car. It was bizarre. 

Walking through this canyon was probably the highlight of the trip. There have only been a few moments in my life where I truly lose focus of everything besides the here and now. Experiencing that canyon was one of those moments. It was like a meditation, walking through that canyon. The waterfalls, the crystal clear water, the furious wind, the sparkling and glimmering and at times blinding snow and ice—all of it consumed my conscious and transported me into the perplexing world of the present. "Ooo, look at that!" "Whoa, let's check that out!" "I'm going to dunk in the creek!" "Really?" "Yep." "Okay." "WOWZERS THAT'S COLD." "Hahaha. You're an animal."

Wow! Another frozen waterfall!

After our edifying little jaunt up the canyon the rest of the day kinda went by in a blur. We spent the last few hours of daylight exploring dirt road after dirt road. We had no idea where we were going. In fact the goal was to get kind of lost in the first place. We drove at a leisurely pace, meandering our way up old country roads and down through canyons and out through farmland and across cottonwood lined streams and creeks and whatnot until finally, with the last dying rays of the sun casting their glow over the horizon, the wind stopped. We got out of the car. Took in the silence. At last, no wind! 

We were on little plateau. From here we could see the farmland to the north and the mountains to the east and south and west. To celebrate, we walked away from the road for a ways and set up a few cans. And there, out in the middle of nowhere, we filled the atmosphere with thunder. At least it sounded like thunder to us. To the mountains and the trees and the sky it probably sounded like tiny, insignificant pops. But no matter. We still shot those cans to pieces. And don't worry, we picked up every last piece before we left. Littering in a place like that? The wilderness would eat us alive. We'd never make it out of there no way, no how. 

The rest of our sojourn in Billings was much more urban. After we got back from our day in the mountains we managed to get kicked out of every bar that we went to because one of us ain't exactly 21 yet. Real disappointing when we only wanted to play some shuffleboard at 11pm on a Tuesday night. Eventually, we found a place that would let us play. Daniel, being 21, wanted to order a drink but the guy just wouldn't accept his ID. His real ID. The things you see in this world. There we were, playin' some shuffle board, when the guy calls Daniel over and argues with him for a good 15 minutes on why is ID is fake. He even went behind the counter and took out a whole bunch of fake ID's to compare. I overheard some of their conversation: 

"So you were born in 2001, right?"

"Right."

"In January, right?"

"Yes"

"And it's 2022 right?"

"Yes"

"So, according to this ID, you're one year old right now. "

"What?"

Seriously. I ain't making this up. Ask Daniel. Guy must have had a looong day. And math ain't the easiest subject in the world. It can be real hard sometimes. And even though it cost him his sanity, Daniel still managed to get his drink in the end. 

Shuffleboard is an interesting game. Unless you are Chris. Chris walked in and watched us play two games. He drank from a small bottle of whiskey. He was probably in his thirties. He was dressed in black jeans and black hoodie. He walked up to us and asked us how to play. We explained the intricacies of shuffleboard and he told us that the game just wasn't for him. "Too confusing."Instead, his game of choice involved a stick and 22 balls. Pool. And he had been trying find people to play all day long. He was desperate. Earnest. Really charismatic. And by charismatic I mean drunk. We felt bad for him and said we'd play a game with him. But unfortunately, the bar only had shuffleboard. No pool table to be found. No worries. Chris knew of a place a few blocks down that had the best pool tables in town. A place that was "a few" blocks down. "A place" that neither Daniel nor his roommate had ever heard of. Hmmm. What to do? Well there really is only one thing to do when you meet a drunk stranger late at night in a bar in a weird part of town: you follow him!

Outside, he introduced us to his wife. I don't remember her name. We shook hands and made our way down the street. No one else was out. Block after block and still no bar. We went past several dark alleyways. Several blind turns. Chris kept yammering' away about drunken stuff. Every so often his wife would reach into her purse for whatever reason a wife reaches into her purse. And from time to time, Chris would scream, "Marco" and take a few gulps of whisky while his wife responded, "Polo" and downed a few gulps from the same bottle. She was lagging a bit. Had to catch up.

Chris talked about everything. Talked about his life, where he grew up, how he met his wife, how he found himself in Billings, etc, etc. Apparently, Chris had been in Billings since 2016 and since a few weeks ago. Who would've known!

After a good five minutes of walking Daniel's roommate looked up the location of the bar and found that it was an actual place and that we were almost there. Everyone was on edge except me and Chris and his wife. Chris was drunk. And so was his wife. And all that he wanted to do was play some pool. Ever fiber of his being told me that he wanted nothing more than to play some pool. Particularly with someone else besides his wife. 

"You know," said Chris, taking another sip out of his paper-wrapped whisky bottle. "You guys are real ones. I mean that." We were walking by a gas station, the bar's neon lights glimmering a few hundred feet down the street. "Nobody wants to play pool with me. They think I'm just gonna rob them because I'm black." He took another swig, his legs performing the best they could to carry his inebriated body forward. 

Chris had a point. There ain't a lot of black folk out there in Billings. Chris even looked up the statistics. "1.02%! Damn!" Walking through a sketchy neighborhood in the middle of the night past several alleyways and blind turns to a place we'd never heard of with a complete stranger and his wife who kept on digging through her purse for no reason might have been our reason to be apprehensive about Chris's true intentions but yes, Chris had a point. 

We got to the bar. We got kicked out. Sorry Chris, rules is rules. No pool tonight. Maybe next time. He was cool about it and very understanding. But underneath his tranquil appearance I could see a deep yearning. There were pool balls in his eyes. A fuzzy green pool table on his tongue. His eyelashes were made up of cue sticks, crinkling each time he blinked. That dude really wanted to play some pool with people. I've never seen such an eagerness, an infatuation, a thirst for camaraderie such as this. Chris was one cool cat. One of those characters that you meet in life and never forget. And we'll likely never see him again until we all go and visit that great big billiard hall in the sky. 

The next day, our last day in Billings, we stayed in town. Went to the park. Played some spike ball. Ate dinner at a Hibachi restaurant where we were hit on by a group of 40+ year old women. Nothing out of the ordinary you know? And to end it off we went back to Daniel's place and got drunk and made homemade Rice Krispie treats. Couldn't have asked for a better trip. The whole thing really felt like a fever dream, everything was just so bizarre and foreign and mystical and wonderful and nice. Longest three days of my life. Loved every zeptosecond. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

As for the present moment I'm currently nearing the end of the semester and have a whole lot of final papers and essays and such to write so the posts have been and will be few and far between. I'd rather write these blog stories instead of  interdisciplinary research papers on the history, etymology, usage, cultural impact and world-altering idiosyncrasies of the word "dingus" but you gotta do what you gotta do.

 

Billings from "The Rims"

 

Trip to Billings Part 2

Up and at 'em. We awoke at the crack of 11:00am, trying to recover from 21 hours of driving and a night of poisoning our livers. Our objective was a small diner, The Tippy Cow, 279 East Airport Rd. We had to leave soon; had to beat the church crowd. Off and away we went, driving down the road in the typical Montana style of not wearing seat belts. They just don't do that out there you know? In a land of wind and cold and sky and wolverines and bears and a whole other myriad assortment of dangers, threats, hazards and things that could kill you in a matter of moments, the wearing of a seatbelt is just something of great unimportance. There's more things on the mind. More things to worry about than buckling up. Like getting to The Tippy Cow before the church crowd. Very important stuff!

As you could have guessed, we didn't beat the church crowd. Or any crowd for that matter. The place was totally packed. People lined up out the door. Old people. Young people. Some had beards. Some didn't. Families, couples, loners, outsiders, goofballs, crackheads, vagabonds. The whole human scene was there, waiting outside for some good ol' American cookin'. We left. Tomorrow we would try again.

Instead, we dined at a place known as Montana Jack's. Unfortunately for us we were unable to meet the proprietor of this fine dining establishment; he was likely off somewhere else, engaging in the local activities of the state. Oh well. The visit with Mr. Montana Jack would have to take place some other time. At least it provides a reason to return, you know?

Hashbrowns,  biscuits 'n gravy, three generous cuts of bacon and eggs. Over easy. That's the only way to eat 'em. The meal wasn't very good and it wasn't very bad. It did its job of breaking the nightly starvation session known as sleep so we were pretty content. Plus there was a great selection of hot sauces. Tabasco original and Tabasco the green one. The only two flavors you need. I put so much hot sauce on my meal that Daniel commented that I had "gotten some eggs in my tabasco sauce." I had also picked a good amount of earwax out of my left ear with the help of my pinky finger, only noticing that the waitress watched me do it. As I turned my gaze upon the wax covered finger I made direct eye contact with her, pinky in the air, holding it up as if it were an offering. Maybe it's best we don't go back there. At least for a while. 

After brunch we made our way over to a monument exhibiting mankind's triumph over the natural world: SCHEELS. Daniel needed to replace his rod; this was the place to do it. At 220,000 square feet, this sporting goods store was quite the sight. Upon our first gaze Benny and I were impressed with the sheer size of this thing. It was utterly gargantuan. About the size of the dilapidated, decrepit, derelict, dying, broken-down, battered and soon to be abandoned Pacific View Mall. Yes. One building. One store. The size of a mall. Twenty foot tall copper statues of outdoorsmen being outdoorsy stand guard at the entrance. There's also two busts of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson for some reason but just wait till you get inside! They got an aquarium. A Ferris wheel. Hundreds of taxidermied creatures. They even taxidermied President Lincoln. You can see him on the second floor delivering the Gettysburg address. The modern world is a fascinating place.

A fearsome American beast. The bear's cool too I guess.

Holy cannoli! A Ferris wheel!

We passed underneath the visually stunning aquarium. It stretched from one wall to the other, hollow tunnels carved in between allowing customers to travel hither and thither inside this whimsical consumerist paradise. We walked to the shoe section. The fishing section. The home decor section. The gun section. Oh my oh man oh my. The gun section. Pistols, carbines, shotguns, sniper rifles, assault rifles, automatic rifles, and personal defense weapons galore. Some were black. Some were camouflaged. Some possessed that butrycaceous, rainbow-like hue that oil takes on when floating on water. This section took up about a fourth of the second floor. It also had the highest density of customers in the entire store. I couldn't tell why. On the opposite side of the building, directly perpendicular to President Lincoln, sat a taxidermied Thomas Jefferson reading aloud the Declaration of Independence! Who wouldn't want to see that? You can gawk at guns in most other stores. Walmart comes to mind. But you know something that Walmart doesn't have? THOMAS JEFFERSON! Why there wasn't a crowd of thousands standing before him in astonishment was beyond me. No one was over there. No one listened to Lincoln either. Too busy looking at the rainbow splattered Bergara Exclusive B-14 HMR Rifle $1,049.99. 

With rod replaced we then headed off into the mountains. It was too windy to fish so we decided to just go for a little drive through the backcountry. On the interstate we buckled our seatbelts. Traveling 25mph through a residential neighborhood without a seatbelt is a lot safer than going 95mph on the interstate. We could die, you know? Even though Montana Jack probably goes beltless on I-90 we were playin' it safe. 

The Beartooth Mountains

Off and away we drove, off the interstate, deep into the hinterland. No agenda on our minds. No itinerary to follow. It was just us, the road, the mountains and the snow. The environment here was much different than back home. Just yesterday we were in 80 degree weather. Springtime in So-Cal. And now—this. A primeval landscape of withered evergreen pines and ice and snow and wind and cold. Even though it was only 45 out, hardly considered winter by Montana standards, the cold was foreign to us. The landscape, unfamiliar, yet stunning. Quiet and tranquil. I could see why so many fall in love with the beauty of Montana. Big sky. Magnificent terrain. That's what it's all about my friend. 

As we drove along Daniel introduced us to Wild Bill Lake. It was completely frozen over, solid enough to stand on. We got out and walked around, slid on the ice. No one else was there. We had the whole place to ourselves. Until we didn't. A nice family walked out along the boardwalk, looking confusedly at the grown ass men sliding like idiots on the frozen lake. It's never too old to have fun. 

Goofin' around on the lake

After discovering that it's pretty hard to walk normally on ice (unless there's decent snow to provide ample traction and grip) we continued our drive through the country. We moved further and further away from civilization. There's only a million people that reside in Montana. 100,000 live in Billings alone. The towns we passed through were few and far between. Lot's of land out there. Makes you feel real small. About as small as the towns. Tiny little towns. No more than a 100 souls each. What does one do there? What's life like out there? What is the daily routine? What kind of folks live in places like that? And for how long? And for what reason? Are they upset that their town doesn't have a SCHEELS? Who knows! Questions like these raked my mind as we drove on and on, the sky above our heads stretching off into infinity.

We drove and drove and drove until we reached Wyoming. With only 578,000 people in the entire state, we figured our destination probably wasn't anything urban. But you know what? You could hide an entire metropolis out there and no one would know. It's that massive. Our car just a tiny speck floating along an endless sea of earth. We were insignificant. We were nothing. Just passing through a landscape that has seen eons and epochs and eras of monumental change. The stories the rocks could tell. The things they've seen. The mountains and the valleys and the ground under our feet. We looked upon the landscape, and it looked back at us. We were just another moment. Just a blip in the cosmic timeline. 

Endless Earth

You could hide a city in that valley 

We left the asphalt in substitution for dirt, placing us deeper into the realm of the unfamiliar. We wanted isolation. We wanted desolation. We wanted solitude. Not for meditation. For shootin' guns! After making our way down a dirt road for a ways we finally pulled over and set up a few cans. The scene was ethereal. The sound of Daniel's single barrel, pump action shotgun echoing off into the sky. The sky, an infinite empyrean wonder, absorbing these sounds with ease. It was the first time I ever shot a gun, and I wouldn't have asked for a better setting. There we were, alone in the boundless earth, the sky above our heads and the wind blowing through our hair. Nothing but the sounds of the shotgun inhabiting the landscape, until they too, disappeared forever. The evidence of us being there will be lost in time. The noise gone, the shells collected and properly disposed of, the tracks of the vehicle whirled away by the wind. But at least we were able to be apart of the whole thing. To have existed then and there. Our lives having been witnessed by the rocks and the mountains and the ground beneath our feet. We were apart of their story, and they would remember us long after we've gone. 

Backtracking to the asphalt, we moved on, our destination a place Daniel hadn't been to for a long while. It took us another hour of driving, crossing back into Montana, before we finally made it to the best location of the day. A small canyon, hidden in the vast expanse, now appeared before our very eyes. The water in the canyon was frozen, but cracked, evidence of having melted and re-frozen multiple times over. It was definitely no Grand Canyon, but, oddly enough, it was far more impressive. It was a surreal land of rock and ice and deafening silence. No wind. No nothing. Not a sound to be heard. A deer, laying bloated on the ice, the result of having fallen down into the canyon, was the only other inhabitant of this strange and wondrous place. Just us, the deer, and the silence.

Ad Infinitum 

We made our way down into the canyon, careful not to repeat the lamentable actions of the unlucky deer. Once at the bottom, our nostrils were hit with the scent of dirt and water and rotting fish. Just a few feet ahead, laying prostate on the ice, was the decaying carcass of a fairly large fish. How it got there was unknown. Maybe someone threw it down there. Maybe it broke through the ice but somehow got stuck as the ice immediately re-froze. So many questions that remain unanswered to this day. 

No goofin' around here

There was something uneasy about this place. The silence, the death, and the isolation all contributed to this eerie feeling. But at the same time it was incredibly peaceful. We were simply witnessing the beauty of life. The clouds kept movin' and the sun kept shinin' and the ice kept freezin' and the deer kept rottin' and the rocks kept erodin' and life kept rollin' and rollin' and rollin' along. There was nothing to fear here. No reason to feel uneasy. We were there and that was all that mattered. We were able to see the beauty of this place, able to inhabit its space for a little while. Standing there on the jagged, icy shoreline, staring out  at the frozen river, looking up above at the sandstone walls, and observing the passing of the clouds overhead was extremely satisfying. At least for a little bit. I had to pee. Benny had to take a dump. It was time to go. 

Little car in a big world

On the drive back the sun sunk beneath the horizon which meant that it was time to turn on the headlights. We spoke to pass the time, talking about girls, booze and whether or not killing your clone, an exact copy, same memories and whatnot, would be considered murder or suicide. At around 10:00pm we finally made it back to Billings. We saw the glimmering neon lights of an Applebees. We entered. We ate. Daniel's roommate, Adam, met us there. We chatted. We left. Back at Daniel's place, Adam played his rendition of Jack Johnson's Better Together on guitar. It was good. Then we called it a night and hit the sack. We had to wake up early the next day. Had to beat the breakfast crowd for The Tippy Cow. God willing, we would make it this time. 

Dirt roads, power lines and big sky