Missoula , MT to Buffalo , WY: August 3, 2008 - Day 28


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August 10th 2008
Published: August 13th 2008
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Memorial at Last Stand HillMemorial at Last Stand HillMemorial at Last Stand Hill

Where Custer fell at Little Bighorn.

Today's top sight: Little Bighorn National Monument



Travel lesson of the day: The road looks different when it's in the rear view mirror.



from Kathy:



Welcome to the Zen zone of a long drive. Like the proverbial butterfly that will sit on your shoulder if you wait long enough and quietly enough, a meditation finds me on Rt. 90 in Montana and Wyoming. I am beginning to summarize what I've seen and experienced. (Some of that meditation is at the end of this entry and there's more to come. )

But for now, the odometer on the Floonia Roadster tells me that 6,053 car miles have passed since July 6 (doesn't include about 2200 cruising miles). I realize that I am traveling the part of the road described by Robert Pirsig in his classic, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, the tale of a motorcycle journey in which the author struggles with disturbances of mind and spirit. Like us, Pirsig passed through Missoula, Butte, and Billings.

I am thinking about that book because we have seen an extraordinary number of motorcycles everywhere. I wonder if it's about the price of gas or
Stones Mark WhereThey FellStones Mark WhereThey FellStones Mark WhereThey Fell

The places where Native Americans and US soldiers fell are marked in the fields surround the battle site of Little Bighorn.
if, like Pirsig, they're also on an epic philosophical quest, trying to wrestle with their demons (sure, right). The choppers are all Harleys. I am beginning to wonder if Harley Davidson and Starbucks are going to form the next White House administration. (The next day I learn the real answer to the motorcycle question, if not the political question--see August 4 entry!).

As I ponder deep questions, Paul and Scott play the License Plate Game, Round 2. (Scott won $20 in Round 1.) I am the scribe.

“I got that one!”

“No you didn’t—that one’s mine!”

I arbitrate the rightful owners of state license plates and then add the state to the appropriate player's list.

We have established the fact that North Dakota license plates are more rare than Alaska or Hawaii - but I know that neither of them will ever get a Nunavit license plate here in the lower 48. Nunavit is Canada ’s 13th province, recently declared. It covers the absolute northernmost geographies. In fact, I’m not even sure if Nunavit has a license plate!

Anyway, at this point, Paul is winning.

There's an awful lot going on in the Floonian Roadster.

The Rear View Mirror



Today, Missoula is first to go behind us ... site of the best dinner we had on the road, which is saying a lot, since we were on a cruise ship for a week. The restaurant was Carino's, which turns out to be a chain--sort of like an Olive Garden of the West. They offer us so many options with dinner that our memories were challenged as we tried to choose. The portions were enormous, the taste excellent, the prices more than reasonable.

"We should get one of these in Old Saybrook," says JJ.

"Start one," I tell him. Poor boy. Being 18, he keeps getting reminders about his upcoming graduation and what-comes-next.

"Sure, mom," he replies.

Just as I was amazed to learn yesterday that Missoula is a magnet for literati, I was amazed again at the massive number of casinos that occupy the town's flat landscape. Missoula's casino construction looks so recent I wonder if these places have gotten their certificates of occupancy yet. On the hillside that forms one edge of town, someone has painted a giant letter "M." Perhaps they need a reminder of where they are after emerging from the casinos? Farewell for now, Missoula, this mystery will have to wait for another visit ...

Billings ... We stopped at a diner that doubles as a casino (very common in the West) and I observed people saying dinner prayers next to a slot machine. This isn't the first time we've seen declarations of faith in unlikely places on this trip. As we drove out of Billings, I was still churning on these odd juxtapositions of religion when we reached the crest of a hill and was surprised by the unexpected panorama of a wide, deep, colorful valley.

"My gosh, kids, look at that!" I say to the back seat.

“Cool mom. We’ve seen all this before,” says Kid 1.

"Yeah," says Kid 2.

They may be having a different experience in the back seat of the Floonian Roadster. Toto, we’re not all 54 years old on this trip.

Butte materializes in the distance before too long and I expect to see, well, some pretty dramatic buttes. Buttes, recall from textbook days, are very tall, flat-topped pillars that appear in some Western landscapes. Mesas are larger versions of buttes. Butte's buttes, however, are subdued compared to some I've seen. (I have become spoiled by the eye candy on this trip.) Okay, they're disappointing.

I wonder: Perhaps they USED to have buttes in Butte, but they leveled them in search of minerals?

I remember from childhood textbook pictures: Butte is the site of Anaconda Mineral's Berkeley mine, an enormous copper strip mine. It stretches large in the hills alongside the town. It is now a reclamation site.

But wait, there's more to Butte than buttes--there's an enormous statue--or something--atop the mountain that forms the eastern edge of the town. We guess at its identity--I imagine it's some kind of radar or satellite equipment. Paul guesses it's a statue of Jesus. JJ says it's a space ship.

There are too many unanswered questions and this requires an emergency stop at the town's tourist information center. No one on duty that day knows why Butte is called Butte. I learn, however, that it was always first and foremost a mining town--gold, silver, but most importantly, copper. Some have estimated that Butte supplied close to half of the US copper in the late 1800’s and the early part of the 1900’s, including a large part of the supply of copper for bullets in WWI. Butte produced Anaconda Mineral, which was, at one point, the fourth largest company in the world. That was long before its largest mine became a Superfund Site ... but that's a story for another day.

Regarding the vision of white at the top of the mountain beyond town, Paul's guess was closest. That was Our Lady of the Rockies, a likeness of Mary, mother of Jesus, atop the continental divide--8,510 ft. above sea level. A man named Bob O'Bill got the original inspiration when his wife recovered from a drastic illness, but then a whole host of people got involved.

God bless them, they dedicated the Lady to "all women, especially mothers." As I learned more about the history of the statue, I liked it better and better--it was one of those all-volunteer efforts that brought people together. And it offers genuine appreciation of women, long may we reign.

But I still haven't learned why Butte is called Butte, but I do know there are jokes about people mispronouncing the name--playing with phonetics and producing different sounds. What's more on my mind, however, is that fact that I can't get the kids out of the back seat to learn about this stuff. This was supposed to be educational ...

But just when I'm ready to give up on my role as Educator-in-Motion, we arrive at the haunting hills around the Little Bighorn National Monument, site of Custer’s Last Stand, that famous defeat that marked the last great battle against Native Americans for the West. (The site uses the word "Indian.")

No question about it, each one of us was moved by this visit.

The date was June 25, 1876. Death toll: 263 US Soldiers died trying to defend settlers--settlers who broke treaties in their search for gold in lands set aside for Native Americans. No one knows for sure, but it is believed by historians that 40-100 Native American warriors also died in the battle. While the Nations won the battle, as we all know they lost the war.

Custer's Last Stand was a tiny battle, by world standards, but the hubris and miscalculation it represents have been the subject of books, movies, courses, and now, Web sites.

In the gift shop at the Crow-operated trading post, I saw a t-shirt with a picture of four Native warriors on horseback. The words say:

Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism Since 1492.



Back in the car later, on our way to Buffalo, WY, one of THOSE conversations came up in the back seat ... you know, the kind that make me feel like They're Getting Something Out of This.

JJ asks, "Do they really have rules in war?"

Yes, they do ...

"Who follows them?" he asks. "And why should they?"

For the next 20 miles, we discuss the Geneva Convention, the differences between terrorism and war (?!), what happens to prisoners of war, the "formal" style of war once practiced by European armies, whether there should be rules of war and on and on.

I finally got my teaching moment. But look at the material! I am disturbed.

Then I get my true reward.

JJ asks us, "How will I know how to vote in November? I mean ... won't I have to know about a bunch of people, not just the president?"

He continues, "Do you have to vote for everything? Or can you just vote for the ones you know about?"


The Rolling Meditation



When did we become so seduced by the automobile? We live our lives in and about and for the automobile and its support system—the gas station, the repair shop, the dealership, the parking place.

And the trains … the endless miles of train tracks. How did they engineer these into the sharp rise and fall of mountains? Who did the work? How did they have this technology “back in the day”? How did men do this by hand—no backhoes, no front diggers, no cranes? As we drive, we pass train after train with 100+ cars—Scott and JJ count them. Many, if not most, carry coal--to power plants? Probably.

Motorcycles: An extraordinary number of them are on the road. Soon, I will learn they are Harley owners on the way to Bike Week in Sturgis, SD.

Trucks: Carrying all the items we will buy at the grocery when we get home, and then some.

Pedal Bikes: Even little Missoula , MT has lots of well defined bike lanes. Why not Old Saybrook , CT ? I must do something about this when I return home.

Who owns these miles and miles of fields? Or forests?

Who put in these fences? Every inch of the western highway-scape is lined by fence. How many running miles of fence exist in the West? It has to be millions. Who paid for it? Who maintains it?

And the power lines? And the telephone poles?

That's when the interdependence of it all comes together:

History. Infrastructure. Landscapes. Fences. Trains. Farms. Grains. Mines. Workers. Engineers. Little towns neatly defined, with a beginning and an end. Cars, trucks, motorcycles. Roads. Greed. Wars. The search for gold, silver, copper, other minerals. Wars. Let me repeat that again … and again … and again.

Welcome again to the Zen zone of a long drive. I am humbled. I can't deny that I am supported by this structure—my food, my income, the supplies for my home, my assumptions about what is mine, what I am entitled to, what I can look forward to. They all flash in front of my eyes and I am reminded that nothing, nothing, nothing is simple or stands alone.









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13th August 2008

Go get 'em girl. It sounds like the educational part of the trip worked on You. You are a different person. But heck, if JJ and Scott can discuss war, perhaps they have been taken to a place of thought not usually reserved for teens. I hope they will avoid it and seek nice quiet lives as...Quakers, perhaps. Time for a book on non-violence. Time for JJ to look for a "Job" as a peace warrior when he graduates.
13th August 2008

Children as Educators
Yes, my kids continue to educate me. I'll pass your suggestions along to them.
14th August 2008

Kids grow up
We have truly enjoyed your running (driving) commentary and look forward to each installment. I love it when the kids (mind or yours) connect to the world and start to make associations. Even more amazing is when us parents do it too. We are all together in this - no stopping it now. Keep us posted!
14th August 2008

Children as Educators II
I think that travel-peutics is overlooked in the Parent's Handbook (that we never got ) when we had kids. Thanks for the feedback, Mitch and Regina. And thanks to my friend, Carollanne, for the new word: travel-peutics.

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