Day Fifty-Nine, Bozeman!

It was getting dark when I put up my tent. It seems I put it up on an anthill. When I climbed out this morning they were waiting for me. Two bit me on the stomach. Hard, the rotten little red and black finks. I sqooshed them and sent them flying.

I enjoyed a warm and uncomfortable hike into Belgrade, washed some clothes and ate a bad burger. Their Cokes tasted like bugspray. I had only nine and hiked on to Bozeman. It was no easy day.

The little highway I have been following for two days got narrower and faster and far more heavily travelled. There was no shoulder, none. I tired my thighs climbing up and down into ditches. I was caught in the late afternoon rush of people trying to get out of Bozeman. In cement trucks.

There were all kinds of clouds in the sky today. Yesterday there were none. There were fat clouds and wispy clouds and grey clouds and swirling clouds and a row of clouds that looked like little bunnies. Moving between them was a wall of black. There was distant thunder.

Coming into Bozeman there was a splendid rainbow. I see all kinds of them. Single and double, broken and complete. Yeah, yeah, rainbow, I say. But this one was the widest I have ever seen. I did not spend much time studying it. My eyes were on the cement trucks.

My plan was to get almost to Bozeman and set up my tent outside town. But I came over a bridge and found myself downtown, or almost, at any rate. Then the skies opened up and the thunder crashed and I checked into a motel. I had hoped to fester a couple more days before I spent that much money.

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(It is tomorrow)

It is my customary practice to spent the evening exploring the town, but my legs were sore so I stayed in. I had a hot bath and a cold swim. The pool had bugs in it. I was a guest at the Rainbow Motel. The counter service is surly. If you're ever in Bozeman, give it a pass.

It was my plan to blow through Bozeman and up the high hill to Livingston, but I was surprised to discover that it is a very pretty little town. It is full of tourists from all over the world, here to visit Yellowstone. There are all sorts of trees and flowers and such, and the smell of prosperity.

I spent a pleasant hour on their sort of Rodeo Drive Main Street, talking to a man, Elijah, who like all good Elijahs had a long white beard. He is a motorcycle minister and was playing the Dobro in front of the theater. I sat and talked and listened and watched the pretty girls in their sundresses walk by.

Find me now in the Jackpot East, a Casino on the edge of town. I am free to plug in here, so long as I encourage you all to stop in. Jackpot East, for all your burger and gambling needs.

It is mid-afternoon and I am just now leaving town. It is thirty-odd miles to Livingston.

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