Moving To Montana...

        Flying north from Denver towards Helena I fought the urge to close my eyes and sleep. I had been up since 5:30 that morning, and the night before I was up late lamenting over the Penguins' Stanley Cup loss (For the record: Chris Osgood is a lame self-back-patter). I would have just took the plunge into weird airplane sleep and risked drooling all over the lady next to me, but I had a window seat and really wanted to see the view.
I'm so glad I did.
        There were incredible rivers that wound across the vast expanses of brown nothingness. My mind kept roving back to geology class and the classification of rivers. If only I had attended more classes and spent more time reading about them I would have appreciated it even more so. However, I took some joy in remembering the difference between braided and meandering rivers and then seeing them both.
        The landscape began changing subtly and ridges started appearing. I realized these were the beginnings of mountain ranges and grew excited. I had never seen the Rockies from above. Unfortunately, the cloud cover began to thicken, so I picked up a magazine from the seat pocket and split my attention between glossy photos and a landscape that unfolded before me faster than my mind could process.
        At times, the wind scattered the clouds below and revealed a wonderful but desolate terrain whose only sign of life was the black cloud-shadows that raced along the ground. Then, without warning, we flew over a rocky, snow covered mountain. Amazing.
        The clouds became my enemy-- huge puffs that obscured my view. I strained to see rock and snow between them and cherished those glimpses. The corner of my eye caught a faint hue of color. Could it really be? Seriously? A rainbow materialized from underneath one of the clouds and stretched itself toward a rocky peak. I felt like jumping up and telling the entire plane about it.
        Just as I was thinking it was worth the price of the plane ticket if only to see these things, the pilot announced we were arriving in Helena and we began to descend upon the canopy of gigantic cumulous clouds that had been obstructing my view. We flew straight into one, and for a moment I felt as if I were stuck inside a bottle of aspirin stuffed with cotton. Slowly there was blurry color, then shape, and then suddenly we burst into the absolute clarity of a blue skied alpine vista with huge white treetop-clouds floating above. At that moment I felt like I had just been reborn into heaven. It was so shockingly beautiful I began crying; trying earnestly to hold back the tears but they were already streaming down my cheeks. I turned my back to the lady next to me, hoping she wouldn't see. Never before had such beauty brought such pain.

        When we landed in beautiful (as the pilot so aptly dubbed it) Helena, the passengers were buzzing. The flight attendant told us it was United Airline's inaugural flight from Denver to Helena and there was to be a "fiesta" in the airport. I walked down the staircase onto the runway and there were was a photographer taking pictures. In the background a news anchorman was giving an interview to a camera. For a second I felt like one of the Beatles.
        Helena's airport is tiny, with a ski-lodge type atmosphere. Inside it felt like I was walking into someone else's family reunion. Everybody was hugging, smiling, talking to each other, etc. There was a table set up with cake and refreshments. It felt so warm and personable compared to other airports, but by the time I sat down to call my ride the place was empty. They hadn't even left me a piece of cake

                                                                                ***

        Mo, my ride, is a 50 something short-haired, blue-jean and flannel ex-hippy with a hunter green beater of an S-10 extended-cab pickup. She's thin with a weak handshake and is warmer in person than over the phone. Sitting shotgun is her curly haired dog-- a mutt with some Irish Wolf Hound in her. The dog is friendly, but reluctant to move to the back.
        The pacing of Mo's conversation is slow, and it takes me a moment to adjust, but when I do I find it quite enjoyable. There is thought between my questions and her answers, and she allows me time to think before I answer. For the first time in a long time I find my speech is lucid. There is no rush.
        She's willing to take me to not one, but two grocery stores. The first is a hippie haven with organic everything. It's a full scale grocery store and they use white iMacs as check-out machines. The floor smells like they wax it with pachouli oil. The whole experience is somewhat overwhelming because there are so many choices, and I can no longer decide by buying what's good for me. There are all kinds of neat looking people working and shopping here and I have a bitter, cynical moment where I feel homogeneous and self-concious all at once.
        On the way out and fifty dollars later I spy an outdoor store with hiking boots in the window. Mo tells me to go ahead and check them out because Basin has some great hiking and she's in no hurry. The woman inside is an authority on hiking boots and I enjoy listening to her highlight the nuances between each pair. She encourages me to do my own research, and normally I would, but this is somewhat of an impulse buy. Somewhat. I mean I was planning on looking into getting a pair because I knew if I was going to walk anywhere other than the little strip of road in Basin I would need them-- this terrain is pretty rough. I try on a pair that she recommends would be good for both where I'll be and also hiking back home. They feel like a little piece of heaven on each foot-- especially after walking around airports in my old broke-down Chucks all day.
        I slide my debit card and see the total. I have never spent so much on a pair of footwear, and a little part of me winces. But that's only a little part and is all but buried by my excitement.

"The food here seems more expensive." I tell Mo as we leave the Safeway parking lot.
"It is. And it's been getting worse because of the gas prices. We're pretty much out in the middle of nowhere here and everything has to be shipped long distances. Did you notice how much eggs cost?"
        I did. Eggs, regular ones, not cage free or organic, but plain old eggs from angry chickens cost 2.79. Regular old wheat bread was 2.69.
        Mo has been living in Montana for 16 years now. She's originally from Massachusetts and was living in California for a while when she decided to comeback East. She stopped to visit some friends in Basin and has been living there ever since.
        All at once, it seemed, the sky darkened and it began pouring down rain. Mo turned on the windshield wipers but they didn't work. We were going 70 mph in a downpour without wipers. I think she sensed I was getting nervous.
        "There's an exit coming up soon we can pull over and wait for this to pass, I think it will be over soon."
        "It's ok, keep going if you can see. I trust you as the driver."

                                                                        ***                        

        Mo took me to Boulder first (7 miles north of Basin) and showed me around town. There was a grocery store and a library. A coffee place. A couple of diners. It was comparable to downtown Slippery Rock, only with an old time West feel. She told showed me a trail along the highway, an old railroad line that connects Basin and Boulder, and said I could borrow her bike and ride into Boulder whenever I wanted.
        When we arrived in Basin I was giddy. I tried to stop fantasizing about this place for the better part of a year and now I am finally here!