I've reached my b&b, and am sitting in the shade looking at the mountains, and the combine harvesting the wheat in the foreground.
I'm often anxious and feel like I'm in a hurry when I'm traveling. I flew to Spokane last night, and went to my hotel which I had reserved ahead because I was worried about deciding on one while on the road. When I got there I wished I had gone a little further from the airport, just to have a slightly shorter trip today. Never mind. It was easy to find - I was worried about navigating an unfamiliar city in the dark - and adequately comfortable.
In the morning I can see that I am adjacent to the river. Nice little walk to loosen my back before I drive. Clear green water, little fish, cottonwoods and elders. It's so far North that the St. John's Wort is blooming in mid August.
Got rolling, drove contentedly for a couple of hours, until I passed a sign that said Glacier. Maybe I ought to turn back and take that turn. After a while I find a place to stop and look at my map. I had diverged from the route I meant to take about an hour and a half ago. OK, new plan.
Driving here is somewhat novel. The speed limit is 75, but posted 50 on curves, and it's all curves. I'm not the only one who can't keep up with the limit; the traffic tends to be slower than the posted speed even going straight without congestion.
After a while I reach the turnoff for Hot Springs, Montana. Hotel and mineral baths, two miles. May as well check it out now, I'll probably never be here again.
Two hot pools and the cold pool is closed for cleaning. Private bathtubs too. Seven bucks for both, how can I pass that up? Nice slippery mineral water, just what I hoped. No shade at all, so I can't stay in the water long. Such a shock to step into the water. I know it's hot, but still my skin expects it to be cold.
Onward to my B&B. I've talked to the hostess twice on the phone, and both times I ended up confused. Good thing I've downloaded directions.
The hostess is a crude spoken, earthy gal who expects people to fed for themselves and yet obey what she tells them. The room is listed as non-smoking, but in the yard everybody's puffing. She has three sons and is accustomed to a lively house. The place seems to be full of several young men, music, dog, commotion. Hard to find a place to write and watch the clouds, but it quiets down.
