We would probably tell you that we sucka-chumped a lot of things. We sucka-chumped people, objects, animals, even entire states. More than our fair share of sucka-chumps were thrown out, but no one counts the number of sucka-chump's thrown around, so we'll just keep saying, "there's plenty more where that came from."
On this particular day, if you talked to either Taylor or me, we would probably tell you that Montana sucka-chumped us, and it sucka-chumped us bad. Mostly because of the roads.
The day started out great. We made it to Gallatin Canyon early. We tried a few of the Lone Peak Brewery's beers before going on a long hike. Crystal clear water trickling down in streams, moose, and me constantly on the watch for a grizzly to wrastle. It was a nice day.
After quite a bit of time hiking, we decided to drive further eastward since it kept raining in Gallatin. The roads stayed wet for the entire portion of highway through western Montana. It finally cleared up as we passed the point of Custer's demise. The plains near Little Bighorn were sprawling. They made me feel like I was really out in the old west drinking home-brewed grain alcohol and fightin' injuns... manifest destiny and such.
After sun-set, the roads went to hell, and Taylor and I found ourselves driving recklessly eastward on another Northwestern highway death trap. (Note: The word "recklessly" has been thrown around loosely in this entry. For any person who might have a passing interest in Taylor, or me, or the civic being safe and steady, you can rest assured that we were.) Eventually we had to stop for gas, and the town of Lame Deer seemed to be the last point that might be a good stop. So Lame Deer it was.
The name suits that poor town. The Cheyenne Indians inhabit Lame Deer, and they keep it a bit on the shy end of cozy. It was easy to see that 1:00 AM is the "cool" time to hang out. You know? The citizens of the town go out early in the morning to stand menacingly at street corners, attempt to open peoples' cars that are not their own, or cackle loudly at a neighboring gas pump. It was a "fun" town.
The most exhillerating of the towns folks were the adolescents. behind the car stood a gaggle of young boys. They seemed to be on their way for some late night golf because about half of them were brandishing golf clubs. Maybe it was "cool" to walk around your town with golf clubs late into the night. Maybe Stacy, the head cheerleader, and Glen, the star of the football team, would walk around waving nine irons and telling clever jokes in some backwoods dump in the middle of nowhere. But, maybe not... Maybe people shouldn't carry around golf clubs late at night and stand in lines staring passer-bys down. Maybe people should try... reading a book? Playing a video game? Self-satisfying? Anything really, as long as it doesn't involve me wanting to speed off because you've carried your golf club a little to close. Children of America! Put down your golf clubs and go do something proactive! ...or at least a bit more tame.
So it was Taylor's time to pump the gas, which I was eternally thankful for. I stayed safely in the driver's seat with the key in the ignition. At the drop of a hat I was ready to turn that key and floor it, leaving Taylor far behind to deal with flashes of golf clubs and angry native people. Taylor attempt to look cool and confident in a Patrick Swayze-ish sort of way. Leaning against the car in a jaded apathetic manner. It was way too much for me, as I am more of a thumb twiddler. The jig was up once the gas finished pumping. Taylor fumbled messily for the pump and hung it back up way uncooly. He race-walked to the passenger seat as I turned the car on quickly. By the time his door was closing, I was peeling out onto the gravel streets of Lame Deer.
Taylor vs Ryan in the town of Lame Deer, Montana
The rest of the night was a stressful night drive through more poorly paved Montananite roads. We Stopped on the South Dakota/Wyoming border for a rest before heading further east.
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