A topsy turvy day

Friday, August 24, 2007

GREYCLIFF, MONTANA — It all started this morning when we were out of milk, and it was too early to shop at the campground mini-grocery. So, instead of cereal, we had sandwiches for breakfast. No big deal, you might say, but heaven knows what cosmic alterations were set in motion as a result of this unusual turn of events.
Anyway, the morning unrolled after breakfast in a fairly routine fashion as we went about our respective duties to break camp. Soon we were on our way again, heading east.
The I-90 follows the Clark Fork river — or at least, it’s situated in the same depression of land. Over several miles, we crossed bridges over the meandering Clark Fork at least half a dozen times! There were some beautiful vistas of golden plains and rolling hills, speckled with low bushes in colours of sage and olive. The mountains in the distance were clearly visible at first, but soon we were looking at them through a grey haze.
The smell of woodsmoke explained the haze a bit further on. We had heard on the radio that there were some forest fires in the vicinity, but clearly they were quite close by. We later learned that the community of Frenchtown, through which we drove, had been singed at the edges by fires that had actually destroyed some property. Persistent fire-fighting and sheer luck prevented worse damage or injury. Apparently some 4,000 acres of land were burned.
The scenery was quite spectacular as we headed toward Missoula and beyond. I must have counted about seven different colours of earth as we passed fields, cliffs and bluffs streaked with pink, pale green, purple, grey, sand, rust, black and brown earth! The grasses also came in a variety of colours, from pale gold to sage to brown. In addition to rolling hills, we came across some buttes, rock formations that are flat on top with cliff-like drops, sometimes like terraces. In one spot, I remarked to Val that a certain cliff looked like just the sort of place where natives would have staged a buffalo jump in olden times — and then we passed a sign indicating the turn for a native buffalo jump historic site!
We stopped at a rest area for lunch where there were interpretive signs explaining the gold rush in the area and the building of the railway. For my lunch, I ate a bowl of cereal, causing further cosmic alterations! We took a stroll by the creek near the rest stop before setting out again.
A few miles further on, Val spotted an orange sign telling motorists with rigs taller than 12 feet to take the next exit. We quickly consulted our laminated card, on which we have recorded the height in feet and metres of our trailer and realized we were 12 feet, six inches high — so off we turned, in the nick of time. Bright orange detour signs directed us alongside the I-90 for five or six miles, and brought us back to it at the next interchange. We were a bit puzzled, though, because we saw several big 18-wheelers on the interstate where we would have been if we had missed the sign. Better safe than sorry, anyway.
When it came time to refuel, I saw a billboard for a Flying J truck stop 17 miles further on, so we decided that might be a good place to find a few small grocery items at the same time. Not much later, there was the Flying J, but we hadn’t seen any ramp that we could have taken to get to it! So on we went, spotting a fuel sign at the next exit.
We got off the highway and located the gas station, only to discover it didn’t provide diesel, so I went inside to see if they knew of one that did, and they gave directions. These took us alongside the interstate for about a mile and then across it, where finally the Conoco station we were looking for came in to view. Val pulled up to the pump and picked up the nozzle, turning to open the flap on the truck and screw off the cap. Suddenly, the nozzle spurted a geyser of diesel fuel into the air, spraying the truck, the front of the trailer and dousing Val before shutting off again! Someone had flipped the clip that holds the nozzle open and replaced it that way on the pump, to catch the next customer by surprise. Some surprise.
We spoke to an attendant, who directed us to another pump where he had been cleaning up a similar spill, it seemed, with a pressure hose. He gave the truck and trailer a good rinsing off with the pressure hose and we filled up there, but poor Val had to change his T-shirt and rinse his eye, where some fuel had gone in. Fortunately he had his glasses on, or it might have been worse.
As soon as we got to our campground I rinsed his shirt three or four times at the camp laundry, doused it in stain remover and threw it in the machine along with his jeans and socks that also got hit with a few drops. Even after that, however, the smell and oily spots were still there, so it looks like we have a new rag for the trailer. Good thing it wasn’t one of Val’s new T-shirts!
One good thing rounded things off nicely, at least. In all the kerfuffle, I didn’t get a chance to phone ahead to reserve a campsite, so we drove in unannounced. Luckily, there was space for us, and the campground is a nice one.