6.25.01

Big Sky is right! After the Continental Divide the mountains cleared into shallower grass-covered hills. What forests sped by were arid pine, leeward flora, rugged and already reminding me of the southwest. Even occasional strips of flesh-colored earth bared under trees or grass. Near Bozeman the Rockies rose again and were like an edge unleapable. The southern rim especially sharp and snow-tipped led to Yellowstone. And on the road to Yellowstone, a two-lane road—finally free of the Interstate—winding through the Yellowstone river valley and countless ranches tucked up under butte lips or sometimes on top. Drove like that through the afternoon stopping once to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and stopping again at the entrance to the park to shop for postcards. Two postcards later I got caught by a sign that said, "Hold it pardner! You're not goin' anywhere until you've had a homemade waffle cone." So I did have a cone loaded with Moose Track ice cream (vanilla with Reeses peanut butter cups and semi-sweet chocolate chunks), and it was a Mistake, a big fat cow of a Mistake so much ice cream it was. It must've been my birthday cake.

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