Well, we’re back on the road.  It was hard leaving the lake this morning.  We managed to head out before 11 AM, and even then we dragged our feet by stopping in Clark Fork for ice cream and a huckleberry muffin.

The ice cream eased the pain a bit.  We saved the muffin for tonight.  Banjo Man was hungry again in Thompson Falls, so we stopped at the grocery store and he bought a salad.  Then I drove.

Driving out of Idaho is always painful, but the worst time for me is in Ravalli, at the four-way stop sign where the signs point to “90-East Missoula” and “90-West Coeur d’Alene”.

Turn left and drive east for 3000 miles.  Or turn right and go back to Idaho.

This time I swung into a Travel Center/Casino/Gift Shop before going east.  Banjo Man woke up and wanted to know what was happening.

“I want a Montana sweatshirt.” 

I tried on 9 of them.  Dawdled in the souvenir aisles.  Talked Banjo Man into trying on hats.  Used the restroom.  Picked the blue sweatshirt instead of the green.  Spent some time deciding which plastic horse I would buy if I was 9 years old again.  Didn’t buy huckleberry lip balm.  Did buy a cute bib for my grandson.  Tried on the green sweatshirt again.

Banjo Man patiently tolerated all this for as long as he could stand, then he led me to the car, put me behind the wheel and went back to sleep.  My cursing didn’t faze him–he only snored louder.

We stopped outside of Missoula to visit some good friends.  We ate pumpkin bread.  I fell asleep on their couch.

Now we’re in Butte, 323 miles down the road.

Notes from the interstate:

To the Chick Band:  Check out “I Smell A Rat”, Patty Griffin.

Drummond, Montana has a “Used Cow Lot”.

What I Learned in a travel mart in Milltown, MT:  do not assume that a man wearing khaki pants, a green polo shirt and a tan baseball cap and is studying the display of sunflower seeds is your husband.  Do not approach him from behind and announce, “There’s caffeine-free root beer!!!”

You will scare him.  He will run away.  And the cashiers will glare at you as if you are an old, desperate hooker who needs to stop propositioning the customers.

Good night, my friends.  I think I’ll wear my new sweatshirt to bed.