Montana to Wyoming.  Always beautiful, especially in September.

I finally remembered to take a picture.

We ate breakfast at our hotel (a Best Western Plus we pulled into late the night before–in fact, we were so tired that when I dragged myself out of the car to see if they had a room available when others we tried were full, Glen spoke four words I haven’t heard him say in our entire 41 years together: “Money is no object.”).

Revelation: I will never be able to make a waffle. I may as well just give up, having spent more than 2/3 of my life trying.

We stopped in Big Timber for lunch at the Grand Hotel, a restaurant Tom Brokaw is known to frequent. He wasn’t there, but a lot of local folk dressed in jeans and jackets were. Montana was cold! We ate the smallest, driest, plainest buffalo burgers in the West and then got back on the road.

Mile 200: I drove. Glen slept.
Mile 330: I saw a cowboy riding a horse. Be still my heart. I have to start writing about cowboys again.
Mile 400: I saw two cowboys (spurs and all!) in McDonalds in Buffalo, Wyoming.

We vowed to get off the road early and checked into another Best Western in Gillette. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one the night before, but we just stopped at the first hotel we saw and didn’t really care. Then we found a Perkins and ate dinner with a lot of other old people. And went to bed early.

Total miles: 468.

Best songs on the radio: “Knocked Out Rhythm” and “Got A Lot of Rhythm in my Soul” (Patsy Cline) on a Western Swing radio station.

These are the other two pictures I took. And I don’t even know why.  I think I had eaten too many potato chips and the grease affected my brain.

I think we were in Wyoming. Banjo Man doesn’t understand why I think taking pictures of him is so funny.

But it is. Wait til you see the ones from Rapid City.