Point of Entry – I-90 near Lookout Pass
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," said Dorothy to her little dog as she looked at the wonders of Oz. I felt similarly foreign when in Montana.
Most of my Montana memories are from Glacier National Park. The main reason for being in that region was to visit Yellowstone but we started our adventure with several days in Glacier. The mountains. The lakes. The waterfalls. The trails. The lodges. The wildlife. The park became an instant favorite, and a return trip to it comes on my travel planning radar every year.
We also knew quite clearly that we weren't on the East Coast anymore on the drive from Glacier to Yellowstone. A significant portion of the main highway toward Helena was under construction. For mile after mile, we found ourselves traveling across a gravel road where highway used to be and, presumably, would be again.
Even with the construction I remembered something: I enjoy a good drive. I used to drive for fun, but living on the East Coast turned that love affair into a bad, dysfunctional marriage. I'd gone from loving the road to dreading and avoiding it. Driving Montana rekindled that romance.
On our way back to Spokane to fly home we stopped to stretch our legs at Grant-Kohrs Ranch. We thought an hour there would be a nice quick way to break up the drive. But the place caught our spirits and the National Park Service rangers and volunteers were so captivating that we overstayed. We reluctantly left knowing there was much more to see and do.
Much like Dorothy, I new that my time there would need to come to an end. For though Montana was magical, it's not a place I could live for very long. And though I had to do more than just click my heals three times and wish really hard, there is no place like home.
And there's no place like Montana, either.
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