Premature evacuation, part eight.: zeroenthusiasm

zeroenthusiasm

Premature evacuation, part eight.

Sep 30, 2018 23:59

502 miles.

DAY THIRTY-TWO
Friday, September 28th

When we woke up and looked outside, the first thing we saw were two deer nonchalantly prancing in broad daylight across the four-way intersection. They did so with a fearless defiance and grace that contradicted the natural anxiety of a deer's eyes, and ironically right by a handmade sign for local "wild game processing". We wasted no time getting ready and heading further into town to dip our feet into the hot springs.

I had never gone to a hot springs before, so I wasn't completely sure of what to expect. When we pulled into the Star Plunge, which had been in business since 1900 and still looked like it was stuck somewhere in the middle of that century, we first went across the street to walk along the wooden path wrapping around some hot springs. A mountain in the distance announced through giant letters and an arrow made of white rocks that this was the world's largest hot springs. We were of course only seeing a small part of it, but it was incredible and completely alien to me. I didn't know what else I was expecting, but I could see the steam rising right from it. Geese landed and quickly ascended back into the air, letting out disgruntled honks. Hues of green and orange formed from the different microbes and bacteria thriving under the water. We went across a wobbly suspension bridge and got an even better view of the multicolored rocks where a light and shallow fall of hot spring water entered the regular river.

The Star Plunge cost money because they offered water slides and other touristy novelties. Across from them was the city-run bathhouse, where it was completely free to soak in a pool of real hot spring water for twenty minutes. Even better, "recreation" wasn't allowed, which practically guaranteed no kids. Alyssa got into her bathing suit and I just got down to my boxers since I didn't own a bathing suit and needed to keep my mesh shorts I'd been wearing dry. The first step down into the pool took me by surprise with how perfectly warm it was. The pool was 104 degrees and a gentle steam was hovering over it. The strong smell of sulfur filled the air. The pool was shallow enough to walk on your knees. Our twenty minutes soaking in it was so relaxing that I just wanted to fall asleep right then and there. By the time we got out, I felt like I was waking from a dream, almost lightheaded from how soothing the short dip really was.

We saw a stegosaurus by our car, not that Alyssa cared. I trapped my wet boxers in the back window to air-dry them and free-balled it the rest of the day. We saw a big rock near the Chamber of Commerce that everyone had to have agreed looked like a boob. Even though dinosaurs and fossils apparently weren't cool, Alyssa insisted we stop in Ava's Silver Rock Shop. They owned three mines of their own in Thermopolis, and their selection was all very impressive and stunning. The old man working the counter had a special enthusiasm about him and how he'd go out of his way to tell you things he knew. He also had no problem telling you what he didn't know, and that was when he deferred to Ava. In the corner, they had an uncomfortably adorable fake jackalope head mounted next to a framed jackalope hunting license from South Carolina.

Just before we finally exited the town and back into the Wind River Canyon, we pulled over to gaze at a field of grazing antelope. We also saw a family of deer gracefully hop up the side of a mountain like it was no big deal. We made use of nearly every pull-off back through Wind River Canyon. Every view was worth taking in. We turned a 30-minute ride into a 90-minute one. Almost every stop along the road revealed something different. Some were merely different but equally as startling views of the river cutting through the canyon. One had boulders and rocks that shone like quartz in shades of pink, orange, and black; one had a residence whose black dog came and gleefully tagged along as we checked the picnic tables out; one allowed us to get close to the three tunnels. Just driving through that canyon was a roadside attraction in and of itself that I thought every visitor to the state should take time to see.

On one of our stops, I noticed a man from Colorado had pulled his pick-up over to climb down and attempt to trick and kill some fish. Constantly frustrated with and disgusted by every body of water I marveled at being used to needlessly kill aquatic animals, I retaliated by cutting his rope which he was using to ease his and his equipment's way up and down. I felt bad about it afterwards, and Alyssa was upset with me for actually doing it. I hoped I didn't ruin his day too bad, but also I kinda hoped I inconvenienced his day of pretending to be an alpha predator.

After another stop in Shoshoni to put some air in the tires, we drove out to the last Walmart for as far as we could see on Google Maps. We wanted to pack up on some food for the next couple of days since we knew we'd be camping and exploring the national forests and parks of the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone before entering the equally as unpopulated and wooded state of Montana. We were low on money and I had been out of food stamps for over a week by that point, so we were hoping to fill a cart with stuff and just walk out with it. Unfortunately, since the police existed to protect private property and corporate interests, they had a fucking sheriff standing next to the receipt checker. It was funny thinking back to all of the "vote so-and-so for sheriff" signs we'd passed the last couple of days, and how they'd be better off saying "vote so-and-so for Walmart receipt checker". How anyone could justify a county sheriff using his hours and taxpayer-funded resources babysitting the exit doors to a Walmart--a corporation that notoriously didn't even pay taxes--was beyond me. We left with two packs of Morningstar chicken patties, a pack of Lightlife hotdogs, a pack of coconut herb Chao cheese, two bags of petite potatoes, a pack of corn on the cob, three bunches of organic bananas, some tiny onions, a small head of lettuce, a jar of pickles, a jar of raw sauerkraut, a bottle of Just chipotle mayo, a bottle of organic ketchup, and of course buns. We had a lined insulated lunchbox thing we'd racked from a Price Chopper a while back that we hoped would keep everything more or less safe and preserved, though one of the many perks of vegan meats was that you wouldn't get sick from eating them unrefrigerated. I was very disappointed, largely in myself, for allowing the presence of that sheriff to make me lose my nerve.

As we set back out on the road, the sun began to set. The mountaintops were obscured and the sun blurred by a dusty range of clouds. We made a few stops along the way so Alyssa could play saxophone for the cows. We couldn't gauge their response, which ranged from standing attentively, running off together, or mooing back at her. Hopefully, their "moo" wasn't the same as our "boo".

After another hour or so of driving, we found ourselves in a small town of less than a thousand people called Dubois. It was like we'd traveled in a time machine at least a century's away. There were lots of small local businesses, including several cafes, an art gallery, some bars, a few inns, and a couple restaurants, but they were all in old wooded structures that were more like cabins, their ages visibly authentic. One bar had been there since 1919, and an arch made entirely of antlers paid homage to the nightmarish settler origins the town clearly still clung to. We pulled over once we saw a big jackalope statue outside of a gift shop and convenience store that boasted itself the world's biggest jackalope exhibit. After riding the particularly cute and cartoonish jackalope out front, we went inside and took in the large collection of jackalope memorabilia hanging along all the walls. In the back stood another giant jackalope, this one actually coated in real fur pelts. It was very creepy, so much so that we passed up the welcome to get on its back. The guy working there told me the town's name was pronounced like "Due-boys" rather than "Due-bwah", explaining that the latter was the correct pronunciation but that everyone intentionally mispronounced it because the founder whose name it was based after was historically despised.

Hanging from a rafter was a copy of the menu to a local restaurant called the Cowboy Cafe. I looked through it out of curiosity and they actually had a "Housemade Vegan Burger" listed on it. I was completely taken aback, and we both knew we had to go get it. Suddenly, there we were, in a packed small-town diner from another era altogether in a literal middle-of-nowhere town in Wyoming, where there were less than a thousand residents and 100% buffalo meat was on the menu... and we were about to eat an explicitly vegan burger made of black beans, quinoa, carrots, mushrooms, oats, flax seed, almonds, and panko. When Alyssa asked our waitress what led to there being a vegan burger, she seemed confused by the question and simply told us it was due to demand. When our food came out, she surprised us with vegan ranch! The burger was fucking fantastic. We split just one so we'd still have room for chicken patties later.

Afterwards, up the road at a gas station, we pulled in and used their public microwave to prepare our actual dinner. We got chicken patties and melted Chao cheese on them on big sesame seed buns. We nabbed some jalapeños that were inside a Tupperware next to the hot food, which the woman later charged me 50 cents for using. Alyssa chopped up some onion on the little cutting board we'd dumpstered a while back at SUNY, and we dressed our sandwiches with those, lettuce, pickles, and barbecue sauce.

When we left, it was so cold we could see our breath. We weren't totally sure what was coming up next on the long, dark road, but we decided to keep driving for a little bit longer. We saw on Google Maps there would at least be an overpriced gas station right before Grand Teton National Park. Driving up a road with no other traffic whatsoever was kinda spooky, and looking in the rearview mirror and seeing nothing but pitch blackness was an unsettling sight. We ended up pulling over at the first gas station we saw, next door to a big lodge. Once again, we'd be sleeping in our car right outside of a place full of empty rooms. I couldn't help but feel frustrated by the irony, even though we were both perfectly cozy in the car. A sign on the front door warned that bears had been spotted around the property in the past 24 hours.

Thermopolis!

A pool of natural hot spring water!

A giant tit rock!

Animal bones.

The breathtaking drive back through Wind River Canyon!

An old mine shaft!

Welcome to Dubois.

A vegan burger at the Cowboy Cafe, of all places, where someone carved a naked woman into the bathroom wall.

Tower of chicken patties for dinner at a convenience store.

A triumphant ram statue.

DAY THIRTY-THREE
Saturday, September 29th

We woke up nice and early and used the inn's bathrooms. Alyssa nabbed some free coffee before we headed back out on the road. Hotels were good for free amenities. It wasn't far from there that we got to the Grand Teton National Forest, which the state forced us to fork over a $35 entrance fee for. The ranger behind the drive-thru window was so upbeat that it made me feel like he was relishing in taking money from me. Campsites and certain maintenance were nice when visiting a national forest, but I'd forego all of it if it meant free entry and unfettered access to nature, especially since camping was of course not included in the fee and unaffordable to us, anyway. Most of what needs to be done to maintain a national forest is common sense and self-regulatory, such as the little required to maintain the free campsites. They could at least make it donation-based, considering they still have plenty of huge gift shops and convenience stores along the way to supplement what they allegedly use that money for, instead of literally closing the entrance ways off with a state-regulated toll booth that declares, "Ye shall not pass!" unless you give them money.

Anyway, the drive in was of course stunning. The trees were multicolored with the signs of fall Albany seemed to skip entirely, the fields of golden grass echoed the color of the sun, and the mountains surrounded us in a way that looked fake, though we didn't wind up actually seeing any of the three Tetons (which, by the way, get their name from the French, who called them "the three teats").

The first thing we did was pull over to Two Ocean Lake, where we were able to watch otters play in the water through binoculars that a woman donated to us before one of the last Really Really Free Markets. Most of the drive through consisted of one pause after another, pulling over in disbelief at the view. The way the sky was stitched to the lakes by mountains that disappeared on the horizon like a mirage, and the size and space of it all as incalculable as it was, reminded me how small we actually were. But then we came across a massive establishment featuring a gift shop, convenience store, and restaurant, which served bison and trout and had the nerve to place a symbol next to them denoting "sustainable options". You could eat the same animals you hoped to see alive in nature later on, while buying the same beers and Hot Pockets and sweatshop merchandise largely responsible for the destruction of places like the forest you were currently in! We didn't spend any money there.

We continued right along Jackson Lake until we met with Snake River and the Ashton-Flagg Ranch Road, where we'd seen on FreeCampsites.net there were free primal campsites available. Unsure of where the best stop was, we kept driving along the rocky, narrow, dusty trail for half of the twenty-something-mile center point our GPS had us going toward. We were so confused at first why the GPS said it would take an hour and a half to ride twenty miles, but very quickly realized that it was because there was no way to drive it in a steady or quick way. There were constant turns as elevation increased and the rough road felt like one big rumble strip at times. We'd intermittently run into another car coming toward us, and neither of us would know the best way to go about passing. We entered strips of land where the burnt skeletal fingers of dead trees still stood, in stark contrast with the bright grass they were stuck in. We passed by almost a dozen marked campsites, most of which were occupied, but kept going since it was so early in the day and for all we knew we'd eventually stumble on the perfect one for us, ideally with total solitude and an idyllic view of one of the many rivers we were riding along and sometimes over.

Very deep along the way, we did drive down an unmarked path that at first appeared too narrow for a car to go down. A piece of cardboard loosely nailed to a post said in Sharpie that it was someone's wedding, with a crudely drawn penis next to it. It was silent, and a guy in a passing car told us the little paths had picnic tables and fire pits, so we gave it a try and actually quite liked what we'd found at first: a lone picnic table, a man-made fire pit with leftover melted plastic and beer cans in it, and a bear box, right next to a big, beautiful lake. We sat and enjoyed the quiet before deciding to turn around and go back the way we came; we just weren't properly prepared for cooking or defecating in that bare a site. Mostly, we lacked a grate or anything similar for successfully cooking on the fire pit. Luckily, by the time we returned to campsite #2, there was still a space open. It was perfect: a fire pit with a grate, a small bathroom facility without running water, and a nice view of Snake River. An old man there all by himself was our neighbor. We exchanged no more than a single mutual wave, which I initiated. We went back to the store for an extendable fork and then started setting up camp. The same nice woman who donated the binoculars had actually given us an entire plastic bin of every piece of camping gear one could ever require. From it, we'd only kept the binoculars and a tent she said had only been used once. The rest was donated to the next Really Really Free Market. The tent wound up being far more spacious than we'd anticipated, which was exciting since I wasn't used to having nice things.

Putting it up together was fun. We used a nice rock we found nearby to hammer in the spikes. There were a lot of annoyingly curious bugs, but no mosquitoes. We got the fire going using the cabin structure method, though we filled it with coals along with the kindling. It was exactly what we needed to grill up hotdogs, corn on the cob, and a whole bag of chopped petite potatoes. We had ketchup, spicy brown mustard, Just chipotle mayo, and sauerkraut for our hotdogs, and Alyssa seasoned the potatoes with garlic powder and vegan chicken flavoring. The hotdogs and corn were a lot quicker, and we finished them before the potatoes were done. We ate so well that night. Both of us wondered how we could ever leave when it was all just so fucking nice there.

The sun still hadn't set, but we were both exhausted. We got into our tent, where Alyssa had made up a cozy bed using all we had in our little mobile home. I almost immediately fell into a short nap on her. We watched two movies that night before going to sleep early. After dark, it began to rain. It was erratic and varied drastically in heaviness, but the fierce winds were consistent and strong. Fortunately for us, this little used tent donated to us was able to put up with it all, and not a drop got inside, nor did a stake come up.

Started our day with an exclamation.

The drive into Grand Teton National Forest, featuring Two Ocean Lake and Jackson Lake!

The views along our hunt for a campsite near Snake River.

Camp!

DAY THIRTY-FOUR
Sunday, September 30th

I woke up on and off to the pleasant sounds of the natural world around us, like that of a distant woodpecker trying to infiltrate a tree, and the continuous flow of the river adjacent us. The sky was blurry with clouds, but everything had dried up from the night before and the sun did its best to shine through our tent's back window screen. I felt so well rested.
We didn't waste time tearing down. Alyssa put our car bed back together while I deconstructed the tent. Our neighbor left shortly before we did and was immediately replaced by another older couple with a tiny dog. The man told us Yellowstone had less people and more animals at it this time of year, which was a promising forecast to hear. We made one more stop at the store to use their bathrooms and put our last $20 of gas money in the tank just so we'd have the peace of mind that we left there filled. Both of us were paranoid of running out while in the woods or in a rural ghost town. We were officially back to $0 in our fund of donated gas money.

We entered from the south entrance and gave another obnoxiously peppy ranger $45. Since we had the receipt from the last state park robbery, we were offered a year pass for the charge of entry plus $10. We figured we'd take them up on their "offer" since we knew we'd be stopping through more national forests in the future. We pulled over and got a good look at Moose Falls, a relatively small but still large and powerful waterfall less than a mile in. We drove through tall, skinny pine trees aligned in an almost impossibly perfect order. The main road followed along the Lewis River as we climbed in elevation, reaching almost 8,000 feet, and we again stopped for nearly every overlook, each one outdoing the last. The Red Mountains went for as far as our eyes could see with the river's dark cerulean blues raging along its floors. Sitting downstream from Lewis Falls, named after one third of the Lewis and Clark expedition, was awesome.

We continued north toward West Thumb, which was a body of water so vast, still, and reflective of the open sky above it that as far as one could tell we were almost at the edge of the Earth. The horizon of dark green trees on the other shorelines were so far away and dwarfed by the water itself that they looked like a sliver between the lake and the clouds. We started heading west from there toward the geysers and basins we were both so excited to see. We stopped at Isa Lake right on the continental divide beneath Craig Pass, which was dead still and topped in a lot of lily pads. Despite looking so inconspicuous and maybe even unremarkable by Yellowstone standards, this lake was unique in that it eventually ends up draining into both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans via a very intricate routing system--the only natural body of water to do so. Further up the road, we looked over the observation deck at the incredible Kepler Cascades, a 50-foot waterfall pouring out over the most picturesque boulders and trees we'd seen accompany any falls thus far. A pair of huge raven were hanging around and observing, seemingly unconcerned with the cars pulling in and out. One posed on a tree stump and became the temporary star of the show. We planned on seeing the Lone Star Geyser from there, but backed out once we realized it was an almost five-mile round-trip hike. We loved hikes, but how much we intended on fitting into a single day just didn't leave room for walks that long! Plus, it'd just started raining.

A mile or so away, we could already see the multiple surrounding geysers releasing thick clouds of steam above the trees. We pulled into the massive parking lot outside of Old Faithful. By the time we got there, all we could see at first were humongous buildings serving as extravagant lodges, gift shops, two-floor convenience stores, restaurants, and even an auto and RV repair garage. It bummed me out that nature didn't seem to be enough for anyone, or that the state and capitalism had to make every single thing on the planet a money-making scheme. It was just overwhelming and reminded me that commerce was inescapable. We found out that Old Faithful had just recently gone off, and thus had a little over an hour to kill. Thankfully, Old Faithful got its very name from how punctual and reliable it was.

We decided to explore the bustling gift shop, convenience store, and restaurant. Ironically, vegan options were virtually nonexistent, and we had to watch people walk around with pepperoni pizzas and ice cream. Not even the prepackaged hummus wrap in the cooler was vegan! We shopped around and spent zero dollars. Outside, stands holding informational brochures about the geysers had the nerve to ask for a dollar donation!

Old Faithful never calmed itself from the last blast, and a slowly dissipating steam continued to loom lowly over it. We walked around the boardwalk and admired the many other small- to medium-sized geysers, hot springs, and fumaroles. Hot springs were of course pools of thermally heated water that, due to a lack of underground constriction, only released heat and steam from its surface, without exploding; fumaroles were holes in the ground that smoked like chimneys, releasing heat so high in temperature that any water that got in would be instantly converted to steam, keeping them the hottest things visible on the surface as well as the driest and least colorful. This was the world's largest concentration of geysers in the world, and one location of only four on the planet where there were many in one place.
Just along the initial Old Faithful loop, we were able to take in some amazing little hot springs and miniature geysers. Many dark blue springs sat with a steady, bubbling boil, like entrances to other dimensions, or at least like really nice hot tubs. The smell of sulfur hung over the land. The depths ranged in blues, seemingly becoming lighter tones of azure the deeper they went, giving the rock formations inside the effect of crystals. The microbial life the collaboration of different conditions accommodated created colorful layers of fiery oranges, chocolatey browns, and smooth bone whites, as well as the dark algal greens we usually associated with murky water.

We grabbed decent seats along the boardwalk right in front of Old Faithful and patiently awaited its eruption with hundreds of others from around the world. We found out that this was the off-season; we were grateful we dodged the summer bullet of endless traffic and lines. As the minutes neared 2:23, it would tease us with some increased steam or little, two-foot tall bursts of water. Another raven couple stalked the grounds near us, one shouting from their own bench. Within a small window of mere minutes, it started shooting water into the air, letting off tall walls of steam cutting across the field around it. Old Faithful had been going off every 44 to 125 minutes for the last 18 years, erupting over a million recorded times, and had reached heights as high as 185 feet, though it now averaged around 145, releasing between 3,700 and 8,409 gallons of boiling water. It could last up to five minutes, and I'd say that was about as long as our viewing did. While not the tallest or longest lasting geyser, it was the first one to receive a name, and was of course the most predictable. I was so excited to finally see it in person.

After that, we were intent on seeing Morning Glory, and had the opportunity to walk the three-mile round-trip to it, seeing dozens of geysers and hot spring pools along the way, all with unique names, different colors and stripes, various sizes and depths, and unpredictable temperaments. The Anemone Geyser was completely empty when we got to it, which we'd read meant it would soon fill back up and erupt. Its exterior looked like a bumpy skin disease. Sure enough, after a few minutes of mistakenly staring at and waiting for a nearby hot spring that was bubbling, the actual Anemone went off, and just as quickly drained entirely like a flushed toilet. We saw one named the Depression Geyser. As we cut through more forestial fields on the boardwalk, we got to watch from a safe distance as two bison grazed. They were so handsome and peaceful.

At the suggestion of the brochure and some guy adorned in a walkie talkie and heavy hiking gear who was sharing in-depth geyser info and trivia with anyone who would listen, we sat and waited by the Grand Geyser, and its neighbors Turban and Vent, because it was expected to go off within the half hour. This was the tallest predictable geyser in the world and practically put Old Faithful to shame with its performance, which was more like a warm and watery fireworks show. It exploded in steady, furious bursts while Turban shot out steadily like a hose. It went on for almost 15 minutes and got almost 200 feet high. Shit was crazy. The Giant Geyser emitted a blinding and enveloping amount of steam, though it spent a long time dormant starting in 1955 before behaving in a totally unpredictable manner in 2007. The Grotto Geyser had the most unusual formation, but also released a blinding area of steam for us to wade through.

Finally, at the end of the boardwalk where the paved trail meets it, we found Morning Glory, an almost tie-dyed pool of deadly hot water. It was worth the walk and was by far the most beautiful of any of the holes in the ground we saw that day. Unfortunately, human beings couldn't handle something so naturally beautiful and, believe it or not, there were some who saw something like Morning Glory and thought to themselves, 'Hm, that looks like a real purdy trash can.' A sign nearby referred to it as "Fading Glory". While the extra colors were definitely mesmerizing, they were the product of invasive yellow bacteria resulting from blocked thermal vents and, hence, reduced heat--people were throwing too much stuff inside the pool, ranging from rocks to coins to outright trash. While hopes were that occasional bursts would clear it out, park officials cleaned it out themselves every year.

We ended our journey through Yellowstone at Grand Prismatic Spring, the country's largest hot spring, and the third largest on the planet. Driving toward it, the clouds of steam were even higher and thicker. When we parked, we could barely see the bridge and walkway people were on. We crossed a cold river into the depths of steam rising from a huge crater. Everything around us was obscured at one point. Through the thickness, we could see the deep blue of a shallow pool at the bottom of it. Then we reached the outskirts of the actual Spring. It took us completely off guard. We were suddenly standing by some primordial pool of vividly colored, boiling water full of microbial artistry that completed the rainbow spectrum the previous springs could not. At 370 feet in diameter, it seemed endless along the boardwalk at first before it ended and all we were left with were the sandy terrain with pulsating veins of algae. This thing dispersed 560 gallons of water a minute, reached maximum depths of 160 feet, and temperatures of 160 degrees that resulted in a totally sterile core. It was one of the most visually striking and unbelievable things I'd ever seen in real life, and it was all a creation of the natural chaos of things.

As we left the park, we saw a nearby bison eating grass behind some trees. At the same time, a light hail began. Traffic jammed as nearly everyone, save for a few grouchy old people, tried to get photos of them from the road. Not far from there, though, a bison moseyed right along the median before crossing through patient cars like they weren't even there, following a little trail back into the woods. Bison were everywhere and close! With their big, bottomless eyes, buff bodies, and handsome bearded heads and faces that made them look like gentle lumberjacks, I could not conceive how anyone could kill them.

We drove for a while, reaching the end of the forest and nearing the border of Montana. Alyssa kept her eyes close on the sides of the road; we were both still holding out hope of seeing a moose and/or bear. We caught a big family of elk across a field. On a whim, I pulled off on one view and in the distance across a river we saw one lone lady moose staring out into the water before noticing she was being watched by an audience of humans. Our handy binoculars helped us get good views of all these beautiful animals.

Then we were abruptly in Montana, one of the only remaining states I'd never been to. I was excited to finally cross it off the list, leaving only Alaska and South Dakota to see. We were still surrounded by woods, distant mountains, and long roads with Wildlife Crossing signs. We saw a car on the side of the road with a completely decimated front, likely the result of hitting a bison. According to a sign, over a dozen bison had been hit so far in Montana that year. A wet, golden shine blanketed everything around us. Montana was so far exactly what I expected. We had almost three hours to go before Butte. For a while, we didn't really enter towns as we drove along the scenic route. There were cabins and ranches and isolated homes that mostly appeared empty as they were likely vacation homes. We pulled over several times along Quake Lake, a relatively new formation of water that resulted entirely due to an earthquake. In 1959, a 7.5 earthquake provoked an 80-million-ton landslide that fell at 100 miles per hour, creating its own dam, covering the Hebgen one already there, destroying several dozen cabins, and killing 28 people. It had been the biggest earthquake to hit Montana in human history. While only lasting no more than 40 seconds, it was able to drop the land around it by 20 feet and rise nearby waters by eight more. What was there now was definitely spectacular, but the ghost trees that still tread the water were a reminder of the death and destruction it was born from.

We kept driving into the dark, hoping with each small town for a public microwave we could use for dinner. We stopped in Ennis, but the one open gas station convenience store didn't have one, though it did have significantly more alcohol options than food. Closer to McAllister where Google Maps promised another gas station, we pulled in and immediately realized it was already closed, although only a little after 8PM. The entire town had its lights off and it was actually pretty creepy. So we decided to finally give our 12-volt portable lunchbox oven a chance. We just wanted to heat up some thawed chicken patties and cheese. The directions said in all caps to not drive while using it, so we stayed put on the side of the closed mart. Two women came by to look in their trash, and a couple suspicious pick-up trucks pulled in and idled for a bit. After a half hour, the cheese wasn't melting and the patties were barely lukewarm--the thing was worthless. So we ate room-temperature chicken patties with Chao cheese, pickles, and sauce, and the two cobs of cold corn we had left. It wasn't the best, but all either of us had eaten all day were bananas. To make room in the car and shed unnecessary material possessions, we put the lunchbox, which would likely serve a different vehicle better, and a full unused car rain cover we knew we'd never use by the gas pump with the word "FREE" on it.

We drove through several more dead towns with populations that were as low as the tens and no higher than the hundreds, all shut down with the lights off. The ride was so dark and unsettling, though one of the clearest views of the stars, free from any light pollution, was now available to us. We got to Butte and went straight to our Walmart for the night. We went inside for some snacks. Alyssa got salted almond chocolate and I found a $1 can of generic barbecue Pringles that were vegan. I'd missed them dearly since they'd suddenly started putting whey in their chips. A superfluous security guard was at the door, checking each and every person's receipt at 11 at night. I never took my receipt with me, and I had just purchased my drink and chips like ten feet away from him and another employee, so when he actually asked to see my receipt, I just kept walking. The expected authoritative, "Sir?" came along before he spoke into a walkie talkie and said, "Black shorts." No one came to get me because the entire existence of that job was security theater: As a security guard, and especially as a Walmart employee, he had absolutely no legal authority over anyone. The burden of proof was on them, and as a customer I had no obligation to prove myself innocent on my way out. That was why nothing resulted from it. Ironically, Alyssa was the only one who stole something.