Chapter 5

Hairy

“You fellas pick the damnedest destinations for a road test.”

<Chuckle. I don’t recommend offroading it.>

Now ... I have to admit ... I was in better shape. This body was tweaked when I took over management but it was still a bit weak. Staying at the Kiwanis Campground might be free, but it’s at the tip of the 21/3 runway and it can be a touch noisy. The PBY 6A parked wherever they parked it. A pair of P&W 1,200 hp R-1830-92 engines with stub exhaust is loud. The bunch working on it ran it up whenever.

Middle of the night alerts are NOT fun, either. The Nuke Squad flies down from Great Falls and springs snap alerts on the missile batteries.

Plus there’s the Radar crews from Maiden ... typical electronic types ... chasing the local trim and getting drunk.

But, about the better shape. The shop is 1st Ave South and Janeaux Street and the camping is at US87 and J Street ... uphill ... both ways. I ran it twice a day.

Anyway ... US87 west to Eddies Corner and south on 191 to Harlowton then US12 west to Townsend and 12 into Helena and the Lottery.

I won a million but the check was for Six hundred Eighty Seven thousand Five hundred dollars ... but ... then ... the tax was paid.

Damnit!

<1-2-45-46-67... 13 three weeks.>

So ... I asked the propaganda crew, “Can I buy a ticket here?”

“Yes.” The big boss handed me a selection sheet.

I circled the required numbers and the date. They ran it through their printer and handed me the ticket. I signed it on the spot.

The News crews ... there to spread my fame as a Lottery winner far and wide ... took pictures of the eternal optimist ... that’s me ... and the Director as he handed me the ticket.

Now I had some money ... instead of heading back to Lewistown I went south ... to Sheridan, Wyoming. Actually ... Wolf and Eaton’s Ranch.

I’d like to say in was a dark and stormy night. I’d like to say it was snowing in the dead of winter. I’d like to say that ... but I can’t. It was a mild balmy day driving towards Three Forks ... somewhere south of Toston but not yet to the junction at Interstate 90 when I saw the proverbial thumb.

In the summer, Montana and Wyoming are prime hikers areas. Going to this or that National Park or Wilderness Area for reasons only a mother could love and a father finance, there were citizens in various stages of distress scattered along the roads. Montana is huge ... cars break down, legs wear out.

Easterners, used to a town five miles down the road aren’t prepared for the knowledge that the next-door neighbor might be a hundred and twenty five miles away. Help is not five minutes away.

Tired of my own company, I stopped. Boy? Girl? Didn’t care. Someone more than static on the radio or listening to the same old same old music from the cassette player. I knew I should have brought more tapes. So ... I stopped. A girl. At least she was wearing a cap. I wouldn’t have a case of sunstroke on my hands.

“How far are you going, mister?” she said.

I don’t play those games ... I could be stuck with a boring or smelly rider for ever.

“Where are you headed?” I said, knowing I could modify my expectations by the answer.

“I don’t care,” she said. “I just have to get away.”

Shit! Shouldn’t have stopped. Three Forks was too close. Logan would work.

“I’m stopping in Logan for lunch. I can take you that far.”