Saturday, June 12 I couldn't leave Malta without seeing the dinosaur museum. Or the district high school rodeo finals. Or get a haircut. My hair and nails have grown really fast in the last three weeks. Eeek! I'm turning into a freak! OK, a different kind of freak.
The museum had a completely intact Albertosaurus, a 2.5 ton cousin of the 7 ton T-Rex. As a child I saw dinosaurs at the Chicago museum of of history. But this one in Malta was found right in the countryside where I was biking. I stared for a long time, imagining this beast running, making the earth shake like the passing Burlington Northern trains. This beast towered above trees, and would eat 115 lbs of meat in one bite. I would have been a light snack. Though the bike would make it a crunchy snack.
The rodeo was a hoot. I don't think I've ever had a double cheeseburger before, but it seemed just right here in the dusty dome on the more-or-less white bleachers. I stayed for two events, team calf roping and barrels. Apparently, only boys lasso calves and only girls race around the barrels. Only two of the teams downed the calf before the whistle, while the girls got a 5 second penalty for knocking over the barrel. The audience was just as entertaining for me, with cowboy hats, and the cowboy version of tennis moms. I even enjoyed the Zambonie break, with two old John Deere tractors smoothing out the dirt.
The alternate bike route was not gravel as marked on the map. It was mud. Deep, sticky, rutted mud that the locals call Montana gumbo. In the last two miles of the 17 mile alternate route, me and the bike, including chain, brakes, panniers, gritted teeth, were covered in gumbo. But the route went through a game preserve, and I saw many white tailed deer, pronghorn antelopes, pheasants, thousands of red-winged black birds, ducks and other critters for miles.
Buffalo hot springs beckoned after only 20 miles. Like the cartoon pie, with wisps of fragrance drawing all passers by, I went, upwind. After an hour in the mineral springs, my gumby legs refused to pedal. I pitched the tent early, feasted at the supper club, and soaked again. The crowd was thin, with a majority of couples in their early 30's with boisterous kids on inflatables around age 10. Then there were retirees. Then there was me. The only peron there who was not local, wasn't retired and didn't have kids. It seemed so odd to have to wear swim trunks in a hot pool.
A surprise findng: any place with a table is my study. There is no having to get anywhere to do a certain thing. My stuff is always with me, and I can call anyplace home. Though on this Sunday morning, I miss JS, the cats, and a big helping of German pancakes with our neighbors.
P.S. from my Havre experience: A special message to the two dirt truck drivers who couldn't move over an inch where the shoulder was only six inches: may mosquitoes bite you in all the right places every time you stop to pee. For two years. To the driver of the big diesel pickup whose mirror almost gave me a shave: may the only effect of your much-needed Viagara be a side-effect, a pounding heachache. For as long as you drive that truck. I think of this less as revenge and more as a karmic serving suggestion.
Travel notes: the hot springs are $5 for the day, and $5 for a tent site - to be pitched anywhere. There were plenty of nice spots. Dinner at the supper club next door was $9.50 for a large steak, two huge shrimp, potato and salad bar.
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