All Good Things

Like the passengers in steerage on the Titanic, Montana had to be left behind while the women and children made a safe getaway. So where does that leave me? Well, I guess someone had to row the lifeboat.

At long last, we escaped Montana on Friday morning. Waking at 4 a.m. and on the road before 4:45, we rolled southward on Route 93 to Missoula in the predawn darkness, blanketed by the smoke of half a dozen forest fires. The transmission worked seamlessly, and the boys slept in their car seats. At Missoula, we slipped onto I-90 East and - gulp - what was that? Check Engine light? A vague hesitation in the transmission? Turn the car around! Get back to Missoula before getting stuck in the middle of nowhere, halfway to Butte.

We spent about 90 minutes at Mountain Imports in Missoula, where a certified Volvo technician with over 30 years' experience gave our car the once-over, hooked her up to the computer, diagnosed the hesitation and drip from under the car and . . . and . . . and . . . pronounced us healthy. Phew! Sure, we have two misfiring speed sensors (cause for the hesitation) and a non-functioning catalytic converter, but everything else seemed okay.

Result? I am writing from Rapid City, South Dakota. We put over 800 miles between us and Kalispell yesterday. We said our goodbyes to Montana, its smoke, its car woes, and its serene beauty. We included a stop at the Little Bighorn National Memorial, too, but mostly spent the day making those tracks we had so desperately sought to make for days. H. bought Wyoming postcards and a Sturgis, SD t-shirt to celebrate our ultimate release from the bonds of Montana. We were all smiles watching the antelope of Wyoming out the car windows

The gang is asleep now. And I should be too. We rolled into Rapid City about 9 p.m. and hit the indoor pool/water park, followed by a late dinner in our room. In the morning, not too early, we'll slip down to Mount Rushmore, then onto Wall Drug, the Badlands, and Mitchell, for the Corn Palace.

The car is running well. We are all overcome with a desire to get home.

And now, without much fanfare, and as the S.S. Titanic slips once more under the icy Atlantic waves, I bid you a warm goodnight. More to come tomorrow.