I left the tire there and walked over to the railroad station to
inquire about the train ride. Patty, the station agent was very
helpful. She noticed the Northern Pacific emblem on my sweatshirt and
asked if I had enjoyed the convention. We were friends from there on,
talked about the Edmonds depot and various people we both knew.
The westbound Empire Builder was more than five hours late leaving
Seattle. It had been delayed as the eastbound the day before due to a
crossing mishap in Louisiana with some of the equipment that continued
on with the Builder. The domino effect. Passengers lined the depot
platform, idling away their extra time. I spoke to an elderly couple on
their way back to home in Minnesota. They had spent several days in the
Park. Sounded like a fun trip to me.
I told Patty about my little plan. For a mere $17 I booked passage
over Marias Pass on the evening train. It was due at 6:48 however it was
about an hour behind but Patty was certain that it would make up 45
minutes by the time it arrived. So it should be here around 7 p.m.
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East Glacier Park depot
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The Mexican restaurant opens at five, so let's see, I had the whole
day to kill. I took full advantage of this. Usually, there are lots of
things to do on vacation. Too many things. If you aren't riding
somewhere, you're hiking, sightseeing, eating, buying groceries or gas,
pitching the tent or tearing it down, or something, something is always
keeping you busy. So to have a whole afternoon to do absolutely nothing
was very different and most enjoyable.
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A meet at East Glacier depot
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A spreader passes by in a work train
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Inside the depot are some very nice displays of railroad artifacts.
Old photos, maps, histories and many signal and communication items.
I walked over to the East Glacier Park Lodge to check it out. A grand
old place. The main room towers over you, held up by giant tree trunks.
Douglas fir I suspect. Still covered with their deeply textured bark.
Balconies tier the parameter. I took a walking tour of the large
landscape paintings I noticed up there. And there were more historic
displays about the construction of the ledge and park. I flirted with
one of the clerks in the gift shop. She was a little young though, but
knew her business was to entertain old lodge guests such as myself. I
gave her a rough time because there was no slide film.
Time for a shower, even a shave. I told the campground host of my
plans and we struck a bargain for the extra half day. Since I wasn't
going to be there that night she refused to charge me. She wondered
where my bike was and showed a bit of concern about my choice of the
abandoned gas station but she knew the owner and said she would inform
him. I'd be glad to move it. I'm sure I was becoming the talk of the
town. Who hadn't heard?
By now my budget was decimated. The Helena convention was not
inexpensive. I blew two bills on the hotel room. Not to mention two
hundred and something for registration and the train ride. Gas was two
dollars per gallon. Even though the motorcycle gets good mileage these
things were adding up. There was still the ride home through Canada. Ah
shit, I was on vacation. I wasn't going to worry about it.
I'd be in Whitefish a 10 p.m. Probably stay there over night, hitch
hike to Kalispeil in the morning. Certainly I could find some where to
camp out. Or should I get a hotel room?
I had to decide how much to take along and how much to leave behind.
Okay, I'll bring the sleeping bag and my new air matrices. The other
question was should I leave my valuables behind? My motorcycle helmet,
tank bag, saddle bags, camping gear, or the extra camera gear? How about
my leather coat? Geeze, I can't carry it all. I suppose I could haul it
all over to the lodge and checked it. Or leave it at the depot. No, I
decided I had used all my bad luck up. I must have. Besides, we aren't
in the bad part of town, in NYC or LA. Just the outskirts of an Indian
reservation. No, it would be okay. Who's going to look. So I just took
what I needed to camp out over night, my jean jacket and my camera. I
zipped the rest up inside the tent.
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By now I had killed most of the day. It was time to wonder down to
Seireno's, the Mexican restaurant, housed in an old log cabin. The
service and food was very good. I enjoyed my youthful waitress who wore
a nicely revealing tie-dye tee shirt. I think this was on purpose. It
certainly worked for me. The food could have been terrible but so
mesmerized I would have left her a huge tip regardless. More water
please!
Pulling myself away it was time to go meet my train. I picked up my
back pack, said good-bye to my tent, stopped by the broken down
motorcycle display and picked up the tire, then hauled it all up the
bank to the depot.
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Meeting the train is a big event. There were probably sixty or
seventy people. Patty was in the middle of admonishing a certain young
man for not following her instructions when I arrived. I'm not sure what
he did wrong but I wasn't going to cross her. She had her hands full
sorting out the passengers. I figured out for myself just by listening
to what others asked that the coach passengers to Kalispell needed to be
about in the middle of the train and the coach just before the dome
lounge was to be avoided as it was the smoker. So here would be just
about right.
A car full of young Blackfoots pulled up to the platform next to me.
I couldn't help smell the odor of marijuana. Kids. If I was a little
closer to their age I might have asked for a puff but the whole
situation of all of this adventure seemed to need no such enhancements.
I was going for a train ride over Marias Pass. I didn't need any help
being "high".
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Waiting for the train to arrive
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One of the boys came over and checked out my flat tire. He seemed
entertained. Upon returning to his friends they all held back their hee-
hees which escaped in short snorts anyway. I pictured these young bucks
setting these hidden nail traps for tourists in their spare time. Doing
the tire shop a pubic service, to help the local economy and all. I'd
learned the occasion was that one of them was going off to Sweden. A
strange destination but a noble journey. And a fitting send off.
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The train arrives at East Glacier Park depot
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After a freight train passed by finally our train arrived. It was
much longer that I had expected. I was used to the shorter version that
passes through Edmonds. 0f course the nearest door was the smoker. I
looked down to the next but it was too far with a crowd of people so I
boarded here, placing my tire and pack in the storage rack. My seat was
next to the young man traveling to Sweden. Despite my attempts to coax
him to talk about his trip he remained tight lipped. Paranoid. I
entertained myself with the passing scenery. Then wisely decided to seek
refreshments.
The lounge car was quite nice. A full dome with outward facing seats.
Downstairs I found an open bar. A somewhat drunk woman noticed my camera
and begged me to take a photo of her and her "friends". She was
displeased when I refused stating that the light was too poor for the
film I had.
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The landscape slowly passes by
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After getting a beer I quickly retreated back upstairs, grabbed a
seat and watched the mountains go by. Rather easily, yet slowly, we
quickly climbed the east slope. The conductor announced our arrival at
the summit pointing out some facts as we passed the oboist. The down
hill portion seemed much more interesting as we turned and twisted in
and out of the tree lined side canyons ducking in and out of snow sheds.
The views are not as spectacular as one might expect in the crossing of
the Rockies on the outskirts of Glacier Park. But that's just it, you're
on the outskirts, and on the south side of the mountains abutting the
grander pecks beyond your view. To properly see them you've got to get
out and explore. I'm convinced that this would be a great thing to do,
travel to the park by train and spend several days exploring on foot.
You could bring a flat tire to aid in quick pick-ups.
A young girl chewing gum sat down next to me, shortly followed by
college age boy. I couldn't help but overhear the conversation about
their youthful journeys. She was going to visit her uncle in Tacoma,
escaping some unspecified trouble at home. He was sorting out his
recklessness, vowing certain revival with his pending admittance to
bible college or something like that. It was somewhat amusing, under
shadowed by some desperate gloom. Poor kids. I hoped the train ride
would deliver them to their better destinations.
I waved to two fellow NPRKA conventioneers who were staying at Essex
as we passed by the inn. After I had made my arrangements we had met at
East Glacier. Had I not had a plan they would have saved me. But as I
explained it wouldn't have been as interesting an adventure as I had
concocted.
The train continued on. Stopping briefly in Benton, at West Glacier,
then finally pulling in to my destination of Whitefish, Montana.
It's 9:30 at night. The train stays at the station for fifteen
minutes while the crews change. The garbage is dropped and supplies are
set on. Besides the passengers departing and new ones boarding there is
a mad rush for flesh air, concessions and quick phone calls. Among them
are both the Swedish bound boy and the young girl. Is he tipping off his
companions about the free bounty in my camp? Is she calling ahead to
inquire about bible school? It's a busy place.
So what the heck am I doing? I don't know. People are greeting their
travelers. A line forms to collect their baggage. I notice rental cars
are being handed out. When things settle down I ask the woman how much
one costs for a day. $55. That's not too bad. I can think about that. I
learn a cab ride to Kalispell is $25. I weigh that against it being free
to stick out your thumb. Though it's a gamble, the flat tire trick sure
seems to work. But I don't need to be in Kalispell tonight. Tomorrow
morning will do. So what do I do in the mean time? A whole night to
kill. I suppose I could go find a hotel room, or maybe a campground. I'm
sure the drunk woman would be happy to take me home if I had agreed to
take her picture. Not having spent any time in Kalispell or Whitefish
other than just passing through years ago I'm sort of at a disadvantage.
I find a tourist map in the rack.
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There's hotels of course. All fancy ones in the brochure. Again, I'm
on a budget. There's an RV campground so many miles out of town. No, I'm
on foot. And there's a nice park just over here by the river, but I'm
not sure how far that is and it doesn't indicate any camping. The map
isn't exactly to scale so it's hard to tell. Hum, what to do? The
station is slowly clearing out. Closes at 10:30 PM. Okay, so what are
the options. Outside is very nice. A park like setting to the east
invites me. There are trees and picnic tables, though it is rather open.
Down at the end there are some old baggage carts that might do, but
again, they are sort of open. I don't want to be noticed by anyone, get
into trouble. Up close to the depot there's a row of shrubs shielding
you from the street. There are some nice trees and three benches. The
first one is wooden. The second, carved stone. And the third, again,
wooden, but it is broken, fallen over backwards. It is very appealing.
Laying down as it is, the seat offers protection from the platform
lights and view from that direction. The bushes shield it from the
street. It's perfect. Well, not really perfect but it might do. It's
laying flat enough, just large enough to roll my bag out. It's official,
I'm a street person, at least for this night.
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Looks like a good spot to me
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Next edition... Night crawlers, not again, and what size is that
tire?
Next Part - Four
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NAILED IN MONTUNA - ALBUM VERSION
NAILED IN MONTUNA - TEXT VERSION
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TOP
F I N E H Y D R O C A L C A S T I N G S
B Y C. C. C R O W
P. O. B O X 1 4 2 7
M U K I L T E O, W A 9 8 2 7 5
U S A
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