(Editor's Note: This is part three of a three-part series documenting the adventures-and misadventures-of Four Wheeler Technical Editor Sean Holman and Senior Editor Ken Brubaker as they 'wheeled an '05 Hummer H2 SUT 3,698 miles from California to Illinois. Their nine-day, nine-state journey included camping and an off-highway foray each day.)
Montana: Fuel stops are few...
Montana: Fuel stops are few and far between on Highway 200. Fortunately, we found a closed gas station with 24-hour pumps near the town of Winnett.
9:00 a.m., Kalispell, Montana: Like men blissfully unaware that they were being ushered to the gallows by the Grim Reaper himself, we began our day upbeat and positive with a quick blast through beautiful Glacier National Park. Little did we know that the Einstein (Ken) who put our travel itinerary together had made a gross error in calculating how many miles we could travel in one day. The result would be virtually no sleep for the next 41 hours.
11:35 a.m., Cut Bank, Montana: If you're a dentist, pay attention. Move to Cut Bank immediately and open an office. Be prepared to explain fluoride and brushing.
4:00 p.m., Chinook, Montana: At the junction of Highway 2 and 240, we're like giddy schoolboys. We're anticipating the next leg of our trip, which will take us south, far from the paved road, deep into the Montana wilderness. Our map shows that the road ends after 80 townless miles at the Missouri River, where there's supposed to be a ferry to carry us from Blaine County to Fergus County. From there, it's another 50 miles of dirt roads to the first major town. Locals at the county shop inform us that the road we plan on taking is impassable when it rains. They also note that we may have some trouble with muddy roads when we near the river bottoms. We roll our eyes and scoff.
4:30 p.m., Cleveland Bar, Cleveland, Montana: Thirty miles down the mostly barren road, we come to an intersection of dirt roads. Free-range cattle crowd the intersection, creating bovine gridlock. There's a small white building that has a sign indicating that it is a bar. The sign has a metal cutout showing people hanging out at a bar, just in case reading isn't your strong suit. There are two horses hitched to a rail adjacent to the building and a filthy Dodge Intrepid parked out front. Naturally, we abandon the H2 and file into the building. The three occupants eye us like we've just arrived from another planet. We confirm that we have in fact come from California.
5:15 p.m., somewhere in Montana: We're speechless. Clearly, urban sprawl is an incomprehensible concept here. Ruts in the road confirm what the locals said about this road and rain. No Best Buy or Home Depot for at least a day's drive.
Holman, Sanborn, and Scabby...
Holman, Sanborn, and Scabby (Scabby is the one on the right) share a moment on the McClelland Ferry.
5:30 p.m., County Road 300, in the Missouri River bottoms: As we've dropped from high ground to the river bottoms, the road has degraded to a silt and mud-covered trail. Holman takes this moment to scare the scheming Brubaker into submission by sliding the H2 sideways down an off-camber, 90-degree turn, rally car-style at 60 mph. Brubaker puckers, then whimpers some semblance of an apology for mocking Holman's snow driving. We haven't seen another vehicle for 45 minutes.
6:00 p.m., McClelland Ferry, at the Missouri River: An older woman runs out of a small house, jumps on an ATV, and rockets to the riverbank where we're parked. She's wearing a print dress, green clogs, red jacket, and a Gilligan hat. She's yelling. It is not a happy yell. We immediately assume our defensive posture, which is comprised of retreating to the H2 and locking the doors. We soon learn that this woman's name is Grace Sanford and she is the ferry operator. She is not happy for several reasons, including (a) Holman was petting her dog, Scabby, (b) we interrupted CSI on television, and (c) free-range cattle are blocking the dock. Her way of getting even with us for causing her distress was to tell us stories and Ferry Facts for the next hour. Among other things, we learned that on average two vehicles a day use the McClelland Ferry, though that number drops by two when it rains because the road does in fact become impassable.
9:45 p.m., Lewistown, Montana: Our scheduled campsite is over four hours away. It becomes painfully obvious that we're screwed when it comes to staying on schedule. We have to be in Williston, North Dakota, first thing in the morning to run trails with the Cliffhangers 4WD Club. Holman has resumed wondering why he ever agreed to this trip. The consensus is to drive all night.
11:45 p.m., somewhere in Montana: Montana is a huge state, yet the large percentage of deer choose to congregate on Highway 200. With the Hummers high beams and roof lights blazing we enter hour two of the deer slalom, determined to get to Williston without body damage.