My favorite pair of hiking boots, which I bought two or three years ago, are a brand named Oboz, which I learned from the sales clerk were named after Bozeman, Montana - Outside Bozeman. “Right outside our front door, the mountains just outside Bozeman beckon us,” the company says on its website. “It's this 18-million-acre laboratory where we test our designs and inspire ideas, and where we just soak it all in.”
That’s the only thing I knew about Bozeman, I realized, as we continued driving west, cruise control set on 80 mph, passing big farms where rectangular bales of hay were neatly stacked. Irrigation sprinklers were at work on their huge wheels, like long wings spread out across the fields. We passed a huge railroad yard, too, most of the cars oil tankers, and some big oil refineries. I learned that while about half of this oil is produced from fracking, much of it is from wells which have been in operation for more than 50 years.
The Beartooth Mountains could be seen in the distance, a mountain range with snow on some of the peaks. It was a short drive today, less than 200 miles, and on the way we had time to stop and see Palisade Falls. The pictures looked beautiful, and some information we had found said the road was open Friday through Sunday, so we drove down the very beautiful Hyalite Canyon through an alpine forest lined with Douglas Fir and spruce trees. There were some nice homes along the way – the Bozeman area has become a favorite second-home and vacation destination for wealthy people in recent years.
It turned out that the information we had found was inaccurate – the road to Palisade Falls was closed – but we realized that the drive through Hyalite Canyon was worth the detour. We stopped at the Hyalite Reservoir for our picnic lunch, one of the most scenic picnics thus far on our road trip, and I walked down to chat with some friendly folks who were fishing and preparing to launch a boat on this gleaming, absolutely clear lake. They lived in the area and, one woman said, came here as often as they could (“I would, too, if I lived here,” I said). They were fishing mostly for cutthroat and rainbow trout, but as is the case with most fisherman, actually catching fish is not the main point in being outdoors in such a location.
We also had time to visit the Museum of the Rockies outside of Bozeman, known for the largest collection of North American dinosaur fossils from the Montana area.
A bonus was that the Museum had just opened a Leonardo Da Vinci exhibit, running through September, and we were able to view several models of his many inventions as well as reproductions of many of his most famous paintings.
As if that wasn’t interesting enough, the Museum also featured a Living History Farm, which included an original 1883 cabin made of lodgepole pines and some period outbuildings. The cabins were similar in design to ones we have seen in Great Smoky Mountains National Park and elsewhere in this area, except that instead of dovetail joints they were fastened with iron nails.
Under close supervision, I was allowed to play a piano from the 19th century which was, surprisingly, pretty much in tune. I was beginning to miss playing the piano on this trip!
It was Friday night in Bozeman and the place was
busy. It reminded us a little bit of a
larger version of Highlands, where in recent years, in addition to many local
shops, high-end boutiques have sprung up on Main Street. There were plenty of restaurants to choose
from, and we stopped first to have a half-pint at Shred Monk Brewing where we chatted with some local residents –
we enjoy local beers and local people! Dinner was at the historic
Bacchus Pub (ca. 1929), at a busy outside table just off the sidewalk. Our waitress had a tattoo on her arm that we
could not quite make out, and Martha asked her what it said. She replied that it was Italian, reflecting
her heritage, and it said, "Ama la vita che vivi. Vivi la vita
che ami” – love the life you live, live the life you love.”
Our lodging for the night was an interesting retro place called the Sapphire Motel, which reminded us of the Blue Swallow Motel where we had stayed in Tucumcari, Oklahoma in 2016, equipped with rotary-dial telephones and very tiny pedestal sinks.
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