Last month Greg, Goldy, Long-Legs Bunny, and I took a short little vacation to Montana. The four of us have been on many adventures together. Goldy is our sort-of junky gold Grand Am, and Long-Legs Bunny is our stuffed bunny who is obsessed with maps and traveling to new states and countries. When we go on road trips, we all have our roles to play: Greg does a lot of driving, I keep us laughing, Long-Legs Bunny holds the map and flips to new pages when appropriate, and Goldy gets us safely where we need to go.
Things work well that way, so we assumed that this trip would be no different. And it wasn't, for a while. In fact, this little trip had a great start. Usually, our road trips start off hurried and crabby. We pretty much never get on the road by the time we'd planned on, we generally forget at least one terribly important item back at home, and much snapping and sniping ensues. This year we planned to go to Storyhill Fest just outside of Bozeman, MT, and then up to the Whitefish/Glacier National Park area to visit my brother. Last year we did Storyhill Fest in three days, and it was fun, but it was rushed and stressful trying to get there on time (we didn't quite make it). So this year we gave ourselves three whole days to get there, and five after to get to Whitefish and make it home.
All was well. We didn't even make it out of Minnesota the first night, much to the disappointment of Long-Legs Bunny (he didn't get to flip the map). The next day we steeled ourselves for the long drive across North Dakota. We took our time, and we were having a good time. We were hoping to make it to Theodore Roosevelt National Park by around 4pm to find a campsite, and it looked like we were right on track when we stopped to get gas at Cenex in Richardton, North Dakota. Greg was pumping gas and cleaning Goldy's windshield when I got out of the car to throw away some trash. I noticed that Goldy was sitting in the middle of a big puddle. Which was strange, because it hadn't rained all day. It probably hadn't rained all week. I noticed the puddle was getting larger. Not knowing much of anything about cars, I asked Greg, "Is that bad?" He looked down and gaped. He opened the hood. Hmmmm....it appeared that Goldy was leaking her coolant all over the pavement. Make that had leaked. The reservior was now empty. "Can we drive it?" I asked stupidly. The answer was no. Luckily for us, it was a Sunday evening in Bumfuck, excuse me, Richardton, North Dakota, which apparently consisted of just the Cenex we were stranded at and a few houses down off the interstate. That would make it really easy to get a tow. And a fix. If the town even had a tow truck.
We went inside the Cenex and asked the clerk about a tow. "On a SUNDAY?" she asked, scandalized. "Can we at least borrow the phone book?" asked Greg. There was a sizeable town, Dickinson, about 30 miles away. We would try that. We first tried the truck stop. "Well," said the guy who answered, "we used to refer people to Shop X, but they burned down. So I don't know where you could get one." Helpful. We tried two auto shops that had towtrucks. There was no answer. On the third try, a guy picked up. He said he could get us, but he wasn't sure when. Since the other shop in town burned down, he was doing all the work, and there were about three ahead of us.
Well, that was ok. I mean, the Cenex seemed to be the center of life in Richardton. So there was no air conditioning. It was only about 90 degrees. Why, that was 13 degrees cooler that it had been going to Storyhill Fest last year. And all the flies in the place really weren't that bad; if you kept fanning your face constantly they barely ever landed right on it. And we got to get some local flavor listening to the conversations of other people who were sitting in the boiling, fly-infested Cenex, who apparently had actually chosen to spend a Sunday afternoon in this way. A group of old men talked about truck parts, while two middle-aged women droned on about heirloom lace doilies and who would end up getting them once someone else died. Thrilling stuff, I tell you. We drank a couple Pepsis and walked around the Cenex. It truly was an all-in-one location. They were the town gas station/pizza parlor/grocery store/video rental shop/liquor store. So there was a lot to explore. We amused ourselves for awhile by placing inappropriate titles in the "Family" section along the video rental wall. Then we perused the liquor selection, thinking it wouldn't be long before we needed it. There were many cases of Bud Ice, a single bottle of whiskey, a single bottle of vodka, a bottle of peppermint schapps, and 12 bottles of something called peaches and cream, which looked like peach milk. Apparently it's a big seller in Richardton. Blechhh!
Still the tow truck didn't arrive. So we had a little competition. We would study the Cenex and all it's merchandise. Then we would each select the item most likely to cause the absolute quickest "code brown." The winner would recieve an all expenses paid trip out of Richarton! Or not, just bragging rights. (Is it obvious what "code brown" is? That kind of became the catch phrase of the trip. Well, I work at a hospital, where we have codes almost daily. Code blue is a real code (medical emergency), code red is a fire, etc. Well, among those of us who work in healthcare (but probably should not), code brown refers to a room you might not want to enter because it stinks. Like shit. We're a crude bunch, sometimes. Most times, in fact.) Anyway, Greg found something literally bright red turning on one of those hot dog turners they have in gas stations. Does anyone know what it might have been? Well, he won with that. We were discussing whether we should purchase said item and see if it produced the intended effect, but the tow truck finally arrived. No tears were shed as we drove away from the Richardton Cenex, Goldy hitched on the back of the tow truck.
Luckily, the guy who picked us up said he thought he could fix Goldy by noon the next day. That would make us late for Storyhill Fest for a second year, but it was still pretty good, considering. He did fix it quickly, and we were back on the road by 10am the next day. We were late to the Fest, but we inexplicably still got an awesome campsite and made it for dinner and most of the music. After that, Goldy's bitchy streak was over, and she ran like a dream for the rest of the trip. But we'll always remember our fun afternoon in Richardton. The end.
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