The Magic of MT-7 & Interstate Truck Stops

I snapped this one somewhere near Baker, Montana. If you look at the location, you’ll see that it’s so far east, it’s practically in North Dakota. So I wasn’t even in the state a full 15 minutes before I fell head over heels in love with it.

You can't tell from this picture, but I was actually alongside a long straight state highway, MT-7 in Eastern Montana, when I took it. Although it appears still and silent, the sounds of nature were pleasantly prevalent on this particular afternoon. Birds were chirping a tune I'd never heard before, big dragonfly-like insects helicoptered overhead, buzzing to the beat of their own bass, while the wind whispered wildly through the tall green grass, bending blades in waves I so badly wanted to surf.

I was mesmerized by Montana. It happened instantly the moment I crossed the border from North Dakota. But just before I entered the Treasure State, I stopped at a supremely pristine gas station along I-94 West in Beach, ND. I knew there'd be a trusty Subway sandwich place there, and I would've been plenty satisfied with only that, as hanger was rapidly approaching. But upon my arrival, I discovered that this particular Subway was attached to a Flying J truck stop. A Flying J! Oh, I love finding Flying Js along the way. Love's Travel Stops inundate the interstates out west, and god, I love those too, but I don't come across Pilot Flying Js nearly as often, and boy are they a treat to find! So much so, I made an impulse purchase worth $88.37 at this particular one just before the North Dakota-Montana border. Oh, they had pins and postcards, they had cool keychains, they had those state-shaped magnets I've been collecting since my first major road trip from New York to Alabama. And who knows when I'd see those magnets again, so I figured I'd have to buy one of each state I'd been to that I knew I didn't already have. I never did get one in Alabama on that trip. 

And they had sweet souvenir North Dakota and Montana t-shirts, and who knows when I'd find those again. They had my favorite sunflower seeds, Smartfood popcorn, Smartwater, Snyders pretzels, and Goldfish, and again, who knows when I'd find those again. So, I stocked up. Created quite the line of very patient truckers behind me. The man had a funny, laughing look on his face as I got up on my tiptoes to reach the counter I could've effortlessly rested my chin on and sprawled out two great big arms full of gas station goodies. "That all?" he asked with a smirk. "Don't tempt me to go back and look for more," I sincerely replied. Ringing up my postcards and magnets one by one, that smirk turned to an all out chuckle once the register amount exceeded $60. I'll admit, I didn't expect it to amount to that much. All those little amounts always get me! Like at A.C. Moore when everything is $1.99, so I say, "Why not?" and buy a dozen. 

"Been here before?" he asked sarcastically. "No sir, first time in the Midwest." He giggled again. We were up to $81 even. "Hey, what can I say? I'm on vacation, so I'm treating myself to whatever I want. Who knows if or when I'll ever be out this way again." The lyrics to that Neil Young song I'd been listening to all morning started playing in my head, "and I'm bound for moving on...I'll look for you if I'm ever back this way." As he continued to ring up my new belongings at a very unhurried pace, "Well miss, you're the first person I've met who's idea of splurging on a vacation means coming to North Dakota and spending almost $90 at a gas station." I laughed hard, entertained by how entertained he was by me. "And I wouldn't have it any other way! Hope I won't be the last." Handing me my three triple-bagged Flying J goodie bags, "Something tells me you will be. You enjoy all that now, miss." I thanked him and spun around to head for the fun-filled crane games near the exit (another favorite of mine) and noticed that there were now at least nine men waiting in line behind me, empty-handed, no doubt just waiting to pay to fill up their 18-wheelers that were parked by the pumps out front. A few of them were smirking as well. Others had arms folded and sour-puss pouts. There were no easy to snatch stuffed animals in the crane machines, so I scampered out to my car to fill my tank (Flying J loved me that day) then Purell my hands, and unwrap my scrumptious Subway sandwich to chow down on the road.

North Dakota is a beautiful state, with wide open plains and sky, and some of the longest, straightest roads I've ever had the privilege of driving on, but all that wide-openness gets kicked up about 30 notches when you enter Montana. I bet the majority of people involuntarily say, "WOW," the minute they enter the state, just like I did. There's nothing quite like it. And no photograph can ever show you quite why Big Sky Country got its name. If you could see how big that sky really is or how vast that grass really is, you'd be at a loss for words. If you love wide open spaces, this place could be your newfound paradise. I was barely 20 miles into the state before I just had to stop to get out and stare. 

Somewhere along MT-7 South, I parked my car on the side of the longest stretch of road I'd ever seen. I locked it, grabbed my phone and camera, and just started walking. I couldn't help stop to soak it all in. I was snapping shots, smelling the smells, seeing the sights, hearing the hums of this brand new place I just couldn't get enough of. While standing in the middle of the road on the dotted yellow line (passing is an option nearly all along this two-lane highway), I spotted a car way off in the distance. I couldn't believe that I was able to see it long before I was able to hear it. I watched it for a good long time before it came within earshot. I could've crossed the street back and forth close to fifty times before that car would ever reach me. Eventually, I made my way back to the shoulder, back towards my car. I sat on it for a few, then I decided to keep on walking, this time in the opposite direction. I knew I'd never walk so far that the car wouldn't be within eyesight, especially since I'd imagine I was probably able to see several miles down that road, but eventually, maybe 10-15 minutes later, I spotted another silent car headed my way. Once I started to hear this one, I could see that it was a minivan and it seemed to be slowing down the closer it got to me. I remember having this feeling that someone was about to tell me that photography wasn't permitted in the area, or that non-residents weren't allowed to use that road. (A therapist could probably have a field day with that one.)

I was back near my car when they slowly, but gently pulled up adjacent to me and rolled their window down. It was a relatively young couple with two babies in car seats in the back. The woman in the passenger seat asked, "Hey, are you ok? Do you need some help?" I laughed, mostly at myself, "No, I don't, but thank you so much for stopping...I've just never been to Montana before, so I just had to get a closer look." I still can't get over how thoughtful and selfless it was of them to stop. It was a completely foreign concept to me. I would've expected to be held up at gunpoint before imagining that someone was stopping to offer help. They thought I was lost or having car trouble, but neither of those blessings or curses had occurred for me yet on that trip. (But they sure would later that day at the Montana-Wyoming border.) Between the landscape and lovely locals, Montana was painting a beautiful picture for me. One that I'll never forget.

I traveled down MT-7 and pulled over again somewhere before Baker, Montana. I'd passed nearly a dozen sparkling Cerulean blue lakes and less than a handful of red dirt roads and driveways along that highway. And the sight you see above just called to me so much. It wasn't like any place I'd ever seen before. It was so peaceful, so untouched. I imagined what it'd be like to live in that house way off in the distance. I wondered if the people who live there always pick up their mail just before they drive up their quarter-mile driveway, or if they sometimes "forget" on purpose and take a nice 25-minute roundtrip stroll to get it. And do they glance at the mail while they're still at the box, not pressed for time? Have they ever been at the foot of their driveway just as a familiar face is passing by at 80+ mph? Do they wave and grip the mail, so it doesn't blow away as the car zooms past? And do they own a plow, or do they just wait for the snow and ice to melt and enjoy the coziness of being homebound until the forces of nature decide otherwise? It would take an army of at least eighteen 18-year-olds to shovel that driveway that's longer than the street I live on.

Luckily, I'm headed back out to Big Sky Country next month, so I'll share more learnings of Montana life and all its glory soon.