Day 24 - White Sulfur Springs, Montana, to Livingston, Wyoming - 72 Miles

As you can see, we didn't drive very far today, mostly because we took time before leaving camp to launder the sheets and towels. But hey, we weren't actually rushing once we got out on the highway. In fact, for most of the short day, I seldom pushed the rig above 55 miles per hour. There was just too many interesting things to see, too much beautiful scenery to enjoy, and we didn't really care whether we made a lot of miles or not.

In fact, we had hardly left camp when I stopped again to photograph some vintage railroad equipment that I had somehow missed on our way into camp yesterday. Here's what I found out about the equipment that seemed to be marooned in White Sulphur Springs, Montana:

"The White Sulphur Springs and Yellowstone Park Railway, now defunct, was an American railroad built and operated between the towns of Ringling and White Sulphur Springs, Montana, a distance of 22.8 miles. The railroad, constructed in 1910, provided White Sulphur Springs with a link to the national railway network via a connection with the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad ("the Milwaukee Road") at Ringling (Formerly Leader), Montana, renamed after John Ringling."

"The southern four miles of the railroad's route, between Ringling and Dorsey, were leased from the Milwaukee Road. Lew Penwell, the promoter and builder of the railroad, envisioned that White Sulphur Springs would boom as a tourist center. The Montana Daily Record reported that $3,000,000 would be spent developing the Smith River Valley and the building of a grand hotel at White Sulphur Springs."

"The railroad did a study to extend to Cascade, on the Missouri River, and there were rumors that it might build to Helena, MT, to replace the stagecoach route. The Milwaukee Road had a majority interest in the railroad of 51%, and supplied it with rolling stock and one locomotive. Milwaukee rotated the locomotives that were used on the WSS&YP due to the pure water available at White Sulphur Springs, which removed build-up and scale from the boiler."

"The railroad was abandoned in 1980, a consequence of the Milwaukee Road abandoning its line through Ringling. The station in White Sulphur Springs still stands after being restored for the movie Heartland in 1982. A heavyweight coach and sleeper sit in front of the station along with a Milwaukee Road ballast car and a stock car, marooned far away from the nearest rail system."

The next bit of historic trivia we encountered was a bronze statue, known as "Thunder Jack," we stopped to admire Jack at a spot just north of the town of Wilsall, Montana, on Route 89 South, in the Shields River Valley. As the accompanying sign informed us, "The river was named by Captain William Clark, of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, in honor of John Shields, a member of the party. Captain Clark and his men, guided by Sacajawea (also spelled Sacagawea), the Shoshone woman, camped at the mouth of the river July 15, 1806, while exploring the Yellowstone on their return trip from the [Pacific] coast".

The sign goes on to say:

"Jim Bridger, famous trapper, trader, and scout, guided emigrant wagon trains from Fort Laramine, Wyoming, to Virginia City, Montana, in the 1860s, crossing hostile Indian country via the Bozeman Trail. Bridger's route came up this valley from the Yellowstone, followed up Brackett Creek, crossed the divide west of here (Wilsall, Montana) to strike Bridger Creek and thence down the latter to Gallatin Valley."

The statue itself contained a plaque with the following information:

"The mountain men, weathered and windbitten were adventurous explorers who led American deep into new regions of the Rockies and beyond. Names John Coulter, Thomas Fitzpatrick, and Jim Bridger were among hundreds of men who were unsurpassed as marksmen, horsemen, naturalists, and the ultimate masters of survival."

"This sculpture is dedicated to all those who came, endured, and made a home in this mountain valley before and since Captain William Clark named it in 1806."

From Wikipedia we learn that: "The life of a mountain man was rugged. Many did not last more than several years in the wilderness. They faced many hazards, especially when exploring unmapped areas. Biting insects and other wildlife, bad weather, diseases of all kinds, injuries and hostile tribes presented constant physical dangers."

"Grizzly bears were one of the mountain man's greatest enemies. Winters could be brutal with heavy snowstorms and low temperatures. In order to stay alive, the men needed keen senses, and knowledge of herbal remedies and first aid, among other skills."

"In summer, they could catch fish, build shelter, and hunt for food and skins. The mountain man dressed in deer skins that had stiffened after being left outdoors for a time; this suit of stiffened deer skin gave him some protection against the weapons of particular enemies. There were no doctors in the regions where mountain men worked; these men had to set their own broken bones, tend their wounds, and nurse themselves back to good health."

One of my favorite books on the subject of mountain men is "Men to Match My Mountains," by Irving Stone. Another is "Firearms, Traps, & Tools of the Mountain Men: A Guide in Picture & Text to the equipment of the trappers and fur traders who opened the Old West from the 1830's to the 1840's." The latter is a wonderful book if you want to know just exactly what the mountain men took with them into the mountains."

We discovered a museum on our RV trip in 2016 which turned out to be one of our very favorites. It's called "The Museum of the Fur Trade," and it's located on Nebraska Route 20 near it's intersection with Route 385 near the town of Chadron. Concetta and I spent at least an hour, and probably much longer there as the museum was so excellent.

As we were slowly motoring south on Montana Route 89 this morning, we were talking about how incredibly difficult it must have been for Lewis and Clark, and subsequent mountain men, to brave the wilderness without even a hint of a support system should something go wrong. With virtually all of nature against them, it seems that those men were defying the odds just to survive until the next day, let alone an entire winter. Then they would come out of the wilderness, not just having mastered their trade, but having accomplished something grand in many cases.

Lewis and Clark, and the Corps of Discovery, trekked 8,000 miles and threw open half a continent to which future Americans would emigrate and enjoy. Subsequent mountain men, while only really just earning a living, often discovered new passes through the mountains, new routes for wheeled vehicles to utilize, and new sources of much sought-after commodities. It's truly an awesome and epic story.

We spent much of our time today, that which wasn't tied up doing laundry and a general cleaning of the RV at last night's camp, stopping to check out and photograph local sites. After we discovered "Thunder Jack," we rolled into the nearby town of Wilsall, Montana. Wilsall is the town where, evidently, nothing of importance ever happened, at least Wikipedia enumerates only the demographics, but has nothing to say about the town's history or importance to Montana.

When we rolled into Wilsall, the first thing we did was look for a nice quiet park or green space alongside which we might park the rig for our lunch break. We turned west off Route 89 when we saw a sign for "Veterans Park." But once there, we saw that the park had no adjacent parking and absolutely no place to put a 32-foot vehicle.

Okay, so next we began to cruise the town's side and cross streets looking for ANY flat spot wide enough to accommodate us. We cruised by a couple of dozen houses, a stock coral, a rodeo arena, a heavy equipment yard, and copious disabled and long-dead vehicles, but no decent lunch spot presented itself.

In the end, since I had seen some interesting subjects to photograph on the main highway, we drove back to Route 89, and parked right beside a photographic studio about a half block from the Mercantile on one side of the street, and an interesting bar on the other.

Our lunch was a tad noisy as heavy trucks rumbled by every few minutes just scant feet from our "dining room" window. But at least the site was level. Fortunately, the town of some 237 individuals had provided wide enough parking along main street to give us ample space for the RV to park, and there was still lots of room for the trucks.

The first thing I did while Concetta was working her magic over the cutting board, was wander for a few minutes around the town's main crossroads. While the Mercantile and bar occupied two corners, and a vacant lot the third, the forth corner sported a rather jaunty structure that had all the earmarks of having been a gasoline station. I don't suppose it had, since it was well off the pavement. But in front of the pseudo gas station stood a 1920s gas pump, all painted up in authentic Conoco oil company colors.

Naturally, I had to shoot the station and the pump from several angles. From there I strode over to where a wonderfully artistic mural adorned the mercantile building. Unfortunately, someone had deposited a Dodge in front of the mural which made it hard to shoot, but I did my best.

From the mural I walked down south a bit and immediately caught sight of an old Studebaker dump truck that appeared to need my attention. Trying to avoid the mud puddles in the dirt lot where the Studebaker rested, I got closer and grabbed a few shots, caught one of some wild flowers, then headed back toward the RV.

At this point I came to the bar which, to my amazement, sported the most incredibly beautiful, obviously fully functional, neon sign over the door that I had seen in some time. Wishing that I could catch it at sunset, I nevertheless fired off a couple of shots to remind me of what I might have shot.

Back at the RV, Concetta was nearly ready with lunch so it turned out my time was well spent. After lunch we both took a little walk north along Route 89. The reason to walk north was that Concetta had noticed, as we drove into town, that successive streets were named Lewis, Clark, and Sacajawea. We just had to get those streets recorded!

With our walk done, and our steps counted, we loaded up and headed out of town. We didn't get very far as the Yellowstone River was raging off our port side and at some point we just had to stop, get photos of the river, of the old rail line that kept us company on our starboard side, and a cool pin truss bridge that popped up out of nowhere and beckoned for attention.

Once we reached Interstate 90, where we had to leave our beloved two-lane and join the madly rushing hoards, we sailed west in search of the first town that might have a truck and RV wash. Our little home on wheels has accumulated so much dirt, bugs, and grime that we're beginning to look like we're from the 1930s Oklahoma dust bowl.

The first town we encountered turned out to be Livingston, and we promptly exited Interstate 90 and rolled into town. By the time we stopped at a gas station to fill the top half of the tank, we had seen no such truck and RV wash business.

We had to exit the gas station by turning left into the neighborhood rather than right onto the main drag as there was insufficient clearance between the pumps and the rig as the tail end would swing. As we rolled south through the quiet neighborhood setting, we were immediately impressed with the quality of housing. Everywhere we looked were wonderful vintage craftsman, Victorian, and traditional farmhouses, most in terrific condition. We even saw a California mission revival house that was so beautiful that I had to stop and photograph it. As we continued to roll south enjoying the architectural treasures, we found ourselves wondering what must be behind the obvious economic revival of Livingston. Were wealthy Californians moving in here, too?

Then, quite by accident, we caught sight of the city park at the end of the street. Wondering if there might be facilities for an overnight RV, we headed down there.

The park didn't have any such facilities, but what it did have was a wonderful bronze statue of Sacajawea and her son, Jean Baptist. We parked the truck near the statue and spent the next twenty minutes just admiring the awesome expertise of the artist and all the hard work that must have gone into its production. We say bravo to the artist and to the town of Livingston for making it possible.

By now it was far too late in the day to travel on, so when we regained the main street heading west, we grabbed the first sign that advertised a nearby camp. The camp was certainly not on a par with the one we found last night, but it had all the utilities, the hostess was cordial, and we have our very own patch of grass and tree to provide shade.

After we got everything set up, Concetta and I took off into town, got an impressive number of steps on the pedometer, visited an outdoorsman shop where I saw, for the first time in my life, female underwear on sale in various creative designs of hunter's camouflage. Not sure exactly what woman would go out hunting bears and wildcats in her underwear, but what do I know? Now we're settled in for the night. Our research tells us that NO truck and/or RV wash business is being advertised anywhere in the area (other than a mobile one), so the rig will have to remain grungy.

Tomorrow we're headed down to Yellowstone Park, though we were told by our host last night that chances of actually staying in the park are between slim and none. No matter, we'll stay wherever we can drop our anchor, inside or outside of the park. At some point we're definitely going to stop by the wonderful western museum in Cody, Wyoming, that we last saw nearly forty years ago, so stay tuned for that. And until we meet again, we wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.