Home, Part II

After leaving Colorado, I made a beeline back to Montana determined to make things work. My first stop, however, was not Bozeman. It was Cooke City, Montana, a one-horse, many dog, hard-drinking, snow-buried National Park entrance station town, 2 hours from the nearest supermarket. I landed a job there at the All Seasons Inn in mid-November... except nothing happens in Cooke City in mid-November. The summer tourists are long gone, and the winter snowmobilers and skiers haven't arrived yet. Most of the 60-or-so year-round residents had split for the off-season. The All Seasons was about the only thing open; I couldn't even buy a loaf of bread. Well, after a week the store opened, and I could buy a frozen loaf of bread. But it was pretty spartan there for a while.

The job there was terrible. Along with there being no customers, it naturally followed that I made no tips. Every now and then some snowmobilers from North Dakota would show up, and I would still make no tips. I may have developed a prejudice against North Dakotans at this time. It snowed non-stop while I was there, and every now and then they'd close the road through Yellowstone, the only way in or out of the place. That often impeded deliveries, so I'd sometimes have to tell the customers we were out of things, such as eggs and produce. I lived in a decrepit room off the side of the hotel with a floor that glittered. I couldn't figure it out at first -- little glowing dots, that showed up when I turned out the lights at night. I finally realized that there were nail holes in the floor, and the lights were on in the basement. I worked with a one-armed cook who liked to say things like, "Can you give me a hand? I can sure use one." Yuk, yuk, yuk. That place was non-stop laughs.

On top of that, I couldn't seem to make any kind of connection with the locals... until I gave my notice, that is. I mean, I wasn't making any money (not that I had much to spend it on), the job sucked, the customers sucked, and everyone in town sucked. But once word got around that I was leaving -- which took about five minutes -- the townsfolk seemed genuinely distraught. One new drinking buddy, gone! Apparently they had just been breaking me in slowly. Oh, well. It was an interesting two weeks, if nothing else. Character building.

So, clearly, Cooke City was not home. Nor was Big Sky, to which I returned for the winter ski season. I got into an argument with my manager in the Huntley Dining Room and transferred to the cafeteria. Which I suppose was great for the principle of it all, but it was a lousy job. It was made worse by one of my co-workers, Aaron, who always needed to take command of every situation, even though he was kind of a dullard. I still see him around town in Bozeman from time to time, and it gives me the creeps.

Mercifully, the ski season ended, and I was finally off to where I now really, really wanted to be. I guess I believe that a town, much like a person, can embrace you in some way when it's just right. I stayed with Chick and Aleece for a week, scanning the classifieds for a roommate situation that might seem right. I remember looking at a few of these places: milk cartons loudly labelled with heavy black magic marker, demarcated shelving, lists of chores... But, really, there wasn't much reason to look beyond the very first place I checked out: 612 West Main St.



It's pictured at right in its current form. Apparently it's now a real estate office. It's also blue. It used to be brick red. And what a deal it was! As you can plainly see, it was a very nice house, with wood floors, leaded glass windows, washer/dryer, dishwasher, backyard, large rooms, and plenty of storage space in the basement and garage. Plus, it was right on Main Street, so we could sit on the front porch and watch teenagers cruise the drag in their pickup trucks on weekend nights. Sometimes they'd yell at us. My share of the rent was $219 a month, and I shared it with two guys: the high school math teacher/neat freak Al Schondelmeyer, and jazz guitarist Craig Hall.

Does the name Craig Hall sound familiar? Seeing as that he's my ice climbing buddy (see below) and housemate to this day, it should. That was my first big embracing by Bozeman: having great housing. Which is really a nice thing. It's also nice to have great housemates, as well as some great friends, like Chick and Aleece, with whom I continued do stuff.

It would also have been nice to have a great job, too. However, that was not to be... at least not at first.

Stayed tuned for Part III! (I may have to post another snowman photo to keep you entertained for a while.)