I’m anxious to get on the road to Portland. Which has more to do with feeling antsy than it does with leaving Missoula. I loved this town. Small, polite, liberal, beautiful. I felt good here.
Yesterday I got an early start and headed over to Bernice’s Bakery. It’s a local shop that uses local ingredients and makes amazing, amazing, baked goods. I haven’t been eating a whole lot of vegan food and my body has been holding up alright. Though I’m probably not noticing the shifts in my mood as much since I spend the vast majority of my time silent.
I went back to the trail where I’d locked my keys in my car, determined not to be defeated, though I was nervous about that bear sighting. I found myself walking down the trail being sure that the keys on my carabineer jingled loudly as I went down the trail. They said to do this to avoid startling a mountain lion. Yeah, they’ve got mountain lions too. I was doing alright until two deer came charging through the trees and I was certain they were moving so quickly because they were being chased by a bear. They weren’t but it still scared the shit out of me. Other than them, some chipmunks and some birds, I didn’t see much wildlife. Perhaps my keys and out loud chants of, ‘you will not be eaten by a bear, you will NOT be eaten by a bear’, helped.
I found a small trail that lead to the water and waded through so that I could perch on a large rock in the middle of the river. I lay there letting the crisp water flow over my feet, letting the sun warm me. I did sun salutations (oh yeah), sat quietly and prayed. I picked up rocks that called to me and pressed them to my chest. I found the perfect one. A whole rock with a raised jagged edge down the middle. One that sort of looks like that image from Hedwig and the Angry Inch (full circle). One that speaks of remaining whole. I pushed it into the center of my chest, my feet connected to wet rock and I prayed. Prayed for myself to remain grounded, to know that I’m enough, to let all my clinging wash away.
My feet are bruised today from all the climbing over jagged rock. I’ve been trusting and testing my body more. It helps that I’m alone. That way if I fail I’m the only one that sees. But I haven’t failed. I’ve scaled steep sides of river bank, navigated slick waterways, balanced on shifting rock and made it back safely to shore after floating down a quick paced river. Those bruised feet feel good today.
Last night got a little lonely. Made me glad to be joining friends today. I’ve been alone 6 days and have been loving it. But as soon as I said that to another persin yesterday it started to fade. I began to miss feeling connected to something more than myself and the earth. They had a festival in town last night (they do every Thursday) and it was full of music, food and children. The band was pretty good, mostly singing covers of country songs I love. And I sat there drinking a fresh squeezed lemonade and found myself getting teary. Watching the couples two step, the children scooped up by loving parents, the teenagers separating themselves into the genders they know themselves to be at the moment. The town all together. Reminded me so much of what I’m missing. I wished I had someone there to dance with. Someone to sit beside as we hung our feet in the water and let the few big drops from the nightly thunderstorm tap our shoulders and chest. I wished I could be more a part of it all. San Francisco has community events but nothing like this. Nothing so small and intimate and without pretense. I’ll have this some day.
I went to the local queer bar, Am Vets. I don’t know where the name comes from. I was greeted, once again, by a small group consisting entirely of older men. Joe the bartender had an irresistibly charming smile. He got me my PBR (which is not the least bit ironic here) and I sat down at the bar and struck up a conversation with two men in pressed white dress shirts and cowboy hats, who were from San Francisco. Ha. We talked a bit about Prop 8, where we come from and how beautiful Jackson Wyoming is. They were decent bar company. When I ordered my second beer Joe asked with no hesitation if he could paddle me. One of the first things I noticed when I walked in was the shirt he was wearing that boasted, “Spanked in Montana”. It had made me chuckle. But then I saw the long foreboding paddle laid in plain view behind the bar and I knew by the end of the evening that I would meet it. So I shrugged, said yes and assumed the position. Ando, one of the cowboys, insisted that I have documentation so he took the picture. It was a pretty hilarious scene. The bar itself is already like a dungeon. A literal one full of concrete and damp walls. There was a flight of stairs leading under ground where the, fairly large, bar was tucked. Two playful swats and it was over. Joe smiled when he said, “yeah, this paddles gotten more ass than a greyhound bus seat”.
Not too much later I left, grabbed a bite to eat and headed back to the hostel. I was greeted by some guy sitting on the stoop, a little bit wasted, and claiming to be a semi-famous author. He asked if I knew any good jokes and I told him the one about the fish and the wall then excused myself to go inside. As I was sitting getting ready for bed he walked by and asked, “Hey, where do melons spend their summer vacation?”, I don’t know I replied. “John Cougar’s Melloncamp”. Ha! Oh the life of a hostel.
Today I’ll take the long road to Portland. I’m excited to be in a more queer friendly space but I’m sad to leave Missoula. I wish it were closer to San Francisco so that I could visit more often. But then it wouldn’t be the same. Perhaps some things are better left tucked away.
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