Hello! It’s me.

I like to start each day with an honest assessment of campground threats. There are only three types of threats.

1. Real.
2. Perceived.
3. Chupacabra (click here).

All threats this morning were perceived … thank goodness.

So we headed back to the rig, and awaited a visit from “Mike”.

Mike’s job was to fix our water pump. And with a modest amount of embellishment, the conversation went something like this:

Dad:  The water pump doesn’t work.

Mike: Is there water in the tank?

Dad: Yes.

Mike:  Is the winterization switch on?

Dad?  No.

Mike:  Let me take this thing apart.

Dad:  Ok.

Mike:  This thing is broken.

Dad:  Ok.

Mike:  I have another appointment to go to. And the closest replacement water pump is thirty-five miles away. Or one-hundred miles away. You can probably get an appointment for Tuesday.

Dad:  That’s five days from now.

Mike: Yup.

Dad:  That’s not going to happen.

Mike:  Alright.

Dad:  Alright?

Mike:  I need to leave, but not before I get $80.

Dad:  Wut?

Mike: It should be $125, but I am not charging you for the trip up here.

Dad:  But you didn’t fix the problem!

Mike:  I take cash or check.

Dad:  I already knew the water pump was broken. Mom already knew the water pump was broken.

Mike:  Now all three of us know it’s broken. Haven’t seen a problem like this in twenty years. Ok, please write a check for $80.

Dad:  Fine.

As of press time, Dad is planning on purchasing a water pump in Williston or on Amazon and plans on installing it himself.

Dad was amply “corked-off”, if you know what I am saying (and Mom knows all too well what I am saying). So corked-off that he wanted to stay in a hotel tonight. More on that in a moment.

We looked for Mountain Goats, but to no avail.

Then we crossed the Continental Divide – it’s all downhill from here!

We enjoyed the last gasp of Glacier National Park from the rig.

As we drove away, Mom admired her stamps from Glacier National Park.

Here’s a gentle observation about Northern Montana … it’s looks a lot like this:

To be honest, the landscape bored me.

So just when it looked like all hope was lost, and my mind would drift into oblivion for the next five hundred miles, this happened:

Yes – that’s the DASH IN!!!! I am so popular in Montana that they are naming restaurants after me. Dad got a malted milkshake in my honor … I reveled in the glow of localized fast food.

Finally, the countryside took on a new personality.

And then, a disjointed rainbow.

The bottom of the rainbow pointed us to a pot of gold known as Glasgow, where we decided to spend the evening. I sat in the rig while Dad ate his way across Glasgow.

That’s walleye and sweet potato fries, coupled with an ice-cold Old Milwaukee Light. Dad offered me some of the walleye – you know what I did with it? SPIT. IT. OUT. No boring whitefish for my discerning palette.

I ended the night searching for threats at our hotel. I decided that any threats were perceived, and for good reason. Any hotel with air conditioning units is safe from chupacabra.

Wait … what is that shadow just below and between the units?

Chupacabra?

Nah.

Before I went to bed, I played some tug-of-war with Dad.

Tomorrow, we arrive in North Dakota. I fully expect a parade when we arrive. Or a fast food establishment named after me. Sound good?