Pancakes, Historical Markers, A Pup Named Scooby Doo, Etc.

Before bed last night, we hiked to the top of the earthen dam to see Lake Shel-oole. We looked back to see the campground and, beyond that, the city lights of Shelby.

A little after midnight we were wakened by headlights, the crunch of tires on gravel, and the sound of car doors in the next campsite over. A male voice said, "This is a better place to sleep than the back of someone's pick-em-up truck, innit?"

I figure that the sheriff had picked up a vagrant and brought them out to the campground for the night. As long as I was awake, I thought I'd take the opportunity to "ease nature," as the New English Bible expresses it. By the time I crawled out of the tent ten minutes later our new neighbor was gone.

We stopped at the Griddle restaurant for breakfast. I ordered one egg, over easy, and three pancakes. The waitress looked at me skeptically.

"They're really big," she said.

"I'm really hungry," I answered.

I did my manly best and it was a titanic battle but, in the end, the pancakes won.

I decided to take photos of every historical point along today's route. There were two. Both in the first five miles.

The marker describing the Baker Massacre is a heart-breaker. The event, the sign says, "is very much alive in tribal memory." At the base of the sign an empty Chivas bottle and a vase of artificial flowers bear testimony to the fact.

As the day grew warmer we stopped several times to shed layers, doing the "roadside striptease."

As we rode a passing truck blew its horn in an unnecessarily unfriendly manner. A few minutes later a woman called "Looking good" from a parked car. About par for the course.

At Galata we stopped at an oil company station, bought candy bars, and chatted with the friendly owner for a while.

I asked, "Do you mind if I use your men's room."

"Go right ahead," he replied. "Ignore the 'Out of Order' sign. That's for truckers who stop, don't buy anything, and plug it up."

There was a dog bed and a bowl of kibble. "Where's your dog?" I asked.

"Scooby? He rolled in something nasty last night, so I cologned him before I let him in the truck. He's kind of pouty."

"Scooby?" I asked.

"Short for Scooby Doo."

He stuck his head out the door and called "Scooby! Come say hello!"

I was a little disappointed that he didn't call "Scooby Doo, where are you?" But only a little.

Scooby sauntered in and leaned on my leg. I patted his big shoulders a while. Now the right side of my body smells like Axe body spray.

It's an improvement.

We stopped for lunch at Chester, 45 miles from Shelby. There isn't much up the road and we can camp free at the city park. So, we're spending the night and making for Havre tomorrow. No shower tonight but this is a friendly town. The public library has Wi-Fi and an espresso bar. (A double espresso cost me $1.00).

We need to be out of the park by 9:00 tomorrow morning. Or else.

Can you see the tent?

I see Canada!