Untold Stories

ONE

Barreling down the last descent before a steep climb into Cut Bank, BJ was making 44 mph. I was working the brakes and holding my speed at 40. A passing pickup truck blew its horn, a couple of short toots, not aggressive, not unfriendly. The driver made a gesture I didn't recognize. His hand at 90 degrees from his wrist, fingers toward the temple of his head, he wagged his hand back and forward. Thinking about it later, I decided it must be a Native American sign that means "crazy."

At least I hope that's what it means.


TWO

We stopped for lunch one day at a bar. The meat loaf special was actually quite good. When we were getting ready to leave I went into the men's room. It was a small men's room. There was essentially space for one person.

Almost immediately the door opened behind me. A deep voice said, "Hey, buddy."

I was startled. An adrenaline rush hit me. The old fight-or-flight reaction kicked in and there was no place to fly to. I turned around fast.

There blocking the doorway was a big guy with a goatee. He looked like the offspring of the union of a linebacker and a brick outhouse.

For a second I thought I heard banjos.

"I think you dropped these," he said holding my arm warmers out toward me.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a million. I appreciate that."


THREE

As I walked into a cafe for breakfast one morning, a local man greeted me.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Best day of my life!" He sounded as if he meant it.

"Really?" I asked.

"Every day," he replied.