Lochse River experience. I left Orofino fairly early this morning, I wanted to get as far into Montana as possible. The early drive was pleasant but my thoughts, as usual, went to Sue as they do so often in the morning. As I moved down the road, something that pleased me very much began to take shape. I have had in my mind for a long time the germ of an idea. I have wanted to write a short story about my thoughts, feelings and experiences in the months following Sue’s passing. I have had the title since shortly after acquiring the germ, it is to be called “100 Days of Tears” and the outline and structure began to take shape in my mind. Pleasing thoughts alternated with tears as the ideas moved forward. But the terrain began to change and my thoughts were brought to another place.
The environment around me was becoming increasingly more spectacular as I moved into the gorge of the Lochse river. This is in a remote part of the Bitterroot wilderness and something had drawn me here despite having absolutely no knowledge of the area. I could have taken a slightly longer route that was all freeway but didn’t. The river follows a tortured route as it carves it’s way through the mountains. The scenery is becoming more spectacular by the moment, the water glinting with the light of the early morning sun. The road has more curves than an army of belly dancers, one curve blending into the next. Pretty soon I am taking on two personas. One part John Muir as I am absorbed into the stunning beauty around me. Other part Mario Andretti as I begin to tightly hug the inside of every curve. Soon I am taking the 35mph curves at 50 and the 45mph curves at 60, gradually becoming more Mario than John. I am pushing myself toward my 60 year old limit as the road continues its long path uphill. Beside me the river has rapids almost all of the time and I become mesmerized by the process of driving, very quickly, through a small piece of heaven (with no guardrails). I feel all of my senses becoming increasingly more alive and concentrated on the task at hand. My attention is heightened and my visual, tactile and spatial powers are brought into acute focus. After 60 or 70 miles I am feeling euphoric in a way brought on by intense and prolonged sensual stimulation. I feel more alive than I have in a long time. This continues for mile after mile and I knew I had been led here for a purpose, which in that moment was not entirely clear to me.
Eventually the road leads off of the river and crosses the Lolo pass at about 6,000 feet. Before I cross though, I have an interesting moment. I am driving along a creek and I feel like I am going downhill. As I look at the creek it is also flowing downhill but in the other direction. This is a moment where up seems like down, which I think can happen when in a euphoric state and experiencing lots of ups and downs. I also see a little white cross on the side of the road and decide that on the way down I will be Jon Bushard and not Mario Andretti.
On the way down I do have an intense moment of absolute clarity. This experience has brought me to the realization that I want to write. Not just someone who writes for fun as I have on this trip, but someone who will take this germ inside of him (like the one of Sue and Skip that has grown inside of me) and actually learn HOW to write. It is a very emotional realization. Where this will lead me I have no idea but combined with another need I have realized (the need to push myself toward my limits) it could prove to be an interesting path.
I covered more miles today than any other day of the trip, about 650. Lots of time to think, and I realized that I have way too many thoughts. If I tried to write everything down you’d really think I was crazy.
Item: The Yellowstone river is the longest undammed river in the US. How we missed that one is beyond me. I think it might be related to the amount of people along its course. I think it is also because the people are undead.
Observation: Outside of Billings are buttes that are called mountains, outside of Butte are mountains but no buttes. No sense to be made from that one. More tomorrow, Jon.