Montana Getaway: That Long Drive To Missoula Can Be Good For Morale

MISSOULA, Mont. - The very name sounds remote and inaccessible, not a destination in its own right, just somewhere to get gas on the way to Glacier National Park or to stay overnight when on a cross-country trek.

But with a long Labor Day weekend and a lead foot, I found it just squeaked in as a Seattle getaway.

Missoula alone wouldn't have tempted me to get behind the wheel for eight hours after a full Friday's work, but an old friend had moved there to teach at the university just a few weeks before. I knew what seeing old friends can mean to a transplant, so I loaded my dogs in the car, grabbed a large coffee and hit Interstate 90 before common sense had a chance to take hold.

This frontier city of 58,000 alone wouldn't have tempted me to get behind the wheel for eight hours after a full Friday's work, but a good friend had recently moved there to teach at the University of Montana. I knew what seeing old friends can mean to a transplant, so I loaded my dogs in the car, grabbed a large coffee and hit Interstate 90 before common sense had a chance to take hold.

My goal was a straight shot from Seattle so getting lost wasn't a risk, but falling asleep was. News reports that very morning warned that rest and caffeine are a tired driver's only real help. Fortuitously, there was free coffee advertised at every rest stop along the interstate. Some of the very worst coffee to touch a Seattleite's lips. I quickly learned that gulping the muddy liquid down like a shot of whiskey and chasing it with Oreo cookies made it close to palatable.

At 10 p.m. I pulled up to my friend Jackie's house. It was too dark to get a sense of the town, but the deer I startled as I spilled from the car in a wave of growling dogs, Styrofoam cups and candy wrappers gave me a clue that we were not in Kansas anymore. After a warm welcome from Jackie and her German shepherd, we took a short stroll around the neighborhood while she filled me in on what she'd heard.

"The deer come into the yard to eat the apples. Right up the road is national forest land. You know that kid who got attacked by a cougar just recently? That was right over there.This is really the edge of Missoula." I decided it was time to turn in when she started to tell me about the bears.

The next morning, the air was hot and hazy as we headed down the road a few miles to the center of town for coffee. Jackie pointed out hiking trails and local landmarks among the rounded, barren hills that circled Missoula. Mount Jumbo loomed above the campus. Mount Sentinel, with it's letter M (these letters must be mandatory for every university with a hill) set in rocks high on our left.

"You can hike to the M," she said. "But the trail is closed now because of the fires. Can you smell it?"

I couldn't smell anything, but I realized now that the haze shrouding the city like Los Angeles smog was smoke from not-too-distant forest fires plaguing the western half of the state. She assured me there were other places to hike and that we were in no imminent danger. Hunger was a more immediate threat, so we parked near The Break Espresso, where we indulged in coffee and pastries every bit as good as Seattle's finest.

Across the room a mural depicted customers reading and eating, gazing back at us. The paintings appeared on several buildings, adding splashes of color to the solid browns and grays of the downtown buildings.

A weekly farmers' market was in full swing near the train station. White corn and tomatoes, nutty breads and bouquets of wildflowers overflowed the carts and card tables. Walking another block, we came upon a market with a decidedly fringe flavor. Artists displayed silver jewelry, beads, painted glassware, photographs and tie-dyed shirts. The thumping of bongos mingled with the voices of browsers and sellers.

"Hang this in your north window for career." The advice flowed from the feng shui tent. A belly dancer undulated slowly, smiling dreamily as Jackie complimented her on the heavy belt of silver coins that graced her hips.

As we walked the wide, clean streets I noticed that Missoula offered what larger cities had, just in smaller doses. One street preacher, one saxophonist, one newspaper hawker. The city's location as a wilderness outpost was nevertheless apparent. Outfitters outnumbered ethnic restaurants and if you were looking for a good deal on firefighter boots, this was the place.

Despite the availability of sushi and Thai food, when dinnertime came I felt obligated to find a big ol' Montana steak. In typical small town style, Jackie's neighbor directed us to the town of Lolo.

"I don't know the address, take a right at the gas station."

The eight-mile drive south of Missoula provided a glimpse of the craggy peaks of the Bitterroot Range, acres of wilderness waiting for those adventurous types with a taste for kayaking, backpacking, skiing and hiking. We were more in the mood for food as we pulled into the parking lot of Guy's Lolo Creek Steak House, a heavy-beamed log structure with cathedral ceilings, where steaks sizzled on an open grill.

We enjoyed the best salmon appetizer we'd ever tasted while we marveled at the dining room's animal trophies. Over 40 creatures adorned the walls in varying degrees of dismemberment from horns, to head and shoulders, to pelts, to

peak-action dioramas worthy of a natural history museum. We weren't the only customers overwhelmed by the display.

"Mommeeee! A bear! A bear! A bear!" a small boy screeched, pointing at the wall. His mother hushed and comforted him as we laughed into our napkins. Moments later our dinners arrived and all liberal, animal-loving thoughts receded as we dug into the juicy, perfectly grilled steaks.

Sunday morning the effects of too much food left us sleepy and sluggish. We lazed around a good portion of the morning, drinking coffee, talking about getting a move on, and reading the local paper.

"Let's see what kind of men you can meet in this town," I said as I studied the personal ads. Most were the nature-loving, river-rafting, music-appreciating types you'd expect in any outdoor-oriented college town. Some were not.

"Own my own 5th-wheel trailer" one suitor boasted. Another skipped over any attempts at romance and told the truth. "Survivalist looking for a wife."

After we'd stopped screaming, we loaded the dogs in the truck and headed out for a hike. Only two miles up the road we came to the Rattlesnake National Wilderness Area. It was hot and sunny as we followed the flat trail that shadowed Rattlesnake Creek. A ranger stopped his mountain bike to answer our questions, assuring us that the nearest fires were 20 miles away. I looked up at the hills where aspen trunks gleamed from stands of trees already changing to the golds and reds of autumn. Higher still the firs took over, standing strong and silent, like an army awaiting an approaching enemy.

The creek path was a popular one that led to a network of longer trails and we ran across several other groups either hiking or riding.

"Everyone looks so fit here," Jackie said. I was used to Seattle's abundance of healthy people but Jackie was from Nashville, where the words hearty and healthy refer to portion size, not fitness levels.

The subject of bears came up again as we walked the dogs through the neighborhood woods one last time.

"People tell me they sometimes find bears in the garage, looking through the garbage, but other than that, they aren't a problem," she said.

"Other than that!" I repeated. "Isn't that enough?"

"Well, that's kind of what I was thinking," she said. "I wish they'd start hibernating now."

We hugged and waved goodbye. Jackie and her dog looked very small in my rearview mirror as I drove off. Montana looked very big. I hoped no bears would come. ------------------------------- IF YOU GO

Planning a trip to Missoula

For more information call the Missoula Chamber of Commerce at 406-543-6623 , or try their Web site: http:// www.missoulachamber.org.

For Travel Montana, phone 406-444-2654. Or, on the Web:

http://www.travel.mt.gov.

The daily paper's Web site: www.missoulian.com.

- Heather McKinnon