Montana: Big Sky Country We pulled into Billings, MT with a collective sigh of relief after the full-throttle cross-country press. Lovers of open spaces, big peaks, and rugged landscapes, we started to feel the love for “Big Sky Country” creep into our cold Yankee hearts. We had made it west.
From the headwaters of the Yellowstone River nestled in Rosebud Canyon to the butterfly-inducing stretch of road known as the Beartooth Highway, Montana quickly fills you up. There’s a good reason Robert Pirsig travels the epic road in the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – it forces you to consider your place in the world and inspires a presence of mind while in the saddle that few other places I’ve been can claim.
Off the beaten path are its equally beautiful abnormalities. Places like Butte, the home of the Copper Kings, a city that’s seen the best and worst of America’s industrial past. The half-standing ghost towns of Virginia and Nevada City, the urban decay of Billings. We experienced 24 hours of oddities in Helena, starting at an upstanding wine bar and ending with Greg waking up at 4 am on a random sidewalk. Thick smoke of Glacier National Park’s burning wildfires would follow alongside us, reminding us that nature was always in control.
They say happiness isn’t realized unless shared. Friends from the Midwest and PNW joined us to romp, play and convene with nature. The inherent vulnerability of the road allowed us all to cut through the thick exteriors that we sometimes manufacture when we’re comfortable and on cruise control. Montana, you were a beautiful host.
East Rosebud Canyon In August 1901, seven men and four horses made their way through the scraggly brush and rocky scree of East Rosebud Canyon looking for gold. Led by old-time Montana explorer, Fred Inabnit, it took them 17 days to complete the first recorded trip into the canyon. They didn’t find gold, instead, they found an alluring natural treasure.
We now followed contemporary Montana explorer, Becca Skinner over the same route deep into the heart of the Beartooth Mountains. Forbidding, 10,000-foot granite buttresses flared up on both sides funneling us through the spectacular valley. We rode the gnarled trail to a crest, then abruptly, it fell away to a jaw-dropping view. Below us, East Rosebud Lake glistened in the sunlight.
Down by the lake, we found the perfect campsite. A campfire set the atmosphere for hearty food, drink and great company, while the sun set and the moon rose over the Beartooths.
Local author Bill Schneider says of East Rosebud Canyon, “It showcases all the beauty, austerity, emptiness and majesty of the Beartooths.” We couldn’t agree more.
Becca Skinner I first heard of Becca Skinner the way you hear about anyone living the dream – on Instagram (@beccaskinner). Though my skepticism of things I find there has grown, in general, (we all know IG is a fun place to pretend), Becca is the real thing. I know this because we spent a week in the places she shares with us, the places she often calls home: the Montana and Wyoming backcountry. Those images of living out of her truck, rising with the sun, and slurping cowboy coffee with her canine pal Veda? Her life.
A freelance writer and photographer, Becca caught the bug after a week exploring the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina with her camera. Soon after, she won the National Geographic Young Explorers Grant and the rest is an unfolding story of a young woman slingshot into the world of adventure for a living.
Most days you’ll find her kicking up dust in her mobile home (a tripped-out 2004 Chevy Colorado), teasing fish with her cast, whipping up some backcountry burritos, and capturing experiences for a slew of outdoor brands. –Brett
Beartooth Pass Truth be told, I was somehow only vaguely aware of the Beartooth Highway when our gracious and patient tour guide Becca told us about our destination. Probably not a very good “moto-journalist” thing to admit, but radical honesty is a thing these days, and I have the memory of a goldfish. And it wasn’t until Jenny mentioned something about Pirsig writing about the pass that I sensed a fleeting recollection of its relevance. Full disclosure: I was completely unaware that Pirsig was still alive and just so happened to live in Bozeman, the smoke-filled strip mall we’d just come from the day before. In fairness, I dug Bozeman. It seemed like a hip little mountain city with ambition. After realizing that I was an ignorant dolt, to some far greater degree than I’d ever admit, we set off from Rosebud Canyon.
“In the high country of the mind, one has to become adjusted to the thinner air of uncertainty…” –Robert Pirsig
There are few places in the world where this sentiment rings truer. Not simply because Pirsig travels the fabled road in his seminal work Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but I challenge anyone to ride the pass and not have a near spiritual experience where you must face the overwhelming uncertainty of existence, the undeniable beauty of it, of our insignificance alongside our inescapable self-importance, and ultimately, of awe and wonder. The Highway has earned the right to be called a highway in every sense of the word. It’s a truly breathtaking stretch of road that’s rooted in Americana and woven into the fabric of motorcycle culture. And even though I’d only become fully aware of its significance a few days prior to experiencing it, I’d have been okay If we had turned around there and headed home. The trip would have been worth it. –Greg
The Beartooth Pass is a section of U.S. 212 between Red Lodge, Montana and the Wyoming border at Beartooth Pass. The peak elevation of the pass is 10,947 feet above sea level and the high altitude can cause erratic and extreme weather where it’s not uncommon to see snow in the middle of the summer.
Dumpster Racing Sometimes we forget the simple joy of motorcycling. And then we’re completely reminded. Like in Pray, Montana, at sundown. Your buddy spots a dumpster in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by just the right grade of gravel to let loose. One look at one another and you confirm, it’s race time! The First Annual Ural Dumpster Race is in the books.
Dave & Kara Dave Mucci and Kara Dianne met us in Bozeman for a five-day excursion and runabout. Dave is the brains behind MotoMucci.com and Draft Studio, an industrial design shop, and Kara is behind Shemakers, an online journal about women and craft. She’s also a therapist. It’s actually why we came all the way out here; the travel expenses were cheaper than our deductibles. Friends in high places…
Follow Dave and Kara on Instagram @motomucci & @shemakers
Mike & Jenny It’s well known that if you want to find out how a new relationship will fare, go on a trip together. Mike and Jenny Linquist from Seattle, WA are equal parts humble humans, motorcycle fanatics, and creative circus act – and they pass the test – with one another, and with us. A week in the backcountry and we owe Jenny (and her Ural-driving assistant hubby) a debt of gratitude for friendship and for some of the images that grace the pages of this issue. Make sure to check out their new venture, Pack Animal.
Follow Jenny and Mike on Instagram @jennylinquist & @pack_animal
Camping in Pray After disturbing the peaceful dumpster folk with our raucous impromptu racing just outside of Chico Springs, we made our way to the backcountry of Pray, Montana. This was to be our last hurrah as a Montana family, and we all felt a bit sad that it had gone by so hastily. So we did what any group does when confronted with a bittersweet departure: got drunk and gave each other temporary tattoos. That night, as I watched unicorns being tattooed on my friends, the gravity of the journey we had planned and labored over for months finally settled on me: we were in the thick. The adventures had just begun. I don’t recall fumbling my way into my hammock that night, but I woke up there, and in my book, that’s a win. –Greg
Five Days in Butte Butte was a town that was meant to only be a figment, a passing curiosity, a one-night stand. But then the Ural cT experienced brake failure. After five days wrestling with it, we suddenly we found ourselves putting down roots in what will go down in history as the longest brake job ever (page 49). No location on the trip left a deeper, unexpected imprint on our psyches than this farthest point west we reached. A mixture of wonder, curiosity, despair and even repugnance filled us as we drove the streets. This was a place like no other.
Around the turn of the century, Butte’s population went from 20,000 to 100,000 in just a few short years as immigrants flocked to the town from all over the world seeking high wages working the copper mines. A melting pot of mass diversity and ambition ruled the town giving meaning to the term ‘wild west’. Anaconda, the fourth largest company in the world at the time, represented the pinnacle of greed. The owners, ‘Copper Kings’ they were called, cashed in to the tune of up to a million dollars a day while laborers earned a couple of pennies. This, and the lawless gambling, drinking and prostitution all added to the aggressive, barbaric culture.
Then, the copper ran out and the population dwindled as fast as it grew. The town was left looking like it had been raped by a biblical plague of starving locusts.
Butte pushed and pulled at us as we explored and learned of its chaotic history and bold, brassy characters. Characters like hometown Evel Knievel.
Evel worked for Ananconda in the copper mines…and hated it. He preferred to ride his motorcycle rather than all this “unimportant stuff ” he said. One day he was pulling surface
duty where he drove an earthmover. Unable to contain himself, he performed a motorcycle-type wheelie with the earth mover. The mover crashed into Butte’s main power line knocking out power in the entire city for hours. The legend was born.
In all, we spent five days in Butte. We absorbed its rugged, audacious vibe. It challenged us. It asked us to examine our ideals, to take stock of what matters. It stretched our perceptions more than we could ever have anticipated. By the time we left town, we were transformed and steeled for the miles ahead.
A Mixed Bag of Gifts and Deficits Even “a blot on the nation’s legacy,” so says James Cramer III, a fifth-generation Butte resident. His great-grandmother arrived from Finland at the turn of the century to realize a life of opportunity working in a city of miners all chasing a gold called Copper. A mess of beauty and ugliness, Butte at a point became one of the wealthiest locations on the planet.
Walk her streets today and you’ll brush up against a medley of what hasn’t left – ghosts of abandoned homes, automobiles and in some cases, people.
Longest Brake Job in History I swear we were a week away from getting a mailing address. Maybe things are just slower in Russia, who knows? All I know is that without Matt of local bike shop Two Wheels help, we’d probably still be standing there today staring at a mysteriously malfunctioning rear caliper.
Day One: assess and wait for pads to be overnighted.
Day Two: still waiting.
Day Three: replace pads. Still malfunctioning. Collectively scratch heads and reinstall brake caliper and pads multiple times with no luck. Overnight entire rear brake system sans master cylinder.
Day Four: Musical chairs with every part available to no avail. Overnight a new master cylinder.
Day Five: Whip all ten thumbs into shape and by some stroke of magic resurrect the rear brakes and we’re out of there faster than a jack rabbit with a firecracker in its ass. –Greg
Ghosts Back on the road, we pushed south towards Wyoming en route to Utah. It’s hard to think about exploring the West and not stopping off in some ghost towns. These towns often feel caught in the dilemma of accommodating the needs of the contemporary patron and of maintaining an authentic historical experience. Our first stop was the original watering hole of Virginia City, a saloon called The Pioneer Bar. It was a dingy room with a few disparate transients. We were told the bar was haunted but the only ghost I saw was a broken ATM from the 80s. –Greg
A flourishing ghost town during the gold rush of the American West that is now a National Historic Landmark, Virginia City is operated and maintained by the Montana Historic Commission to reflect its heyday. The locals in Virginia City told us a tale of an old-time resident who was a wealthy deadbeat. After many run-ins with the local town government, he got so pissed off that he decided to use his riches to build himself his very own town. Nearby Nevada City is his middle finger monument to the folks back in Virginia City.
This article first appeared in issue 22 of Iron & Air Magazine, and is reproduced here under license | With selections by Brett Houle, Gregory George Moore, Michael Hilton & Jason Paul Michaels
Selected photography may include works by Brett Houle, Gregory George Moore, Michael Hilton, Daniela Maria, Jenny Linquist, Becca Skinner, Kevin Bennett, David Mucci
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