Long Drive: Montana to West Virginia in a Forgotten Mitsubishi Part 2

The ultra-flat dash was great for holding a modern smart phone for navigation and featured an inclinometer, useful for detecting whether you’ve rolled off a cliff..

I woke up at about 7 a.m. the next day, not entirely well-rested but also grateful that I wasn't killed in my sleep, and after a quick fuel stop we hit US 87 toward Billings, with the day's goal to make Badlands in time to see its buttes and pinnacles, and maybe walk a trail or two before dark. This stretch of Montana felt especially isolated, and I got the impression that the few people who did live out here preferred it this way, resigned to live under this quiet expanse of sky unbothered by the outside world, but in many ways also left to fend for themselves, as I hadn't seen a town with a hospital in hours. The few people we did meet were friendly. During a late morning fuel stop, I bought a pie and some pancake-like cookies from a man selling baked goods out of an old school bus, who was awfully cheerful despite standing in a parking lot in the drizzling rain to sell his wares.

So far, the Montero was handling the trip without issue, averaging about 18 mpg (it has never been that good since) and using about 1/2 a quart of oil per tank of fuel, thanks to the valve guides. Will had discovered that we needed to make it to the Badlands by 4 p.m., and we had a time zone working against us, so at his request I gently pushed us up to 90 mph and set the cruise. The truck felt stable at speed, though being shaped roughly like a kegerator, the wind noise at 90 mph was hilariously bad, loud enough to drown out the stereo. For the rest of the afternoon, we burned down the miles across scrub grass fields and plateaus, and past somber farms and vehicles and homes. For a few hours the only other souls we saw were a pack of stray dogs. With time working against us, we finally made it to the southeast corner of Montana, cutting through a small portion of Wyoming into South Dakota, and skirting the Black Hills past Sturgis before making the Badlands with half an hour to spare.

Entering Badlands National Park.

Having just seen Glacier the day before, I had relatively low expectations for the Badlands in comparison. Earlier that day I had been harassing Will about having to rush across the country just so he could look at the effects of some erosion (like I've never seen a creek before), but upon reaching the edge of these ravine and formations, I realized that this place is otherworldly. Looking back at the Montero parked before the striped pinnacles and spires, I thought briefly of the Mars rover Curiosity, and I felt slightly deflated in knowing that driving it across the buttes would probably land me in a federal pen. Will was very content to read the plaques describing the prehistoric formations, and though I was equally awestruck, I was also keen to stretch my legs. I persuaded my reluctant (but also always overly cautious) co-driver to walk one of the nearby trails despite a limited amount of light left for the day. At the entrance of the trail, Will said something about that trail being too long or not looping back to where we were parked, but I wasn't hearing any of it.

Will was only semi-interested in this trip till I promised to drive through two national parks, at which point he booked the flight immediately.

Walking amongst the ancient spires.

I thought the trail was great, a narrow path through long, tall prairie grass followed by a steep section down the clay-like pinnacles to the main road through the park, though sure enough at the end of the trail, we were two miles from the Montero. At first, I was unbothered by this. I still had plenty of energy to walk back, but about five minutes into the hike, we were both tired of the incessant flies biting us, and I suggested that we thumb it back to the Montero with a ride from some other visitors.

Will had rolled his ankle on the trail, so he was all for this idea, and after a couple of tries, I had gotten a father-son duo to stop in their 4Runner and consider driving me back up the hill. They didn't really have room in their vehicle and I had them almost talked into letting me just stand on the running board, when Will waved them off and said he found another ride. I turned around to see that he had stopped a Sprinter van, and the driver had agreed to run me back to my vehicle. Will practically shoved me into the passenger seat and told me he'd wait there till I drove back and picked him up, and it was at this point that I realized he had just signed me up for a ride in a windowless white van. Taking a quick look around, the van was filthy, some sort of mystery goo slathered across the dashboard, empty cups and containers across the floor, and behind me the interior of the van was absolute darkness, save for the driver's wife, whose eyes I could just make out toward the back of the vehicle. Now, for the second time on this trip, I briefly feared for my life. I made sure to keep one elbow out the window while chatting with the driver. Both he and his wife were supremely pleasant though, keen to see the country and curious as to the purpose of my trip. They dropped me off at the Montero, and I drove back down the hill to find Will looking a bit concerned. Wondering what would happen if I had not come back.

Winding through the Badlands after being safely returned to the Montero.

From the Badlands, we continued east another hour before calling it a night. Will, who wasn't up for another night sleeping in the front seat, booked a hotel room in Murdo, South Dakota, while we watched a thunderstorm play out on the horizon. In Murdo, the motel owner told us that the town was named after a cattle baron, who liked to graze his cattle in the area and decided there should be a town — so he had one built in two weeks, with materials brought in via railroad. We found a bar across the street and grabbed dinner, and we barely stayed awake for the walk back to the motel to call it a night. We had covered about 700 miles in day two of the trip, and the following morning our goal was to make it to Chicago by nightfall, where we had a place to stay with Will's cousin. So far, we had 900 miles behind us, with about 1,200 to go. -DFA

Iverseen Inn, Murdo, South Dakota.