Picked up from Missoula airport and we were off. The intention being to just get a few miles behind us and feel like we’d made some progress. Made it to the small town of Polson, Montana (well it seemed small at the time, we’ve been through a few smaller ones since) and set in for the night at Walmart, albeit a Walmart with a nice view.
Time to get acquainted with our pocket sized home from home. When you’re living in a space smaller than our walk in closet, what you have to be is organized. At least that’s what Darren told me on Day One. Which was just one of The Rules. Other Rules followed:
– No solids in the toilet or you have to clean it out yourself
– No passing a brewery within spitting distance without going in
– No whinging about the cold
– Darren can make up Any New Rules as he goes along at any time with no advance notice required.
The full day’s drive from Polson to Calgary was my first opportunity to get into the campervan routine. First of all, what do we even call this thing? A campervan? Mini RV? Truck camper? Adventuremobile? Let’s stick with campervan for now. The daily routine basically involves driving, stopping for coffee/treats/lunch/toilet, more driving, gawping at scenery, looking for wildlife, and the occasional hike/stroll/run.
First stop was of the coffee/treats variety. Huckleberry Patch in the town of Hungry Horse: purveyors of all things huckleberry. Huckleberry jam, huckleberry jelly, huckleberry syrup, you get the picture. Spoilt for choice, we loaded up with some huckleberry pie and preserves. For anyone not well acquainted with the huckleberry, it tastes kind of like a cross between blackberry and raspberry, without the seeds. Nom nom.
As we ascended the mountain passes skirting Glacier National Park in Montana, we came upon a herd of wild horses eyeing us warily, skittishly. Somewhat reminiscent of ponies trotting around the New Forest and yet their community is so remote, the terrain wild and frozen. These horses are hardcore. As for the coyotes – they breed them a bit bigger up here compared to ours. Or fluffier. I guess they just look bigger because of their woolly coats compared to their SoCal cousins.
The official at the Canadian border seemed overly interested in where we were going and what we were doing. Bordering on nosy I thought. It’s a pretty quiet border crossing, as border crossings go, so I guess he’s got to earn his money somehow. Even asked if we had any alcohol (like of course we’ve got alcohol, we’re in a campervan on a road trip, what do you think!), to which Darren shiftily replied “Yeah, just a couple of beers”. Luckily the border guard left it at that.