(Unfortunately, only one page of notes remains from this part of the trip. So, I won't be able to flesh out the story with all of the names of the kind and interesting people encountered on the way back.)

Our last night in the backcountry is a cold one, much like our first. I'm wrapped in a space blanket inside my summer sleeping bag and shiver from time to time. Mike's bag is heavier than mine, but he seems uneasy as well. Once I'm awakened by a strange swishing noise. I discover that Mike is shaking his head from side to side in his sleep. His beard brushing against his sleeping bag makes the swishing noise.

I remember a hummingbird greeting me in the early morning. This was a rare moment of motionless solitude before a day of frenzied movement. Remember that Mike and I have a long, difficult hike ahead of us. We need to get out early in order to hitch a ride back to the campground.

Predictably, we have no food. We do have some bags of an electrolyte mix and a couple of Cliff bars. This electrolyte stuff really jacks us up! I think there must have been concentrated carbohydrates in it as well. I need to ask Mike where he got that stuff so I can avoid it. I remember it going right to my head and buzzing around up there. Today, a four years older Matthew knows how bad this stuff is for you. We were like two hopped up cokeheads ready to fly down the trail.

So, we start out quickly with a long steady climb along a gorgeous ridge that often allows for breathtaking views. We soon see that we are right on the edge of a large storm. This spurs us to hike even faster.

The foot that I injured back at Lincoln Lake has been bothering me off and on since then, but the fast hiking makes it much worse. I'm soon as lame as I was back when I first crawled out of the Lincoln Lake trail. Of course Mike is too carbo-headed to notice my falling behind. Never mind that I usually hike circles around him -- he's in another dimension and continues hiking ahead without noticing.

I finally decide to stop for a bit and use the excuse of a blueberry patch in a wooded area for a rest. I wander off the trail a bit, up a slope covered with berry bushes. I start to get a very strange feeling about this place -- kind of a creepy feeling. However, I'm thinking more about the pain in my foot and the berries I'm stuffing into my mouth.

Then I hear a large shuffling noise that jerks my head away from berry picking. I see a very large bear butt about 5 meters away from me. I can smell him.

I've blundered into wild animals in the woods before. Once I hiked over a forested hill in South Dakota and surprised two large buffalo. Another time I stumbled across a calving moose on a tiny island in the Boundary Waters. I can't tell if this large bear is as angry as the moose and buffalo were, but I automatically do the exact same thing I did with them. First, I fix my eyes on a point that is decidedly away from the beastie. Then I slowly, but steadily move towards that point. I'm not retreating or backtracking. I'm moving in a direction that is forward, but clearly not towards the creature.

It works again. I've never read anything that recommends this approach to dealing with wild animals. The only flaw I could see in it is if I accidentally move directly towards their lair or children.

When I catch up with Mike and tell him about this, he immediately knows the spot where I met the bear. He also had a strange feeling while passing through this part of the trail. I think we still have remnants of the ability to sense the presence of large dangerous animals.

Mike and I eat the last of our Cliff bars and pound some more of the crazy carbo-electrolyte juice. Between that and the adrenaline of the bear, I'm racing along the trail, oblivious to the pain in my foot.

We keep moving faster and faster, up high along a boulder-covered ridge where we see some scat that could be from a mountain lion. Then around nearly circular curves scattered with waterfalls. Then over a small pass and down, down, down through a winding forest-covered path.

The scenery is magnificent. We're making wonderful time, and we seem to be skirting the edge of the storm. We should be slowing down and relishing these last precious moments in the wilderness. Instead, we hike even faster. I'm worse than Mike, pulling ahead of him at the end. Somehow I'm under the impression that if I stop or even slow down then my foot will get its revenge and make me completely lame.

We're surprised at how quickly we get out. Our stash is collected in the woods -- thanks to Babe for standing such a good guard. We have a bit of trouble finding a ride back together, so we decide to hitch separately. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, but Mike gets a ride with a British couple and I almost immediately follow with Missoula people. We arrive in Apgar at nearly the same moment!

I explain to Mike that one of the reasons my red hat is so lucky for hitching is that people can immediately tell that no mass murderer would ever wear a hat like that.

Back with the tourists again, we hike over to a gift shop that has a small restaurant in it. We keep ordering food until we have no money left. We would have ordered a lot more food but we have trouble with the ATM machine. In fact, I suspect we'd still be there if we'd gotten that ATM machine to work.

There's nothing quite like the contentment of sitting in a warm restaurant with food in your belly and your pack off your back and on the floor. We have returned to civilization after a triumphant excursion into the wilderness.

It doesn't get any better than this.

We're up before dawn because we need to catch an early train home. Takes us awhile before we can catch a ride so we're concerned that we will be late. No need to worry about that with Amtrak though. We learn that the last train was 7.5 hours late and our train will be late as well -- something about the tracks being warped. Hmm, makes you think.

So, we have plenty of time to chat with two college women from New York, a ditsy, cute, half-Korean woman who goes to Penn State, and a man named Sinclair who works in the station. Sinclair, who is originally from Kansas City and chats with me about homebrewing, tells us that the Amtrak trains always give way to the freight trains, so that's why the Amtrak is always late.

A man named Jolly Jones jumps in and says that this is for safety reasons. They test the dubious tracks by sending the freight trains through before the passenger trains. Somehow, I have the feeling that the real reason is financial though.

We wind up spending a lot of time chatting with Jolly Jones. Jolly has long white hair pulled back in a ponytail, making him resemble Willie Nelson. He is the winter caretaker at MacLean Lodge. I immediately think of "The Shining", but also envy him the job. Jolly is originally from a small town in Arkansas, population 360. He was the only bail bondsman in his county. He once took two mules as bail bond. He says there were no rapes in memory in his small town. "Everyone knows one another. Besides, they were all afraid they'd be raping a relative." He said that while his town didn't have much crime, things were much different in Little Rock. Jolly claims Little Rock is "like Nairobi".

When we tell Jolly that our work is in computers he says: "Computers are not for the average old Joe Blow Shade Tree McCan."

Someone asks Jolly if he thinks there will be a view up at Logan Pass today. Jolly says it is a "perfect day for viewing." "Wouldn't it be better if it was clearer?" "No, it would be different then, but not better." "Just wanted to know what a perfect day for viewing was." "They're all perfect to me," replies Jolly.

Finally on the train! We hear two horror stories from people concerning places where we'd just left! A guy almost starved to death at Lincoln Lake. Apparently, he became ill and couldn't leave his tent. It took several days before someone checked on him and saw what bad shape he was in. Also, at 7am on the same day we hit the Highline Trail, a bear mauled a man heading there from Fifty Mountains. Fortunately, both men survived.

A lone horse jogs around a dirt track at the "Cut Bank Saddle Club". I see a deserted farm house with a barn and a huge pile of bricks. I think about moving there. Just east of the Blackfoot Reservation I see a lone cenotaph covered with graffiti in a field.

The people sitting in front of us board after attending a wedding in Havre, MT. They tell me the origin of the town's name comes from two Frenchman who got into a fight over a half-breed woman. The bigger Frenchman beats up the smaller one and the latter tells him he can "have her". They settled in the spot where the town grew.

While reading the "Waterton Glacier Views" newspaper, an ad catches my eye. It's for the "Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre" in Alberta. "Among the oldest, largest, and best preserved buffalo jump sites in North America." The ad has a graphic of cute little black buffalo plunging head-first down the side of the type. The ad was placed by "the friends of the Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Society."

A wrinkled old lady in the Observation Car warns that our country is dangerously dependent on foreign nations for supplies. Her argument goes like this: Boots are the most important thing to an army. Our army boots are made in Italy. Thus we are dependent on them for our army.

I see a man reading "India's Bandit Queen". I had just seen the movie version of this story so I discuss this with him and Mike. Feels strange to talk about India while the Montana scenery rolls by. However, a few years later, while on a train in India, I thought about Montana while watching the Indian view fly past.

Returning from the observation car, we recognize a young teenage boy with long hair and a Metalica t-shirt on. Mike had taken his seat in the observation car after we waited around looking for a chair. The teenager is chatting with the people in front of us about Alaska! He was born in Juneau and it turns out the people in front of us have just returned from there.

I believe I've forgotten to mention a few other Alaska references. One that comes to mind is from a couple we met on the trail, Glenn and Elke Govertsen, from Missoula. Elke is from Homer, Alaska, which is where a friend of mine moved. One of my uncles also lived there for a time.

Anyway, at one point the teenage boy from Juneau says that the only music he listens to is Metalica and country.

While in the observation car, I start talking with two kids named Travis and Jessica. Turns out their family is sitting near us. These kids latch onto us a bit and sometimes follow us back to the observation car when we go there. They are very funny kids of eight to ten years of age.

Jessica: "Travis, you're a dork!"

Travis: "I'm not going to sit with her!"

Jessica: "Watch your hubris!"

At another point, Travis is talking to Mike and me:

Travis: "Are you two brothers?"

Mike: "No."

Travis: "Are you guys like best friends?"

Me: "Actually, we're enemies in real life."

Travis seems to consider this very carefully.

Jessica tells me her favorite musician is Garth Brooks. I tell her I don't know any of his songs. So Jessica sings one of his songs for us, a little ditty called "Lightning Strikes and Thunder Rolls." She's pretty good.

I learn that Jessica's grandpa keeps redworms. I've kept them for many years.

A young girl traveling by herself, named Deanna, is sitting next to Mike and me. Turns out she was born in Minot! She moved to Williston last year. When she starts to cry, Jessica's mother invites her over to comfort her. "No bad people come from Williston," she says.

Mike to Travis: "My ten year old son burps and farts a lot."

Travis and Jessica's mom: "We have two sons that do that."

Jessica: "Three, counting the dad."

Later, Mike asks Travis's brother (or is he his cousin?) what he does. "I'm a couch potato!" replies the boy, proudly raising his arms.

Later still, Mike and I wind up watching a movie in the observation car with Travis and Jessica. The movie is called "Bed of Roses". It's a romantic melodrama where Christian Slater plays a quirky guy who courts a woman who was unhappy. There's nothing particularly special about the movie except that the Christian Slater character is really into plants and has an incredibly cool conservatory in his place. This makes the movie interesting for me. In fact, I'm so interested that I'm surprised when the train rolls into Minot in the middle of the film.

We've finally returned to the Magic City, so I'm obligated to run out and learn as much as I can. I have two specific goals. One is to find out why it's named the Magic City. Another is to make sure I know exactly how the natives pronounce the name of the town. I've heard some people say "My Not" and others, including Juanita, say "Min ot".

I race off the train, running wildly through the streets. It still looks a lot like Rugby to me. Finally, I calm down, perhaps remembering the lesson I was to learn from the jaded Israelis. I stand still and take some mental snapshots of the dusty streets. I see an old man talking with a taxi driver and walk up to him.

"Do you live in this town?"

"Yep, all my life."

"How do you pronounce the name?"

"Minot," he says, pronouncing it "My not".

"Know why it's called the Magic City?"

The man pauses and then admits: "Can't say I do."

The conductor back at the station knows though. "When the railroad came through, the town sprang up like magic." When I ask him about the pronunciation, he says: "Think -- why not, Minot"

Why not, Minot -- I like that! So much so that much later I tell Sybil that we will make a film with that as a title.

Back on the train I ask Mike how Juanita could live in this town and mispronounce the name. I start to wonder if maybe I could have somehow misheard her.

"She might not really live there," suggests Mike.

"I saw her get off the train in Minot. She had a box full of cacti."

"Maybe she's crazy," says Mike. "What other woman would manipulate you into a seat, just so you would later get moved next to her?"

That would explain a lot.

The gods smile at me during a perfect sunrise over a lake near Staples, MN. The town has a 1950's look to it. A teenaged girl chokes back tears at the station when someone departs. I study colors and light.

In central Minnesota: a Ford Explorer painted with "Steve's Bug Clinic". The graffiti on a warehouse near a junkyard outside of Granite City reads:

I talk with Rhonda, a slim dark haired woman who grew up on a farm in Wisconsin. She says the Amtrak trains are always late. She knows because she takes them regularly.

Mike breaks in: "I expected the trains to be on time. They're trains! You should be able to set your watch by them.

Me: "When Mussolini was in charge the trains ran on time."

Mike: "Yes!"

Mike has been proselytizing my HEN philigion to people on the train. He describes himself as a yip, a Yogi In Training. I think that by now he counts as a full Yogi.

When we enter Wisconsin, I mention cheese curds to Rhonda. She says they are too fattening. Mike confesses that he's never had one. I tell him that fried cheese curds and beer are two of the great things about Wisconsin.

We finally get to back home to Chicago! I walk from the Union Station up to my place in River North. My last hike with the backpack for this magical trip.

When I'm cleaned up and get to see Sybil, she gives me a box that she made. Inside, she glued all kinds of things that reminded her of our short time together. I'm really touched by it. We displayed it at our wedding and still have it in a trophy case.

Matt Donath

9/12/00

[email protected]

http://www.geocities.com/mdonath