A Day Off. Slip-N-Slide. Cabela's. Finally, Montana!

We were at the mercy of one of the biggest May snowstorms in years, stuck like a weed tick in a belly button at Ogalalla, Nebraska. For thiry hours, the snow never stopped, the wind never dropped below about 40MPH, and our lone recreation consisted of lively and spirited negotiations as to whose turn it was to take the dogs out. That day (Friday the 2nd of May, it was) my main occupation was keeping the trailer clear of the several inches of ice that wanted to form over the door and the slides.

Eventually, on that Friday evening, the snow and wind let up enough that we could drive to town (such as it is), get some groceries, and make a much-needed post office run. All the streets were icy, traffic was at a crawl, and I-80 was still closed, but at least we ate. And we were warm. The weirdest thing of all, that night, was the surrealistic sight of literally HUNDREDS of big trucks filling the town, parked anywhere or everywhere there was a patch of open ground. It was not unlike a herd of gigantic rectangular buffalo huddled together for shelter before the elements, each animal belching steam and exhaust as it idled all night to keep its occupant warm and dry. And there were cars, too, full of people without options, all available rooms long since filled, motel lobbies packed with refugees with nowhere else to go. Everyone was just waiting. And waiting.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, albeit at about 10 degrees, and the gates to the highway were UP! We prepared to continue on our way. I knocked the ice off one more time, and we retracted slides, hitched up (frozen fingers AGAIN) and hit the road.

NOW: you are aware, Dear Reader, that it's been below freezing for two solid days. We were counting on the fact that the wind had never let up during the storm to have kept the highway relatively clear, and indeed that was the case, but still there were ice patches here and there. They usually form on the lee side of the ubiquitous drift fences that shelter all major highways in the Mountain West, and can be unexpected and treacherous.

Well, we were unprepared for the carnage that awaited us west of Ogalalla. Within the first twenty miles we saw no less than FIFTY freighters upside-down in the ditches. It looked like a buncha pathetic, helpless steel dinosaurs. Some of their drivers were standing forlornly around, waiting on overwhelmed tow services to reach them; others were obviously abandoned, their operators either injured or forced to whatever shelter they could find 'cause their engines would no longer run to provide interior life support. In any event, their numbers and frequency were more than this author has ever witnessed, in half a lifetime of living around mountains...

Anyway, we soldiered on right up until, while accelerating up one of the innumerable long hills in the area, I suddenly felt that (unfortunately familiar) stomach-turning, zero-gravity drift, as our F-450's rear wheels (all four of 'em) parted company with the pavement, on an unnoticed frozen patch. For about a lifetime (probably all of a half-second) it appeared that the rear end was gonna try to precede us down the highway, which is unsettling enough WITHOUT the nine tons of dead weight hooked to the back. In this case, however, it damned near gave me a heart attack, and Allison's *ahem* 'verbalizations' didn't help matters none. We immediately took a vote and, without any dissenters (although the dogs abstained), the 'Get The Hell Off The Highway RIGHT NOW' bill was passed unanimously.

We were, fortunately, right up the road from what's probably the only Cabela's (an outdoorsman's 'superstore' chain common in the Midwest and West, for the uninformed) in western Nebraska, and they had a nice, long easy-on-and-off exit, so we pulled off S-L-O-W-L-Y, to wait till the sun was a teensy bit higher. Kinda nice, in a way, 'cause they were having an unscheduled buffet that morning. Turns out that a lot of the trucks we saw off the road, their drivers had ended up there, some as much as two nights earlier, before the highway closed down.

So, we ate a little, shopped a little, gabbed with the other stranded unfortunates, and about ten we headed off again. This time the sun had indeed done its work, and the blacktop was wet but thawed. Mere minutes later (about fifty of 'em, to be exact), we were in Cheyenne, and we exited to I-25 and again headed north.

Nothing much of note happened in Wyoming, and my fingers are about to fall off, so suffice it to say we eventually crossed the Montana border. We had intended to make it all the way to our destination campground that day, but most (all) campgrounds, especially the nicer ones, prohibit any washing of rigs, and we were about as dirty as it's possible to be. We were, truck AND trailer, covered up with sand and salt from the road crews' work the previous coupla days. We therefore decided to stop about a hour from Billings that evening, camp there, and find a truck wash to clean up the trailer before throwing out the anchor for three or more months.

We stopped, therefore, at a park right on I-90 (which we had picked up at the very end of I-25), next to the Little Bighorn Battlefield, called The 7th Ranch. I didn't snap to the meaning of the name until Allison observed (with considerable satisfaction 'cause I didn't get it) that Gen. G.A. Custer's regiment was the 7th Cavalry. Oh, well, I'm allowed to miss a connection now and then. Just so it doesn't become a habit.

7th Ranch is a very nice place, reasonably priced, and geared very much toward people transporting livestock. They have beautiful horse accomodations and are very convenient to the Billings Livestock Auction (more about that later) and the big rodeos in Sheridan and Cody, Wyoming.

7th Ranch Campground. Big Sky Country!


Horse Accomodations At 7th Ranch:


7th Ranch Wide View: