Every few miles we pass a grain elevator, some made of concrete, some of corrugated steel, a few of weathered wood. They are embellished with painted signs advertising the Farmer's Union Grain Company or the Occident Elevator or, most often, General Mills. Above each one is a cloud of crows. Out here, the towns are small and old, still huddled around the railroad track rather than the highway. Ford pickup trucks serve as police cars.
Flash bulbs are still for sale, as is panty hose that comes in egg-shape packages.
High school football season has just begun, and the store windows in each town are painted with the local mascot and an exhortation for victory. We stop for the night, after gutting out eighty-one miles, in Gildford. The town park is right next to Kelly's Pub. When we enter the pub everyone turns to stare as usual, we're the only ones wearing Lycra. We order burgers and elect to save water an ideal eastern Montana supper.