Day 28: My Nickname Should Be “Detour”

I had such a good plan. I did.

I realized while we were in Canada that we were going to be close to Glacier National Park. Close enough to make a detour. Close enough that I decided I’d regret it if I didn’t try to make it happen.

Only I have become the Queen of Sidetrips. I yell “Squirrel!” a lot. I swerve across traffic lanes to hit a last minute exit (safely. stop worrying, mother.). Earl rolls her eyes a lot, but she usually stops a few minutes in when she realizes I’m right.

Mother’s always right, right?

Anyhoo…

We were merrily plugging along through big sky country when a brown sign caught my eye: Bison National Range.

Ooh! Bison! Wildlife! Squirrel! Swerve!

Earl’s eyes toward her frontal lobe. “But it’s 40 minutes away! I thought we were going to Glacier?”

“Don’t believe a word Velma says. It’s only 8 miles. See? It’s right around the corner.”

40 minutes later…

Turns out, there are a couple of different drives you can do at the BNR. One is a 2-hour mega-loop that climbs up into the hills overlooking the prairie and passing by not just bison, but bear and elk and all manner of other creatures. One is a little one mile out and back that’s mostly just for pretty-ish views. Then there’s the short drive: a 2-lane road that the lady at the counter claimed would about 45 minutes to go to the turnaround and back.

Hi. Let me introduce you to my camera tendencies. Ahem.

Bison have no regard for roads or human boundaries. They can also run up to 35 mph, which means do not tick off the bison because they will chase you and you will not win.

Did I mention they can also jump 6 feet in the air? Yeah. Give the bison room, people.

When there weren’t bison on all sides, the views were stunning. From the little river running through the land to the Rockies in the near distance to the west and the gentle hills of the prairie to the east, I oohed and ahhed and stopped to take pictures every 2.2 feet.

But, really. How am I supposed to resist taking pictures when the pronghorn are posing?

At one point, Earl’s eyeballs rolled so far back, I swear they made a full rotation.

The shoes switched feet when, as we left BNR an hour and a half later, she started seeing signs for “Museum.” Odd signs. Obscure signs. A lot of signs.

Then we hit Polson, MT, and the truth of the matter was revealed.

Remember eons ago when I was lamenting the untimely closure of the Million Dollar Museum near Carlsbad, NM? The Miracle of America Museum almost made up for my sadness. Almost. MoAM didn’t have a mummified alien baby, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

You know right away it’s going to be an interesting stop when the first thing you spy from the road is a red pickup with enormous cherries in the bed.

Oh, and there’s a boat sticking out through the front. A big boat. A tug boat called “Paul Bunyon.”

The entrance ups the level of that “this ain’t your typical museum” feeling.

“Sometimes 8 to 8 by chance.” This is my kind of place.

Earl and I approached the lady at the counter, who was on the phone with someone about something that sounded far more important to the person on the other end. Eventually, she hung up and sold us our tickets. “And when you finish in here,” she said, “There are 40 buildings out back to explore.”

Um…’scuze me? FORTY BUILDINGS?

Okay, the Million Dollar Museum just got cheap.

We trotted off to the indoor portion of the museum and immediately started battling with our feelings. We couldn’t decide if it was more “Okay, this is WAY too cool” or “Okay, this is WAY too much.”

Earl was highly offended by the eagle headed dancing stick. “That is offensive to me as a person of the United States as as a former OP Eagle,” she proclaimed, hands on hips and head shaking in dismay.

(My kid takes serious pride in her elementary school mascots, lemme tell you.)

The mouse traps in the next case were far less offensive.

I must say, I’m very glad we had moved past this technology by the time I started getting my perms.

It was at this point that Earl’s fear of mannequins came out in full force. Oddity #1: She loves wax museums, but give her mannequins and she gets the heeby jeebies. Oddity #2: Her defense agains the heeby jeebies, even if what’s scaring her is entirely visual, is to put her fingers in her ears.

We spent a lot of time in this room with her ears plugged, her eyes slammed shut, and my hand on the back of her neck guiding her through the veritable maze of seemingly random…things.

Although this is perhaps the best sign I’ve ever seen on a piano:

If it’s hard to read, the big sign reads: “Pianists are welcome to play as long as they wish. No Plinking. No Heart & Soul. No Chopsticks. Absolutely No Pounding.” The small sign says: “Pianists are welcome to play a tune (NO Chopsticks or Heart & Soul). Plinkers better practice at home.”

Those signs should be mandatory on all pianos in public places. Just saying’….

From the piano, it was into the motorcycle room. Which, wow.

Of course, on the other side of the room were these gems:

Have I mentioned that MoAM is delightfully random? Highly organized, but don’t try to figure out the organization. You’ll wound yourself.

I almost bailed when I came around a corner to this monstrosity.

It’s a 7′ high flying monkey from “Wizard of Oz”. That right there? Is the stuff of nightmares. Authentic nightmares, no less.

Sufficiently spooked, we headed outside to tackle a few of the 40 buildings.

Now I ask you, how many museums can you visit that have a port-a-john jail complete with authentic jail doors and gallows just hanging around out back?

The boat has a front!!

I am such a sucker for a good, cheesy alien display.

E.T.’s cousin, A.T. took it over the top. He wants to pose for a photo with you! He can even drape his right arm around your shoulders!

Earl wouldn’t go within 20 feet of him or his transportation methods (yet lately she wants to start watching X-Files. Huh?).

Boat motors, cars, and tools galore filled shed after shed.

Earl stopped going into the outbuildings after the paratrooper mannequin freaked us both out.

 Did I say I was immune to this “creeped out by mannequin” thing? Nope. I did not.

MoAM has a bit of a cynical side to it. Not only was there a revolver with the barrel facing backwards that was billed as (paraphrased) “Janet Reno Approved Jack Kevorkian Gun: For use by NRA members.” There was this guy.

“Straw Walker: After millions of tax-payer dollars and an ounce of common sense, it was decided that this ‘Ferrosaurus’ evolved from particles of iron ore to spend its useful life inside a farmer’s combine separating the straw from the wheat.”

I must admit, there was a degree of relief involved when we realized the 40 buildings out back were tiny. But an hour of wandering around back there and I’m pretty sure we didn’t see it all.

Earl got to pump water from a real, live, working well!

‘Real’ and ‘live’ as in it pumps water from a reservoir underneath, but the mechanism is the same.

I’m not sure how we escaped a visit inside the General Store, although I’m pretty sure the allure of the soda shoppe inside was involved.

They actually did have drinks and hot dogs and ice cream in the soda shoppe, crammed in among all the stuff. The fridge was a museum piece and non-functional, so the big vat of ice cream was starting to melt.  Earl opted for an ice cream cone while the lady doing the dipping practically begged me to have one as well. “It’s all starting to melt.”

It was at this point that I realized we would not be making it to Glacier that day, so we snagged a room in Kalispell. I peeked out the window and did a double take.

It must have been all of our wildlife watching at Bison. Or the oddities at the Miracle of America Museum. But at first glance, that sure looked like a bear. Especially before it turned its head.

Hi, Cow.

(It fooled Earl, too.)

(Clearly, we are getting tired.)

Moo.