Our streak of decent hotels was broken last night. God, was it ever. Out of desperation or fear or some other base emotion, my dad settled on a place called the "Big Sky Inn." I cannot implore you enough: Do not spend the night here.
Everything was wrong with it. Cheap towels. Cheap beds (which I'm pretty sure had a plastic guard on them, you know, the kind they put on the beds of kids who piss themselves). Pilows with less give than the average cardboard box.Then we couldn't even get to sleep properly because we'd be woken up by a train high balling it on the tracks across from us.
Sometimes you gotta eat some mud to make the custard stand out. That's a saying right? I don't know. I'm running off of not a lot of sleep and a minor hangover. I'm satisfied enough with just being able to form words.
We're headed into Wyoming. Tomorrow (or today or the next day, depending on when this gets posted) we'll be in Cody. With any luck we'll be staying at the Irma, which, for those keeping score, was established, like the rest of this town by Will Bill Cody.
Until them, I'm just going to try to hold this meal down and forget that I ever hard the name of the Big Sky Inn.
High Point of the Day: Dad managed to snag a pair of antelope heads for a god price at a place in Billings. That's all wel and good for him, but on the plus side, that means I get an antelope in my room. Finally. We also hit up a bar, the New Atlas, which was pretty cool. It had not only one old-fashioned back bar, but two-- that and a ton of taxidermy. Not a bad place to drink away the fear of falling asleep in a place not nice enough to be an Indian burial ground.
Low Point of the Day: I've already been over this. Now let us never speak of that place again.
Waldoism of the Day: “Their slogan should be 'Did you die at the Big Sky.'”