Elliston, Anaconda
«Everything we see or seem is nothing more than a dream inside a dream.» «Edgar Allan Poe, a dream inside a dream
northOthing made sense. We were going west to the city of Anaconda to get a box, but we went to the East to Butte to see a music festival.
A Dwarf Smith had sent us a attention package. We did not know what it would be, but it probably contained cure potions, a Mithril chain shirt and some high -end and coffee ran packages. More than anything else, when a craftsman from under the mountain tells him that he is sending a care package, you get it independently of where you go. Then we went to Anaconda.
Elliston or Helena is between the Farm and Anaconda. Which are you going depends on your preferences. Do you prefer to camp behind a service station and eat improved treats from the service station and dogs that appetite pets? If so, Elliston is for you. If you want to visit the capital of the Great State of Montana, visit a cathedral and travel the state capitol, take a meal in the center or relax in a brewery with live music, then Helena is more flavor.
Frito and Toolman went to Helena. Naturally, for the atheist but cultivated fried, the architectural charms of the cathedral were a draw. For Toolman, it was the cathedral door, which, he said, «was huge.» Both Fito and Toolman had a couple of fresh shoes that were waiting for them in Helena, so there was also that.
God may have been the light of the phyt moth, but for me, the dog is the road, and the ice cream and chose Elliston.
The walk from the flame farm was a free combination of burned country, Big Sky exposed and forests full of all the revisions that Bob Marshall did not have. We met an old local cruise on its side next to a path of ATV. «Did you lose?» asked.
I said: «We are trying to be, but we have not been successful.»
«Do you know where you are going?»
«Mexico.»
«Long out. Do you know how to get there?»
«One step at a time. The same as any other place.»
The old man laughed. «Where are you from?»
We told him and asked him the same.
«They ride the 12th generation,» he said with pride. «More than most. I have some friends who go further.»
«Do you and your friends gather once a month and talk about their ancestors during a meat dinner?»
«Something like that,» he said. «I would offer both a trip, but it seems that you are going to go in the other way.»
Sad but true. We said goodbye to Old Boy and continue to Elliston on dirt roads and train tracks. A train driver hung from the window when he passed his train and gave us the signal of the hand of rock and the roll. A personal favorite of mine, I returned.
Even with the power of the rock and the roll to lift the mood, I was fighting. My feet hurt, my great fingers specifically. Without going into too many details, I have some problems there, and something about my nerves made me feel that my bones of my feet were pushing until the end of my big fingers. Painful, disgusting and uncomfortable. Finally, I shouted my discomfort and frustration in heaven, knowing that throughout this lonely path, only ice cream would be present to see my weakness, my lament, my lamentation.
«Hi guys!» Someone said out of nowhere. Three hikers arrived behind some scarce pines: Doodad, Lantern and Foo Fighter.
«Oh, Hello,» I was a little ashamed. «I don’t care. I’m just shouting to heaven on my feet.»
They were hikers; They understood.
They also went to Elliston, and the store closed soon. The ice cream shared this information with them and collected the rhythm, leaving us behind.
We meet Doodad, Lantern and Foo Fighter hooking towards Elliston, the closing time of the store is coming. With five hikers, we needed a miraculous walk. A sprinter truck, driven by a boy from South Carolina who explores corporate lands, flies flying along the road.
The ice cream murmured, «the sprinter trucks never stop.»
I pointed to the driver, accusing his soul guilty of ignoring us. Milaculously, he stopped, probably still sharpening a $ 600 oil change. «You won’t kill me, right?» He asked while taking shotgun.
«No, I don’t want your maintenance bill,» I replied. The rest crowded in the long back seat and we arrived at Elliston.
For a service station, Elliston was a Shangri-la. We ate, we drank, camped, peanut.
Next to the bar and the grill we ate and drank more, and talked. Other hikers were there, including Boogie Knights, three acquaintances, Cabo and more. We filled the bar and talked to who was closer. The ice cream was on my left, Boogie Knights to my right and cape to her. Both Boogie and Cape looked a bit worn.
Boogie asked Ice Cream and me: «Is the CDT what you expected?»
The ice cream and I shared a look and told him yes. «You?» I asked, knowing that she would say no.
«No. It’s like, with the AT, I could follow it. Blaze, Blaze, Blaze. We had fun, Aqua-Blazed, we had the community, the shelters. This is different.»
«How is that?» Ice cream asked.
«I have to check my phone all the time. It’s like, I never know where I am. We take a path that ended in private lands with a sign without invasion. Three acquaintances would not cross it, so we had to go back for miles. It’s open, it’s more alone, even with friends, it is not the same. I mean, how do you feel here?»
«My feet hurt like hell, but apart from that, we are having a good time,» I said. «I will eventually solve my foot.»
Boogie took a long drink of her beer. «I was just planning to get to the steamboat, but I don’t know …» he left.
It is difficult when someone begins to quit smoking. Do you empathize and stay neutral, give breath? Promote what? Return home, suffer until you improve? I did my best. Tolkien once said that he never requests advice from an elf, because they will say yes and no. I made my best impression of elves and I hoped that empathy was enough.
***
The next morning, the owner of the station opened early for us so that we could drink coffee and some hot food before leaving. It was a sweet gesture, a mutual benefit for all. There must be ten or more hikers camping in the back, all hungry and cafe’s jone. As a bonus, we have to caress resident dogs. They rolled, but there was a sign that said they did not feed the dogs, so we did everything possible to resist. Some foods may have fallen to the ground by error; Breakfast burritos are notoriously fragile things.
From Elliston we take the fire network to the cut of Anaconda, a long blue glow that runs to the city of Anaconda. We were followed by a spirit in the form of an old farm dog for several miles. His lip would rise if we were going to caress him, but seemed to enjoy walking by our side. Sometimes he stayed behind, just to appear by our side again as for magic.
We met another dog, a mixture of Chihuahua with a Butthole the size of a horse and its owner. Its Size of Butthole is still a mystery, but it was talkative and friendly. He suggested that we were the music festival in Butte, and our spiritual dog decided to stay and play with the mixture of chihuahua horses.
Dirt Road became a paved road. The shoulder was thin and the traffic became heavy, so we cling to our thumbs while we creaked the brown herbs and bushes that aligned the road. An old truck passed, turned around and returned to us. A young boy, perhaps a mechanic for fat in his hands and face, told us that he would take us to the city. We became comfortable in the rusty bed and the truck was going on. When the speed picked up, the driver played music with the windows down. It was a cover of Juke Box Hero through foreigner, but the words Juke Box were replaced by Anaconda, strange Yankovic style.
Anaconda’s hero left us near the city center, where we did all things. Report, eat, drink cold drinks, visit the attending.
The local shelter was completely reserved by a single group thanks to the Music Festival in the near Butte, so we stayed in the hikers with the municipal pool, narrow but cozy, with hikers extended as a pijamada. It was amazing. Free, with a coded block for hikers. Inside was a table, microwave, a key to the Porta-Poper, only for hikers, just outside, towels for use in the pool showers, a list of telephone numbers of the angel of trails and more.
Sleephover in Anaconda’s Hiker Hut. Even before dusk, strange things happen.
Anaconda might not be in the red line, but the city does not seem to know. As far as they are concerned, they are a community of gateway and it shows. Wherever we were going, people were friendly; They knew what we were. In cities where people do not, they think we are homeless vagrants and the difference is immediately noticed.
But, going through the city, I couldn’t help noticing strange things. Little things, but enough stacked pebbles can make a mountain. I should have noticed it. The strange claw -shaped scars on the head of the cashier of groceries. A child’s dental skull passing on his bicycle. The deer that wandered from the lawn to the grass, the alley to alley, almost normal, but I swear that I saw one yawn and flashes a bite of sharp teeth. I ignored all these things, I let them slide beyond my conscience. I was tired, I told myself. My imagination was moving away from me. Then Dark came.
The night falls in Anaconda
Unless they have been given express permission for use, all the names and names of trails have been changed in my articles. Any similarity with real people is a coincidence. If you enjoy my writing, do not hesitate to subscribe or buy me a coffee with the tip of the author’s button.
