Distinctly Montana Magazine

W W W. D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A . C O M 33 LITERARY LODE LITERARY LODE DEPARTMENT LITERARY LODE FLYING CLOUD TO WARRIOR HIGHWAY A FTER BEAR BUTTE I HEAD NORTHWEST, CLIP A CORNER OF WYOMING AND EVENTUALLY HIT MONTANA. A few miles after getting back on 212, I pass a hitchhiker. I'm not sure why, but I don't stop. is is totally out of character for me. Clyde (my truck) has his "Five Rules to Live By," one of which is "Always pick up hitchhikers." I follow this and the other rules whenever I can. With his characteristic mirth, Clyde had told me his five rules: "Number One is always talk to strangers. If you don't you'll never have any friends. Number Two is always pick up hitchhikers. Lucky for you. Number ree is always give anyone anything they ask for. Everything I have is a gift, so is meant to be passed on. And Number Four is always allow anyone to do you a favor. If you deny someone else the chance to be generous, you're preventing them from improving their soul, and you're keeping the world one more step away from Heaven." "What about rule Number Five?" I asked. "Number Five," he laughed, "is always be on the lookout for Rule Number Five." It seems like a pretty good code of ethics to me. Ever since, I've done my best to live by them. Especially after the countless rides and acts of kindness strangers and angels have given me, I usually go out of my way to get hitchhikers to where they're going. But this time, I just drive by. I feel guilty right away — begin to worry about the karmic repercussions, but still I don't turn back. Maybe I don't want the spell Bear Butte has cast to be broken. But more likely, it's that too much time of not being on the road, breathing the con- crete and smog, suspicion and isolation of the city, has made me cold. Whatever it is, I drive on into the thickening dread of my bad karma. Just after the Montana border, I enter the town of Alzada on the Little Missouri River. eir one gas station is trying to gouge people for $3.39 a gallon. Every place I've seen on this trip, no matter how small or remote, had prices hovering around $3, mostly below. I have a little under a quarter tank left and my map shows two other towns on the way that are near enough, so I mentally flip them off and drive on. When I find that the next two towns have no gas stations, and I'm now well under one-eighth of a tank, I sense just how Old Man Karma is going to kick my ass. by MARC BEAUDIN

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