PRAY, MONTANA 2013-01

Just when you thought it was safe to surf the Net – He’s BAAAAAACK!

Having departed my Nation’s Capital 3 years to the day I returned in January 2010, I now take temporary repose in Pray, MT, south of Livingston, which is a bit west of nowhere. Continuing south for less than 50 miles you arrive at the northern entrance to Yellowstone.

The deficiencies of my one-room cabin are numerous, but it possesses the prime advantage of its locus less than 4 miles from Chico Hot Springs, a genuine (you guessed it) hot spring. From 7-am through 11-pm 7-days a week, one can soak neck down in 104 F degree water while emergent parts are treated to temperatures that rarely rise above 10 F this time of year. Adult beverages may be consumed therein providing proper enclosure in plastic containers.

A pub with country music some nights, a (French equivalent of a) 1-star restaurant (the stingy French allot a maximum of 3 – causing much Gallic amusement when mediocre American tables advertise “5 stars,”) a back bar furnished in century-old mahogany where you can sit at the spot fur trappers cooled their heels and warmed their toes a century ago. God, I love this bar…

There is no TV in the cabin, the absence of which I seem to be acclimating, and for $20/month I get Wi-Fi through my smartphone. No microwave, but I did bring my portable espresso machine and coffee grinder. Roughing it has limitations.

A few annoyances – I must put the beer in the fridge to keep it from freezing, etc., but I see herds of deer and elk through my front window. I’m told a bear occasionally ambles through and the odd pack of coyotes has been spotted. Similar to Washington, DC., just different animals to contend with.

The River’s Edge Saloon several miles downstream has live poker weekends, and the “river” that gives the bar its name is the Yellowstone, walking distance from chez moi.

Lest some fear that I have been entrapped by a religious cult, I note that Pray, MT is named for Charles Nelson Pray, Montana prosecutor, Congressman and judge. Pray sports a Post Office and nada mas. If you want to get crazy you need travel to Emigrant, 5 miles south.

A note on my future: I had considered opening a Clinic. Are you aware how many TV ads say that products are “clinically proven?”  There must be a market here! Then I thought a “pronouncer.”  Each day innumerable numbers of planetary residents bite the dust and are “pronounced dead.” Who does that? One might assume a coroner, but I have never heard one say “I pronounce this person dead.” Just looking for a niche here.

More likely I’ll just wait for the FEMites to let Hurricane Sandy long term recovery contracts. Then off to Staten Island, a location I understand is but marginally less safe than the Montana wilderness.

Pictures to follow (if I can remember how to do that); film at 11.