October 4

No one in Montana, it appears, reads the NY Times. I came out of Yellowstone NP into Gardiner, MT last night, and couldn’t find a copy. I have become a newspaper snob since taking some journalism classes at Vanderbilt, and I hadn’t read a good paper in days. I drove 50 miles north into Livingston, a small city on the interstate. No paper. The search for the Times had taken on the proportions of a quest, so I drove 114 miles east to Billings. I got in at 11:30, and I cased the town. I checked gas stations, street corners, Wal-Mart. I tried a grocery store, a Holiday Inn and a tawdry all-night casino. Nothing. I asked everyone I met. “I know this is a strange question at this time of night, but do you know where I can find a copy of the New York Times?” Many of them laughed at me. At 1:30 AM I abandoned the search until morning. When I woke up today, I went to Borders. I cooked breakfast in the parking lot, waiting for the bookstore to open at 10. At 10:05 I entered. They had the WSJ, The Onion, Barron’s and a couple newspapers in German sitting on the racks. But no New York Times! I was pissed, although it was kind of funny.

Yesterday was a good day. I not only undertook a silly search for the nonexistent, but I hiked about 9 miles in Yellowstone. It was a good hike. I sat by a creek and ate my lunch of summer sausage, crackers and cheese, then on the way back out I walked through the hail and listed to the screaming whistles of bugling elk. After awhile I sat on a log and watched a lone buffalo. The hail was drumming on my hat. This was an old bull. When bulls get too old to fight, the young bulls drive them away from the herds they’ve sheparded for most of their lives, just as the old bulls once chased their elders away. The aged bulls graze and wander in solitude until they die. I asked this bull what he thought about the process. He didn’t respond. Didn’t seem too much perturbed by notions of justice. I guess he just considers it all natural. Smart bull.