Getting the Missouri Breaks

It was a good sign. Not only was traffic very light heading northeast out of Great Falls, I didn’t see a single RV, travel trailer, truck camper, camper van, minivan with a top box or kayak-laden Subaru. Just a few semis, farm trucks, commercial trucks, pickups and cars. That meant there was a good chance the small, cheap BLM campground I was headed to—one that was praised at Campendium—would have space available.

I checked out Fort Benton. It used to be the farthest inland port. It claims to be the birthplace of Montana. Now it’s known as a put-in point for float trips. It was quiet. The season is wrapping up.

Back on US-87 an SUV flew past me doing about fifteen over the speed limit. I caught up with him a little later, shortly after a state trooper had. Justice, dude.

I turned from the highway onto an unpaved road. The sign said it was six miles to the campground. There was a lot of washboard. As I rolled slowly along I hoped it wouldn’t be a rattly waste of time. Cross my fingers, think good thoughts.

The road ran through gently rolling prairie, wheat stubble on my left, grazing land on my right. A pair of squat silos. A steel utility building. Then, from the edge of the bluff, ta-da! The Missouri River, wide and slow here, flanked by cottonwoods.

Not only was there an empty campsite for me, all the sites were empty. I got my pick, so I took the one with the best view of the river, of course.

It’s sunny, in the mid-70s, with a breeze. It’s great. The downside? I had a strong 4G signal until I crested the bluff. Then nothing. No service. So I’ll have to suffer without it. This is a nice place to suffer.