Column: Making it in Missoula

Thank Goodness It’s Monday

By Big Sis, 9-18-06

Whew. What a weekend. Not only did Missoula ring in the fall weather with abundant grand openings, fairs and celebrations, I had an unexpected visitor drop in amidst all the social commotion.

My friend, Moto, called Thursday evening, saying, “I’m on my motorcycle trip across the West, and thought I’d drive over to Missoula from Seattle tomorrow. Can I stay with you?”

I met Moto during a whirlwind week of salsa dancing and surfing near Puerto Vallarta, Mexico last February. While basking in my solo sun-soaking vacation, I befriended about ten folks from Santa Fe, including Moto.

No romantic synapses fired during our three-day acquaintance, but I was a little worried Moto’s motives for visiting me weren’t completely based on Montana’s scenery.

That's why I immersed Moto in Missoula’s social scene this weekend, so we wouldn’t have to cross any awkward bridges between friends and “special” friends. It worked perfectly. Here’s some of the Northern Rockies’ fall flair my Southern Rockies visitor saw:

FRIDAY NIGHT
- Fancy Meets Funky: An impressive diversity of guests wandered the new halls of the Missoula Art Museum at their “Unwrapped” party. Here I introduced Moto to the classy and unbeatable dinner found at Mother Trucker’s window, as well as high-class art displays like the leather pig covered in shoes, and the four-piece television tower showing swinging nunchucks.

- Unimpressive Margaritas at the Union Club: “Um, Moto, I’m not sure I’d order anything but whiskey here…” The faux-margarita didn’t do much to muffle the heartfelt but loud wailings of Shane Clouse and Stomping Ground.

- Mexican Independence Day: The proud and rowdy celebrated at the Elk’s Club’s “Hot Salsa Night.” The temperature was set on “sweaty-humid-tropical-land,” to off-set the cold, hard truth that we were in the cold, rainy latitudes far, far north of Mexico. The people were groovin’ to latin beats in a suave and seductive fashion. Spanish was the language of choice. “Are you sure we’re still in Montana?” Moto asked.

- Real Montana Drinks: with the smoky and much-more sedate crowd at Charlie B’s late-night. “Now we’re REALLY in Montana, right?” Closer than we’ve been yet, I’d say.


SATURDAY
- The Hangover Scene with stick-to-the-ribs brunch at the Old Post Pub. “Wow—we just saw all these same people last night.” Yes, Moto, but most of them are at least wearing different clothes.

- The Small People Scene: Riverfest 2006 and the grand opening of Currents Water Park. We pretended to be affiliated with some of the kids near McCormick Park so we could dissect stream insects at the Montana Natural History Center’s watershed festival and eat free cake at the new indoor water park.

(I’m already planning my next birthday party to be held at Currents—they have a big, curvy spa, fast waterslides, ice cream cakes, and, strangely, wireless internet access. What more could a 26-year-old ask for on her birthday?)

- The Rich People Scene: Parade of Homes. Has anyone noticed that you have to offer your first-born child as a down-payment for any of the new “urban-style” 1-2 bedroom condos in town? They’re hip and happening, alright—right downtown on Alder or 4th Street with lots of steel, colorful concrete, and walls of windows.

Afterwards, we looked at two houses I might be able to buy and still afford to eat regularly. Lots of concrete, but closer to “trailer-park industrial” than “hip and happening.”

- The Hippie-Meets-Yuppie Scene: River City Roots Festival. This first-annual Missoula block party was a rockin’ good time, with an impressive showing of folks braving the cold and damp to dance in the streets. More art, more beer, and the fun, frenzied fiddlin’ of Clumsy Lovers kept us warm. Moto bought a classic commemorative shirt from this band: an all-black bedroom scene with two white dialogue bubbles “Ow.” and “Sorry.”

“Is everyone in Missoula attractive and healthy?” Moto asked in awe, watching the antics on Main Street. Yes, yes we are.

SUNDAY
- How Californians Hunt Best in the Northern Rockies: without a gun. I dragged Moto with me and Artesania’s husband, Hubby, on a scouting mission for elk and whitetail. Walking and talking loudly on a logging road in search of ungulate sign, Hubby stopped. “And there’s an elk right there,” he pointed out.
Of course, the elk was laughing as it pranced away (in its silent, smelly-elk way.) Because if we’d had a gun and the season was actually open, there’s no way in hell that elk would have winked at us from 10 feet away.

- An Average Sunday Afternoon in September with football on TV in the basement, fall harvest canning frenzy in the kitchen, and a potluck on the patio. Moto marveled at the copious amounts of apple butter, dried hops, peach jam, frozen pesto, and canned tomatoes produced in our house. Not to mention all the food my friends brought over for the potluck. “We’re just stockin’ up for the winter,” I tell him. “In case we can’t find that elk again.”

Plus, I figure the best way to get me a man who might shoot and share that elk is to offer him peach cobbler for breakfast and home-brewed beer for dessert. In the meantime, I’ll happily eat and drink them all by myself in my blessedly quiet, guest-free home.

Thank goodness it’s Monday -- I’m ready for a vacation from my weekend.

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