Backroads and byways: Time is all we have, one road trip to Bigfork, Montana, goes to show

It started like any perfect fall road trip should: dogs in the back seat, coffee in the cup holder and a map we pretended to follow.

With a latte from Base Camp Coffee in Kingston, Idaho, in hand, we were ready to start our adventure: chasing the golden larches through Thompson Falls on our way to Flathead Lake in Montana.

One last mountain adventure before winter clamps down.

Except the larches weren’t cooperating.

We spotted a few flashes of gold dropping down from the Blossom Lake and Revett Lake trailhead near Murray, but that was about it.

“Nah,” we agreed. “We’ll catch the next one.”

Plot twist: There wasn’t a next one. Autumn had yet to descend upon the Thompson pass.

We hung a left at the junction, just like my co-pilot Cat House told me to do. After all, she’s done this drive a hundred times, so I trusted her. Trusted her so much that I didn’t load up our destination on Google Maps navigation.

Big mistake.

We drove through Trout Creek, Montana, and then Noxon. We wound our way along the Clark Fork River, stopping for an old barn on the side of the road. This was the road trip of a lifetime.

Until it wasn’t.

“Why are we seeing signs for Sandpoint?” I asked.

“Uh,” Cat said. “Oops. We were supposed to go right back there.”

So yeah. Wrong turn. Gotta double back.

I texted my husband: “Our ETA for Polson, Montana, is a little farther out than we thought.”

My husband, who worries thanks to a variety of mishaps on my road trips throughout the years, texted back: “More time together!”

I cursed his name. That’s what I would tell him when we were dating. I’d be driving him around Calgary, Alberta, or Kelowna, British Columbia, and take a wrong turn: “More time together,” I’d say as he fussed about getting lost in my towns.

We made our way back toward Thompson Falls and headed toward our destination. Around Eddy, we spotted a fresh brushfire climbing the hills – a helicopter dipping into the Clark Fork to dump water on the flames.

We didn’t stop, not wanting to join the growing line of lookie-loos clogging the roadside and getting in the way of first responders.

We pressed on to Polson, where we crashed for the night in an Airbnb that was … well … basic. That’s the kind way of saying it.

For the love of all that’s sacred, people, at least have a corkscrew in the kitchen. Maybe put it right next to the hot plate. I was OK with fine-drinking my wine out of a juice glass, but first I had to carve out the cork and push the rest down into the bottle, college-style.

Morning came under cloudy skies, and a snowstorm was already threatening over Lookout Pass, the weather apps warned. We were supposed to stay another night, but we agreed to beat feet and head for home if things took a turn.

But first … happy, fun photo time! I pulled on my wetsuit and jumped into the beautiful waters of Flathead – the clearest lake this side of the Rockies – with Artie, my second-in-command model.

Bella is always first, of course, but Artie is my Action Jackson. He’ll chase a frisbee like a champ for as long as I want to practice my underwater dog photography, giving me the kind of moment that makes all wrong turns worth it.

Once he was tuckered out, we circled the lake, hitting four of the five units of Flathead Lake State Park. We stopped in Somers, where an old wooden grain elevator still stands against the skyline like a monument to Montana’s working past.

Then Bigfork. Jackpot. A cool little town with the perfect gift shop – Bigfork Bay Gift and Gear – where I found my Christmoose, a Christmas moose decoration that I try to find in every town and city I visit.

But wait … what’s this? An amateur food competition called Tamarack Time? The main drag in downtown Bigfork, Electric Avenue, was lined with tables covered in award-winning snacks. For $5, we sampled everything from chili and curry butternut squash soup to casseroles and cheesecake.

SCORE – an entire meal for five bucks. That’s road-trippin’ on a budget, my friends.

We were late to the party and our amateur chefs were scraping the bottoms of foil pans for us. We didn’t care. We supped on whatever was left, chatting with locals and other foodies. I ran into one set of gals who, seemingly close to my age of mid-50s, have been friends since grade school – one now lives in Montana, the other in Oregon. They agreed some time ago to meet for a trip together every year. Bigfork, Montana, was this year’s vacation destination.

All along the sidewalk, everyone oohed and aahed over the dogs. “Are those heelers?” “What’s that big white one? A polar bear?” “Do they all get along?”

“The Maremma sheepdog is the boss,” I said. Cat, mama to heelers Artie and Penny, nodded. As guardian dogs and herding breeds do, they work and play together nicely.

By the time we reached Yellow Bay, the wind had picked up, menacing clouds bruising over the lake. We checked the radar, then the road conditions and made the call: time to head home.

One last gift shop stop in St. Regis, Montana, turned up no Christmooses but plenty of huckleberry everything. I shunned the “best huckleberry milkshake in the world” for my comfort flavor, strawberry.

By the time we crossed Lookout Pass, the rain was coming down hard.

When we awoke the next morning, in our own beds and with easily accessible corkscrews, Interstate 90 was slushed over. We’d dodged a rough one, knowing the tires on Eddie the Edge are about due for retirement.

And here’s what sticks with me: my husband’s text.

More time together.

Time together is the one thing you can’t stockpile. It doesn’t accrue interest. You can’t bank it for later. You just get what you get, and you hope you notice while it’s happening.

Driving home, I kept a close eye on Bella. At 11, she tires quicker than she used to, and her patience with her two heeler buddies can run thin sometimes, especially when she has to share space in her own car.

Still, she’s always my anchor – calm, steady, quietly leading the way through each mile, each wrong turn, each fleeting moment of awe in Mother Nature’s wonder. I don’t know how many more trips we have together or how much time remains before life changes the rules.

But every wrong turn, every detour, every extra mile, it’s worth it. Every single one.

And for now, we have today, the open road and the comfort of her steady presence beside me.

That’s enough.

Angela Schneider is a part-time copy editor with The Spokesman-Review and part-time dog photographer. Follow her adventures with Bella at @our.gr8.escape.