1975, late September, I flew out on the plane from
Rhode Island to Belgrade International Airport, twelve miles from my
destination, Montana State University in Bozeman. I had one suitcase
and two cardboard boxes. In one box was my bicycle and the other
contained various necessary items. I was in proper travel attire:
full-length skirt and blouse. I believed I was sophisticated. I knew
not!
I was initially greeted by a large sculpture of a big bird made of huge hammered nails. An eagle is not a friendly beast.
I
parked myself out on the drive in front of the airport. I sat on my
suitcase and wondered when the public transport would loop around. It
would not. However, a kind-hearted woman about the age my mother would
have been, if I still had one, asked me if I needed a ride to town. I
jumped on her offer and climbed into her station wagon. She tossed my
suitcase and boxes into the car as though they were bales of air. She
brought me directly to my dormitory, which was complete with cowboys
lassoing bulls' heads hanging out of dorm windows.
I thanked her profusely for the ride. She invited me to come visit her at Big Sky and told me her name was Tippy Huntley.
While
I immersed myself in my studies of medieval literature, Montana
history, and the Beat generation, I thought of riding my bicycle out to
Big Sky to visit Mrs. Huntley. The snows came. My bicycle and me were
grounded. There was no public transportation.
RDB
6-18-2017
