beach, north dakota, is by far the windiest place i’ve ever been. it’s one of many things that makes being on the plains so humbling. walking in a straight line is impossible. driving through it is exhausting. having a coherent thought, standing out there in those punishing gusts, is out of the question.
i’ve been stranded in both of the dakota’s, each time on account of car issues. the transmission on my ’92 gmc vandura blew the first time, in 2019, leaving me stuck in murdo, sd, for three days over a holiday weekend. i stayed at a motel owned by a guy who joked he was the only gay man in a 200-mile radius. he charged half his usual rate, said he felt sorry for me. there was a diner across the street and a bar two blocks away. i went to the diner in the mornings and the bar at night. i had my first panic attack there in murdo. i thought i was dying. The place has since held a soft spot in my heart, and i’ve considered going back.
the second time, very recently, i got stuck in beach, nd, after smoking a deer going 80mph in a rental car – a toyota corolla – at 5:30 in the morning. totaled the entire front end. i limped the poor lil pop can to the nearest gas station where i made some calls. the golden valley sheriff, dey muckle, stopped by while I waited for a tow.
“you’re lucky to be alive,” he said.
“yeah,” i said. “god works in mysterious ways.”
muckle gave me his card, said i’ll probably need it for the insurance claim. i thanked him and said i’ll be praying things go smoothly from here on out.
“you know,” he said. “a woman alone on the road can be risky. stay on your toes. deer aren’t the worst things you could meet out here.”
“thanks,” i said, pointing to my head. “on a swivel.”
we shook hands before he left. then, i walked my dog around the parking lot a few times, taking everything in. by everything, i mean two gas stations, a motel, and the wide open landscape stretching on into eternity. the wind was deafening. there was a storm moving fast maybe 60 miles to the north. i could see the snow and rain out there, beating down on the brush.
a tow driver named luke came from an hour east, in dickinson, which i’d passed through earlier that morning on my way west. my dog and i climbed in the cab and there we all were. i made a joke about having known the corolla was a bad choice. the drive back to dickinson went by fast. luke told me his parents have been together nearly fifty years and talked about his kids, which are technically his girlfriend’s kids but he’s been their father figure for more than a decade. we lamented about trials and tribulations, talked about love. we agreed you have to be flexible in this life. you have to go with the flow.
i got a new rental car – a jeep this time – and, four hours after hitting the deer, was back on the road, charging to where i knew the sun was shining and the air was warm. i made it into montana by noon, stopping in livingston around dinner time for a beer. it was 65 degrees and clear skies there. it was heaven. i got a pilsner from a bar downtown and sat out on a bench on the sidewalk, drinking and talking to a few guys who are all dog trainers. i told them i was a dog walker for high-profile elites in manhattan for years, about how dogs are like men. “they’ll make an ass out of you if you let them,” i said. i finished my beer, bummed a camel wide, and was on my way.
the sun set behind the mountains as i rolled into missoula, where i rented an airbnb overlooking downtown and the clark fork river rolling through it. i got on hinge and tried to plan a date with a pretty gal named shelbey, but she couldn’t go out on account of having to wake up for her bakery job at 4:30 the next morning. she gave me her number and we texted a bit before i showered. afterwards, i stood in the kitchen and watched the river flow for a while, the lights of the city dancing on the water. i thought about all of the times and ways i’ve felt stranded. i thought about the people i love. and outside, the air was still.
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