The Hidden Valley

The Hidden Valley In Montana

We have seen some beautiful places in Montana, but the last two days introduced us to a remote canyon in the state that we have fallen in love with.

The Castle Mountains are on one side and the Crazies on the other.

Tucked in between are thousands of acres of farm land filled with cattle.

The green hills, the trees, the streams….it’s beautiful.

Our journey started at the little church in Lennep, Mt.

Never heard of it?

You aren’t alone.

There’s an old schoolhouse, a couple of buildings, and this beautiful church.

When we arrived to start our 25-mile bike ride, I needed to use the restroom.

I normally do that outside, but it’s a church, and I thought that might not be the right thing to do.

There were no cars in the parking lot.

Church is only held here every other Sunday.

We were the other, I guess.

So I tried the door, and it was unlocked.

Of course it was, that’s Montana.

I snooped around, but there was no bathroom.

Even went in the basement, nothing.

But outside, an outhouse awaited me, and it was unlocked.

Our journey took us to Castle Town, a ghost town with quite a few buildings and an impressive history.

1500 people once lived there.

I think it was silver they mined nearby.

Remnants of the old bank, furniture store, and some houses sit in view of those Crazy Mountains.

We ran into some folks in sidecars.

Most were locals.

I recognized one of the guys from the day before at the Mint Cafe, where we told you about the amazing hamburger.

I said to the guy, “ Weren’t you at the Mint yesterday? He said yes. You were with the guy who told his friend he was going to make fresh biscuits and gravy for him today.  Two of the other guys in the crowd said that was us. I told them I was a reporter and used to eavesdropping and walking away with every story in the room.

The ride was super difficult.

Our exercise watch nearly exploded with calories burned, Meps, and all the other things it tracks.

It took us 5.5 hours to do the ride.

People along the way, in motor vehicles, marveled that we were riding bikes on the rollercoaster roadway covered in big, clumsy rocks and sand.

When we got back to the church, Bob and his son were there.

Bob’s the local vet.

He doesn’t go to church there, except on Christmas and Easter, but lives down the road.

A couple of big weddings are coming up, and he thought the stairs needed to be restained so he gave up his Sunday to do so.

That’s just what rural people do in Montana.

He told us he went back to college in his 60’s to figure out a way to better fertilize the land to feed the cattle only what they need.

With fertilizer prices through the roof, his neighbors need a break, and he’s giving it to them.

We talked for half an hour.

He asked what I do, and I told him, and his son started looking me up on his phone.

I yelled, “ Don’t believe everything they say about me.

They laughed.

Rural America is filled with Bob’s.

People who care more about their neighbors and helping them out than making a bloody dollar off them.

The area is too remote for us to live, but we fell in love with the rolling hills, snow-capped mountains, rugged roads, and the people who steward the land, not because some cause told them to or guilted them into it, but because it’s the right thing to do.