I have confirmed it as an empirical fact that country people are bigger than city people. Taller, heavier, more muscle mass. If you took a random sampling of seven Montanans men, women, children, the elderly and compared them to my seven closest friends in California, they would easily outweigh us by half a ton. What I'm saying here is that any random collection of Montana natives could get together and form a football team that would have the best defensive line in NFL history. So Montana, get yourself a football team. You could join up with Wyoming and the Dakotas if you need more people.
On the morning of the 9th we had to check out of our hotel because they were already booked up for that night, so we moved two miles south to a less popular motel. If you're ever in Kalispell, we recommend lunch at the Montana Wheat Deli & Bakery. They're only open until mid-afternoon, but the sandwiches were good enough that we ate there on two consecutive days, and they aren't made by a bunch of damn hippies, either.
We spent the day in Glacier National Park, a geological phenomenon that must be seen to be believed. We didn't see as much wildlife as at Yellowstone (though we did see some mountain goats and Columbian ground squirrels, and heard rumors of a bighorn sheep sighting), but if you like tall pointy mountains, it doesn't get better than Glacier. The western part of the road winds through some lovely forested land, but it's not until you get to Logan's Pass that things become really dramatic. The Sun Trail path goes by an unbelievably picturesque lake, but it is also the windiest place on earth. (Nitpickers will say that the windiest place on earth is Mt. Washington in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, but I've been both places, so I think I should know.) Although the visitor centers were crammed with people, the park road itself the poetically named Going To The Sun Road had thankfully little traffic. Here's my advice for SUV owners driving on the Going To The Sun Road: trade in your Excursion for a Mini Cooper, if only for one day. This road is not wide enough for two sport utility leviathans to comfortably pass, and you make the rest of us nervous. Even those of us in thirty-year-old, seven-foot-wide cars made of actual metal think you drive a dinosaur, with all the steering control that implies. The inherent menace you pose to other traffic is exacerbated by narrow roads, and this is one of the narrowest roads in America. It's hard to enjoy the scenery when you never know what kind of twelve thousand pound truck is going to zip around the next blind curve, knocking you off the road and down the cliff to your extremely scenic death.
Driving back from the park to Kalispell, we passed one of those drive-thru safari park things, this one featuring bears. "Your Car Is The Cage!" said the billboard outside. Thinking this over carefully, we decided not to visit the park in a convertible.