Meeteetse: It Can Be Complicated

The Pronghorns of Farson-Eden made the 200-mile-plus trip to Meeteetse only to find themselves down 53-0 at the half. Hullet and Little Snake River made even longer trips (290 and 306 miles respectively) with results that weren’t quite as lopsided, but nevertheless, lopsided. And to travel that far and lose surely makes for a long and gloomy bus ride back home—arriving in the early morning hours of a Saturday following a Friday night contest. Let’s hear it for the bus drivers as well.

Yet, if some schools have to travel great distances to play Meeteetse on their home field, at some point The Longhorns’ schedule demands they return the favor. So, next week they have a road game in Dubois which will require a three-hour bus ride (and another three hours home). Yet, the ’Horns have two things going for them. First, they are expected to easily win. Second, Dubois doesn’t have lights, so the game will be Friday afternoon providing Meeteetse’s players and coaches a civil arrival time back home in their town of just over 300 residents. Further, if it wasn’t for the high peaks and mountainous terrain of the Shoshone National Forest between the two towns, it would be even a shorter trip (see map sans the longboard advertisement). Such is high school sports in states like Wyoming and Montana.

On a lighter note, Meeteetse is the most misspelled town name in America, but you won’t find it misspelled here. Stick that in your Funk and Wagnalls.

How to pronounce Meeteetse? Check this out.

Broadus To Farson, And No Ketchup

End of the Season

This was a good year in terms of attending small town high school football games in Wyoming and Montana—better than the last two anyway. When it comes to the title game weekend—the last weekend of the season—there is a certain bittersweetness about it all. Despite the anxiety and excitement of that last game, being on the road for eleven of the thirteen weekends that constitute Wyoming and Montana high school football can take its toll on a guy, especially if he’s juggling a full-time job on the side. I’d put it right up there with finishing a marathon (and yes, I have run a marathon).

For the record, I covered 5,623 miles in those eleven weekends. That comes out to 511 miles per weekend. Given there were some years when I covered more ground while other years were less, it’s safe to say this was probably a pretty “normal” year of travel. As one of my colleagues once told me, “That’s a lot of windshield time.”

On a related note, despite their nearly identical distances from my hometown of Powell, Wyoming, why did it seem that Broadus, Montana (261 miles away) was so much farther than Farson, Wyoming (258 miles away)?

Of course those last games of the playoffs also translate into more night-time driving thanks to the end of Daylight Savings Time. During those times, I usually don’t get too far down the road from that Saturday venue before I’m pulling over and calling it a night from the comforts of my car and sleeping bag. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. And, it seems like there’s more big pickups pulling heavy trailers than ever—none of which have adjusted their headlights to their loads (does anyone even do that anymore?). Yet, after that last game, there’s something in me that just wants to get home, despite the excessive darkness and bright oncoming headlights... along with a little voice that says, “C’mon, you can drive in the darkness just this one time.”

Now the season is a memory, and the days keep getting shorter. With no more six-man or eight-man games to live for in the near future, these are the bleakest days of the year for me. At least until December 22 when the days start getting longer again. And, when I stop to think about it, that’s a pretty short period of “downtime” in the course of a year. Perhaps I’ll try increasing my intake of ketchup (with its “natural mellowing agents”) as the commercial on NPR’s Prairie Home Companion suggests.

I’ve already been thinking about next year. Because it has been so long, perhaps I really should try to attend a Wyoming playoff game, but not the title game at that behemoth stadium in Laramie… that’s no place for small town high school football! The semi-final perhaps would be best. Hopefully there will be some good match ups instead of rematches. If a Wyoming playoff game does materialize for me, it’ll be a huge sacrifice given the excitement and drama of the Montana C-8 and C-6 playoffs.

I've got the wheels to ride and the wheels to run,
Some say I got ramblin' in my blood
No pretty girl can slow me down
I'll travel 'till my country home is found…
—“Traveling Song” by The Avett Brothers

Postscript: I’d like to tell you that I meticulously recorded the mileage and other details of each trip, but the truth of the matter is I used distancescalculator.com.

Now's The Time

Wibaux at Centerville in the 2006 eight-man title game.

Go ahead, pick a town—make it one of the smaller towns in Montana and treat yourself to all of the charm it offers along with the friendly individuals that call it home this Saturday—Halloween. While you’re at it, consider one of those listed below where you can double your fun by taking in a classic small town football game.

Southbound
I’m heading just up to the road to Joliet, Montana to watch an eight-man game where the J-Hawks take on the Scobey Spartans who are making a pretty significant road trip from way up in the northeast corner of Montana. This trip will be nothing for the Spartans given last year when they travelled all the way to Superior, Montana—less than 50 miles from the Idaho border.

If Joliet is a bit too far from your home, consider these other towns where you can watch an eight-man or six-man playoff game.

Way Up NorthStarting up north there is Centerville (not far from Great Falls) where the Miners are hosting the Victor Vikings. The Miners are always tough at home, this week will not be an exception. One of the things I love about Montana football playoffs, because the state is so big, often two schools will face each other for the first time in history. That could be the case in this match-up.

The Big Sandy Pioneers will be welcoming the Bridger Scouts in a rematch of last year’s six-man playoff game. The massive grain elevators adjacent to the gridiron make for a classic small town backdrop. I wonder if U.S. Senator John Tester will be in attendance cheering on his hometown team.

There’s also a game in Charlo—a nice detour on your way to Flathead Lake. The Vikings of Charlo will be facing the co-op of small schools from Power, Dutton and Brady. I have yet to attend a game in Charlo.

If history is your thing, you might want to swing down to Fort Benton (not far from Great Falls too) to visit the bridge over the Missouri River and the gravesite of the dog that defined “man’s best friend,” Shep. While your there, the Longhorns will be hosting their first 8-man football playoff game against Arlee. It wasn’t too many years ago that Fort Benton won the Class B 11-man title.

How about an out-of-the-way location like the little town of Denton where their six-man football team is undefeated and hosting Terry? Check out the hardware store in Denton—they have it all, packed tightly into the space of a Dairy Queen.

If you live in Great Falls and want that small town feeling without really leaving the comforts of the big city, I suspect the six-man game between Great Falls Central and the Custer-Melstone Cougars might be the ticket.

Go WestWestern Montana, are you kidding!? If you’ve never been to Drummond, this is your chance. A football game at Drummond should be on any football junkie’s bucket list. Another strong Trojan team will be hosting the Wolves from Stanford (and Geyser). Stanford seems to have all the luck these past few years—sooner or later they face Drummond in a playoff game, and... well, they’d probably just assume not.

Sheridan's Purple Camo Brigade.

Down in Sheridan, the purple-clad Panthers will be entertaining the also purple-clad Cowboys all the way from Culbertson-Bainville near the North Dakota border. Many of the Sheridan fans will be decked out in their special-order, purple camouflage clothing—and if you ask nicely, they’ll even let you take their picture.

Perhaps you’re thinking about a trip through Yellowstone. If that’s the case you can double your money because the Wolverines of West Yellowstone are hosting a six-man game against the North Star Knights consisting of players from the tiny towns of Rudyard, Kremlin and Gildford (along Montana’s Hi-Line).

Last but not least is Lima, Montana—down on the Idaho border with the Bitterroot Mountains serving as a majestic backdrop. Rather than Lima High School hosting the game, the home team will be the Clark County Bobcats (of Dubois, Idaho—that’s right an Idaho team in the running for the Montana State Championship). The Cats are taking on the Reed Point-Rapelje Renegades in Lima because all Montana playoff games must be played in Montana and Lima is just over the border from Dubois.

A prairie eruption at Wibaux.

Back East
Speaking of bucket lists, the same is true about a game in Wibaux—the Beast from the East. The Longhorns have one of the most successful active coaches year after year in Jeff Bertelsen and are hosting the Harlowton Engineers. After the game, I recommend a stop at the Rainbow Club for a cold one and old reruns of past Wibaux State Championship games.

Further south along the North Dakota border you’ll find Ekalaka (sometimes it’s just fun to say “Ekalaka”) way down in the southeast corner of the state and there the Bulldogs of Carter County will be hosting the Falcons of Twin Bridges. It’ll be along bus ride for the Falcons from the scenic Ruby Valley whether they win or lose.

Where the Yellowstone River turns north and approaches the Missouri River you’ll find the sleepy town of Savage where the Warriors will be hosting Augusta. The Elks have advanced deep in the six-man playoffs the last couple of years and put together a good following of fans no matter how far they have to travel.

A little farther west and north and truly out of the way is the town of Winifred. The Red Raiders are facing another isolated town’s football team in the Jordan Mustangs—maybe we should call this the “Obscurity Bowl.” Both of these teams just moved down from eight-man play in the last year and have made the adjustment without a hitch.

If Billings is home for you, this weekend might be your excuse to finally venture to Hysham. The Pirates are undefeated and their fans know how to throw a pre-game tailgate party. The Tigers of Geraldine and their stellar six-man football program are in town to take on heavily-favored Hysham. But, one should never count out Geraldine Head Coach Rod Tweet and any team he brings to a football game.

There you have it, 16 different towns (and all small with the exception of one) offering 16 different games—all starting at 1:00 on Saturday. I’d like to see them all, but there’s something very pure and honest about choosing only one and going for it.

Eventually Ennis

A stretch of highway leading to another game.

August 2004: It was a night of rain—big, fast and steady drops. The kind of rain that submerges the interstate before it can run off the asphalt. I pulled over at the RV Park in Cardwell, Montana after I'd had enough—reminding myself along the way that I was driving through drought-stricken Montana.

There was nothing disappointing about calling it a night. There was no agenda and sooner or later, despite the rain, I would have pulled over somewhere. Besides, I had passed a mutilated deer 15 minutes earlier and knew I didn’t want to be a part of that scene. So, the Cardwell exit off of Interstate 90 was as good as any to overnight.

I had wanted to sleep in my tent, but as the rain poured down, I opted for a makeshift bed in my little Mazda instead—the back seat down with my legs stretching into the boot. I’ve done it before and when positioning the pad just right, it’s good enough if I’m really tired. As it turned out, the persistent rain beating against the car made for the perfect white noise and sometime after 10:00 p.m. I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke around 2:15 a.m., I was alert as though I had slept the entire night. The stars were out telling me the wet weather had passed. I’d slept but my dreams were restless. Something to do with relating three different subjects in tonight’s drive. And then something to do with the football towns that I was covering, but now it was all a blur and didn’t make a bit of sense even if it had made sense in my sleep.

The campground office was closed when I pulled in earlier, so I hadn’t paid for the site. Of course, I was planning to pay in the morning once the office was open, but it was 2:30 a.m. and with the thought of continuing on, there would be no payment. But it wasn’t as if I had used their resources. I hadn’t plugged in, I hadn’t showered or used a toilet. I hadn’t even pumped one drop of water from one of the water pumps. I dismissed the thoughts of guilt and pulled out of the campground.

The gas gauge told me there wasn’t enough in the tank to make it to Ennis, so I pulled off at the Three Forks exit where a Towne Pump maintained a 24-hour operation. Three Forks is named for its location as this is where the Jefferson, Madison and Missouri Rivers merge. I filled up the tank and put the interior of my car back in order as a result of my little camp out. Inside the store I purchased a bottle of Arrowhead water and a Little Debbie Fudge Rounder for 25 cents. The air was a bit chilly for a summer night (albeit 2:40 a.m.) as I unfolded the road atlas of Montana across the hood of the Mazda. This is when John, the truck driver, walked up out of the darkness.

I don’t know his actual name, but I’ll just refer to him as John.

“Where you going,” he asked?

I told him I was considering driving south on 287 to Ennis, Montana. I didn’t share with him my motive, but I’d heard it was a scenic place for a Class B eleven-man football game.

So, we talked. A lot about driving and the hazards of truck driving and the son-of-a-bitch companies that are calling the shots in the truck driving business. Stories that sound like anyone who works in the trenches of a trade-driven business. Everyone has a story about how the big companies shit on the little guys. In John’s case, they sell you a truck and then bust your ass to the point that you end up losing your truck.

Captitalism at its worse I thought. No one makes just a simple profit anymore, it’s all about making a killing at the expense of the masses. I can understand communism's appeal.

Despite this middle-of-the-night conversation, some of the things that John said weren’t very cohearent to me. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the cultural contrast between us. Maybe it was the little white pills that helped him keep his eyes open at such an ungodly hour. It didn’t much matter to me. I just felt that above everything else, guys like John just wanted someone to listen to them.

John was 60 years old. His teeth showed that he probably didn’t have a dental plan—probably not one in years. I asked him how many more years he would drive a truck. He said he would probably drive until he died. I pictured a slumped over truck driver at the wheel careening out of control, taking a family or two to the grave with him.

The conversation drifted in and out of understanding. He mentioned a 30-mile-pass in Indiana that was very dangerous. I couldn’t even think of a prominent hill in Indiana. This was especially obscure after I had just driven over Homestake Pass earlier that evening near Butte. What the hell was he talking about?

I started making an effort to end the conversation, but John seemed determine to keep on talking. Finally he must have picked up on my body language and made his way to the gas station store. He didn’t say goodbye or anything like that—he just drifted away like thick black smoke coming out of a chimney on a windy day.

I made my way to Ennis reluctantly. Seems like I could have stayed talking to John indefinitely at the truck stop. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of driving a two-lane highway in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention one that was unfamiliar.

As I drove south, the rain found me again. This time near Harrison.

The night seemed adamant about rain as long as I was insistent on driving. Maybe it was a sign telling me I shouldn’t drive at night. Maybe it was a sign that made me the unexplainable answer to the drought that had stalled out over the Northern Rockies for the past few years. I concluded that as long as I continued driving, perhaps it would keep raining.