This series documents a young Mansfield woman’s summer working in Glacier National Park, how to apply and some things learned along the way.
Roadtrip tunes to listen to as you read:
May: The Roadtrip
There are a lot of moments in my life that I like to classify as “movie moments.” These are the kind of memories you feel could fit perfectly in your favorite drama: typically beautiful, maybe tear-jerking.
By around five in the morning on my final day in Mansfield, I had squeezed as many as I could in the all-nighter before I hopped in the car and drove across the country. The corniest of corny moments, kissing in the rainstorm for the final time at 4 a.m., singing in the car to Taylor Swift with my best friend. As Swift says, “I think I’ve seen this film before.”
Then there was the scene that would play after the ending credits – grabbing the wheel from my father, 10 minutes into the highway drive, and shrieking at the top of my lungs, “TURN THE CAR AROUND!”
From Mansfield, Ohio to Madison, Wisconsin (an eight-hour drive), my sobbing did not cease unless I needed to give my lungs a boost and breathe a little.
In January of 2021, I applied to work through the summer at Glacier National Park. It seemed as if my life was going nowhere, and my three days of college only taught me how NOT to go to college.
All I knew was I needed to get out of Ohio, and my Montana blood was screaming at me to escape. I had reached a point where I didn’t really care how I got there or what I was doing. I had never lived outside Richland County and it was time to go.
I applied to about every position you could think of through Pursuit’s website, the company that owns and employs many businesses in the park, and hoped for the best.
Thanks to a glowing recommendation from my friend Sean (Hey, Stiltz!), I received the acceptance call for a barista position about a week after interviewing.
My dad and I set out on the venture the morning of May 4, with Gertrude the Kia Soul packed to the brim.
Initial Landing: Madison, Wisconsin
The crying reached a permanent halt when I tried authentic, Wisconsin cheese curds for the first time.
Wisconsin had never really crossed my mind before this trip, which is something I began to notice as a pattern when I stumbled upon different cities throughout the country.
I overlooked and underestimated so many places. Each area my eyes had seen for the first time had flare, whether obvious or a bit more secretive. The small details remain most special.
Madison was a college town West of Milwaukee. I only spent one night there, so the exploration was short-lived. In comparison to where I’d been prior, Madison seemed high-tech (robots that deliver food to your front door AND play a little song?) and incredibly walkable.
Our biggest adventure was strolling through town for a few miles, through the near-campus housing by our AirBnB to downtown. It was a much needed walk to stretch our legs and people watch.
We passed incredibly friendly guys smoking on their front porch, and I guessed the music playing in the headphones worn by students biking on the sidewalks. There were multiple dogs yearning for a pat on the head, an affirmation of “you’re doing so good,” which I needed, too.
After a much-needed deep sleep, the coffee shop (with old country music LP covers adorning the walls) and South Dakota awaited.
Next Stop: Chamberlain, South Dakota
I’m aware that having a lifelong obsession with the Corn Palace is probably not the most normal thing.
Mitchell, South Dakota embraces its infamous status as the home of said Corn Palace, with grocery stores, gas stations, apartments and more named after it.
If you’ve never heard of the godly building, it’s exactly what it sounds like. A palace made of the most beautiful, delicious material: corn.
According to the official website of THE WORLD’S ONLY CORN PALACE(!!!), “The Palace is redecorated each year with naturally colored corn and other grains and native grasses to make it ‘the agricultural show-place of the world.’ A different theme is chosen each year, and murals are designed to reflect that theme.”
Although just two days into the road trip, I began to realize that this kind of adventure is exactly what I had been looking for; seeing things just to see them, no real reason or motivation.
I want to see all the strange museums and all of the tiny towns. I want to fill my time exploring and experiencing things people don’t think twice about. It’s funny how something as obscure as marveling about the beauty of the Corn Palace could lead me to some strange revelation. I guess one could even say … corny.
That night, I laid my head down in Chamberlain, South Dakota with a beautiful view of the Missouri river and life-changing advice from a sign at a local bar.
Where To Now?: Rapid City, South Dakota
When I woke up in Chamberlain, I was not prepared for the long day ahead. Specifically, I was not prepared for the emotional turmoil committing bird murder offers.
My dad and I took advantage of the day, as the drive to Rapid City is only three hours. The landscape was ever-changing. We started crossing long plains and ceaseless sky. When driving through such remote areas, the mind can drift, which brings me to the whole bird-murder thing.
I feel guilty killing a spider, so when the speed of Gertrude accelerated enough to hit a passing prairie chicken, I was convinced I was doomed to hell for eternity.
It happened in slow motion in my head, and I was absolutely sure the chicken had been launched into a peaceful resting place. We drove a long while until this theory was proven wrong by a resident of the Pine Ridge reservation.
To this day, my car is packed with all the necessary travel and survival necessities. A recent addition to this was gloves and towels more suitable than McDonald’s napkins.
We wiped the blood off our hands with Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer, and I dedicated the trip to the Badlands to our beloved prairie chicken. He would’ve had the time of his life.
If you are looking to play any music while staring across Badlands National Park, the only song that deserves to be played is “Life on Mars?” by David Bowie.
I am still absolutely blown away by the beauty of this park. While driving towards it, I could see the formations slowly begin to multiply and grow until we reached our destination. They started as sparsely-placed, boulder-like creations. They grew in size and quantity each mile down the road. Suddenly, they were overtaking the land around us, covering the plains and transporting us into what felt like a different dimension.
Despite the possibility of plummeting far down, I could’ve stood upon one of those structures and stared into the Mars-like void forever. My mind had never been more quiet as it was marveling at seemingly endless land.
Upon leaving the park, the signs advertising “Wall Drug” began with compelling bargains like “5-cent coffee!” Many of these signs are about triple the size of your average billboard. After we got through the bison traffic stop, we set off on our mission for that great deal on coffee.
The history of the roadside attraction is quite intriguing. It started as the only drug store in the tiny town of Wall in 1931. The first few years in business were rough, people just weren’t coming around. However, when the first signs advertising “free ice water” came about, business began to grow exponentially over time.
“Wall Drug” is no longer just a drugstore, but a strange combination of tourist attraction, strip mall, and museum. It feels like the kind of place you would be getting lost in during a dream. Unabashedly quirky, I was amused, confused and slightly unsettled when visiting. It’s one of those “you just had to be there!” places.
Our 5-cent coffee helped us get to Rapid City, a bigger town in South Dakota. My morale was lowering, the ticking time bomb attached to my temper was about to blow, and the following day we’d greet Yellowstone as it opened for the season.
Almost there: Bozeman, Montana
It’s really hard to go on a road trip without a radio. It’s really hard to go on a road trip with someone as obsessive about music as me. (Proud aux hog and pretentious record snob.) It’s especially hard when those things come together.
Gertrude decided that it was time the radio stopped working about halfway through the day. For about 20 minutes my Google searches looked a lot like “fix Kia Soul radio,” “why isn’t my Bluetooth working?” “please help me fix my radio, please, I’m begging, Please, I will die” “Sue Kia.”
We ended up discovering that there was a possibility an aux cord would be our saving grace. After picking one up at a gas station, it began to work! Until we turned the car back on after our much-needed scenic stop at Bighorn National Forest.
THE SCREEN WENT BLACK. My dad lost it, absolutely cracking up in the face of inevitable doom and destruction. I will admit, I was incredibly dramatic (definitely punched the quiet radio a few times) over something that ended up fixing itself. (Which he also thought was the funniest thing in the world.)
After a while, it became hilarious, probably due to our never-ending lethargy. The hilarity grew as we passed a sign that said “Crazy Woman Territory.”
Before Gertrude decided to free me from the prison that is hours of no music, I treated the sounds of my dad on business calls that repeatedly cut out like a podcast and watched the scenery grow as we inched towards Yellowstone.
The opening day of the park was not as hectic as we had anticipated. My driving skills, or lack thereof, were put to the test as we traveled the winding road. I didn’t kill us, and neither did the bison herd we passed, so I’d like to consider that a win.
We arrived in Bozeman, Montana later that night. Montanans are not fans of Californians because of their sneaky migration into the state. Bozeman is the city most influenced, often deemed “Boz-Angeles.”
The May snowfall began as we walked around downtown Boz-Angeles, in and out of small boutiques and a noodle restaurant. We anticipated the trip north to Missoula the following day, our last stop before employee orientation.
Missoula, Montana
If I could write a love letter to any city, it would be Missoula. I have never felt more at home in any place than I do in Missoula, and it gets better every time I visit. I was young when I made my first visit to see some family, so the memories are a bit blurry. But the absolute certainty that this is where I’m supposed to be will forever remain crystal clear.
Only three hours from Glacier, it often became my escape throughout the summer, even eventually becoming trapped there for over a week at one point. (We’ll get to that later.)
It’s a college town, but includes all the small-town flair. Murals grace the walls of most downtown buildings, and second-hand stores greet you at almost every corner. The mountains hug the town, it almost feels as if they’re protecting it. (Or maybe I just think that thought is comforting. It’d kill me to see Missoula touched. No Boz-Angeles, please.)
Unfortunately our stay was short; enough time for dinner and a walk. We stayed at my uncle Ray’s house, which is in a beautiful, almost hidden, neighborhood encased with trees.
We were back on the road early the following morning. Despite my urge to keep my feet planted in the Missoula soil, I kept on my trek.
Only one day remained before I’d find out where I’d be living for the next few months and meet an overwhelming amount of strangers, some of which I’d be housed with.
Not only did I come to terms with the uncertainty of it all, but I fell in love with it.