Back in 1992, when we drove across the United States in a Honda Civic with our two children to go to college in Indiana, we encountered the Bighorn Mountains range sometime in the middle of our journey.
Memories of that surprise discovery were vague but rose-tinted: a steep, winding pass to high backcountry with stunning views. Fields of blooming flowers, a stream with good fishing. A cow moose and her calf, astounding us with their size. We promptly took a primitive cabin for the night so that we could enjoy the surroundings for an additional day as a family.
Thirty years later, those memories enticed Mike and I to find the Bighorn Mountains again to see if they were as lovely as we remembered.
The drive across eastern Montana and into Wyoming was pleasant, made entertaining by blues guitar and a Harry Bosch mystery on audiobook; then it was time to turn int…
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