Nightlife in Big Sky, Montana is more exciting than you would think. Especially for a pair of happy-go-lucky California girls in town just for
heck of it, on a spur-of-the-moment vacation in search of a Western adventure. Not kind of west-coast adventure you’d find on a sunny San Diego beach covered with half-nude bodies dripping with SPF 15 tanning lotion. Or kind you’d find on a Big Bear ski slope watching bikini babes race down black diamond hills with sun screen-covered noses. This vacation was more of a “good girls” version of Thelma and Louise hitting open highway to see what we could see. With no concrete plans, no hotel reservations and no idea what to expect, we arrived in Billings, grabbed a few visitors brochures and decided to at least try to visit Bozeman, Big Sky and Yellowstone National Park.
After one night’s stay in Bozeman at a lovely bed and breakfast and a breathtaking hike day before up to Fairy Lake—a peaceful, secluded lake surrounded by tall pines and absolutely no noise at all—we awoke to sight of a light snowfall (a real treat for Southern Californians), smell of Canadian bacon and bark of inn keeper’s golden retriever, Bailey. It was time to hit road.
Our drive through Bozeman traced past charming little antique shops, down-home diners, and usual small town sights, then to outskirts of town. After a few stops to check out some antiques, and about two hours later, my girlfriend and I found ourselves in friendly town of Big Sky feeling like two fish out of water, but ready to breathe in some more of that smog-free air through our gills and get to know place—if only for a few days.
Our inquiries as to where to find some adventure in this ski town during off season led us to horse stables for some Western-style sight seeing. A two-hour horseback ride guided by a real-life cowboy was a challenge for my tender hind parts, but I had to tough it out because my friend, experienced rider that she is, struck up a friendly conversation with our trail guide (need I say, “flirting”). And besides that, views from trail were unreal. I felt like I was riding through a scene from old TV show Big Valley.
After a much-needed soak in a deep tub of hot water overflowing with bubbles (literally) in our cozy room at Rainbow Ranch Lodge, I perked up and my travel buddy and I trekked down to a little restaurant on side of road that served freshest, most tender beef we’d ever eaten this side of … well, anyplace. When one of locals, a handsome “Marlboro Man” type seated on a barstool, kindly invited us to drop by local watering hole, Staci’s Old Faithful Bar, next night for a little Western hospitality and a lesson in how to really two-step, we knew we couldn’t miss that opportunity.
So next night, we hopped in our Subaru Outback (we had to “look” part of locals, right) and headed down dark two-lane highway very slowly so as not to accidentally encounter one of those deer we were warned to beware of from road signs posted every twenty paces. The fear of killing Bambi was ever in our consciousness. As my friend drove tentatively, I sat anxiously with eyes wide open ready to scream, “Stop!” at first sight of anything that remotely looked like a darling deer ready to prance in front of our rental car. Talk about stress!
As we neared our destination and noticed flickering red neon sign out front and rickety wood-framed screen door smack shut behind a few cowboys, doubt set in big time. Suddenly we weren’t so sure we should be there. Would we be safe? What if something happened to us, who would know? Yes, safety was a concern. But that’s why two crazed, adventurous minds are better than one. So we threw caution to wind, took a deep breath and headed into Staci’s. Remember that scene from movie comedy 48-Hours when Eddie Murphy steps into a country/western bar and whole room screeches to a halt. Well, just keep that in mind. I don’t think I have ever felt more aware of my being than at that moment when my curly, blonde-haired friend and I, an African American woman, walked into that bar. All eyes on us, we tried to look like we “belonged” there. And to our credit we were cool as cucumbers—on outside.
As we strolled over to only two empty barstools, I felt as if we were moving in slow motion—and so were hundred or so pairs of eyes that followed us. Even cigarette smoke swirls were flowing through air like low fog hovering over a still country pond in early morning. But once we sat down, room quickly returned to its previous lively condition and we were able to exhale. Whew, hard part was over.
I must say, our cowboy bar experience was chock full of interesting sights—a live band talented enough to make it to second round of Star Search, dancing couples proficient in latest country/western and dirty dancing moves, photos of local rodeo celebrities who had visited Staci’s, even a lively bartender who could whip up a drink in blink of an eye.
