So, me and the gang—Erik, Julie, Sten, Christy—set off for what I swore was a quick dip in the hot springs near Whitehall, Montana. I was pretty chill about the whole fuel situation, thinking, “Eh, I’ll just gas up afterwards.” Famous last words, right?
Turns out, our little adventure was anything but close. Every time I thought, “This is it,” the road just stretched on. Seriously considered hitching a ride at one point because my fuel gauge was flirting dangerously with the empty mark. But hey, we made it, coasting into the hot springs with the gauge practically hugging the red.
Once there, we were like, “Forget it, we’re here!” We balanced out the scalding water with some cold splashes and dove right in. The highlight? Lugging a microbrew keg all the way from Bozeman. I’m betting it was River City. Nothing like soaking in nature’s hot tub with a cold one in hand.
Did my car gasp its last on the way back? Nah, made it to Whitehall on fumes and a prayer. The kicker? Lost my keys, had to break out the valet key. But Sten turned into a makeshift mechanic the next day, found my keys, and even fixed my trunk. Talk about a memorable Labor Day weekend.
Boneshakerbike 
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