The weekend started with that familiar feeling… we just had to get the hell out of town. Work had piled up, and we were desperate for escape. We’d planned on Lincoln, Montana, this little town we’d passed a dozen times but never explored. The park there allows camping in town… or so we thought. Winter had other plans. Closed for the season.
So there we were, our campervan River ready to roll, with nowhere specific to go. But hey, sometimes the best trips happen when Plan A falls apart. “Let’s just drive that way anyway,” I suggested. “Remember those spots we’ve always meant to check out?” (I keep mental notes of these places, which drives my partner nuts because I never write anything down.)
We landed at Russell Gates Memorial Campground, basically just a glorified fishing access site. Nothing special at first glance. Just a place to park River and settle in.
While exploring, we spotted some confusing sign about Conservation License requirements. My stomach dropped. Wait… had I been breaking the law at places I’ve visited for decades? For someone like me (autism means I need clear systems), this realization wasn’t just annoying… it was genuinely upsetting.
Born in Montana and now 58 years old, you’d think I’d know the rules by heart. It’s my home! I’ve been recreating on these public lands for most of my life. But lately? Someone’s rewritten the rulebook without telling anyone. No clear communication, no consideration for folks who’ve been here their entire lives. Just new signs popping up like unwanted mushrooms.
But as the weekend wrapped up, watching sunrise with my coffee, I realized this place that “had nothing to offer” gave us exactly what we needed. Walking along the icy riverbank became its own adventure (only slipped twice… success!). The winter sun felt surprisingly warm while grilling and cracking beers. River’s heater kept us toasty, making winter camping feel almost luxurious.
Our cell booster worked perfectly, which meant napping to F1 racing (don’t judge, it’s weirdly soothing). We explored whatever caught our eye and breathed in that pine-scented air no candle ever gets right.
Most importantly, we escaped. No emails, no responsibilities, no broken drawer I keep promising to fix.
Looking back, I see how our diverted plans and my frustration with Montana’s regulations are similar. Life rarely follows our maps. Sometimes campgrounds close, sometimes rules change without warning. But maybe that’s where the best stories come from… in finding your way through unexpected detours that somehow lead you exactly where you needed to be all along.
*Behind the scenes: Got some help putting this together – used Perplexity to double-check my facts, Claude helped me clean up my grammar and structure (though I kept some of my natural quirks!), and Gemini helped me figure out how to ask the right questions. Any mistakes left are totally on me.
Boneshakerbike 
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