Some unexpected color

I loved these sandstone cliffs along the Belle Fourche river near Devil's Tower; the color was such a surprise in the middle of the greens and yellows and browns of the prairies.

It reminded me of the banks of the Zambezi river in Zambia.

It really is strange...

...in a way that you can't appreciate close up. It's when you're still miles away, and all of a sudden you see this crazy, lopped-off mountain standing by itself in the middle of nowhere that you think, “What the everlasting f**k is that?”

You can see why Spielberg had the aliens in Close Encounters land there. Sadly, just as I failed to find Cary Grant at Mount Rushmore, this was the only alien I saw at Devil's Tower—in the gift shop.

Devil's Tower

We cut across a corner of Wyoming going from Montana to South Dakota so we could visit Devil's Tower. If you're not going to climb it—and many crazy people do—there's not much to do except walk around and admire the behemoth from a few angles, take some pictures, and go.

More mountain Xanax

Deep breaths

I basically emptied out the suitcase, washed everything, and packed it up again, getting ready to fly to London very early on Friday morning.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself until I spent half the afternoon looking for my keys. I knew they were in the apartment because I was in the apartment and couldn't have achieved that without them, but they weren’t on the counter, or in my purse, or in my pocket or on the floor. I ended up taking everything back out of the suitcase in case I had somehow managed to pack them (I hadn't) so now I have to pack again.

I'm taking deep breaths and looking at pretty pictures of mountains in Glacier National Park to calm myself down again. It's a good thing they don't administer IQ tests at border crossings or I might be out of luck right now. (I did find the keys, by the way—in the silverware drawer.)

More bighorns, plus a baby

Unfortunately, the picture of the lamb is blurry, but the cuteness comes through.

More Glacier fauna

We thought that these nosy creatures checking us out through our windshield were mountain goats, but they are actually bighorn sheep.

We never did see a moose, but we probably were able to get a lot closer to these sheep than we ever would to a moose.

A Møøse once bit my sister...

And I segue seamlessly from Monty Python to early morning in Glacier, where we had been hoping to see moose. (Or møøse.)

And now for something completely different

This chipmunk in Glacier National Park does not get any of the Monty Python references, and clearly isn't impressed by anything I have to say.

Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam!

Of course there was an entire exhibit devoted to Monty Python, and explaining, with some pride I think, how junk email came to be called Spam.

Meaty Juicy Satisfaction

That is what Spam is called in China, a fact I learned at the Spam museum in Austin, Minnesota. Although the museum rightly focuses on all things Spammish, they also include exhibits for other Hormel products, like chili. Hence this giant chili dog. (It's allegedly a sofa, though I'm not sure where exactly you're supposed to sit.)

So after breakfasting on ice cream, lunch consisted of a Spam slider. I haven't eaten Spam since I was a kid, nor have I wanted to, but I have to admit that taste brought back memories of sitting at the kitchen table in San Francisco eating my mom's grilled cheese and Spam sandwiches for Saturday dinner. Proust's Spam sandwich.

Sunday bird blogging

A pair of magpies at a rest stop in Montana.