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The man watched his friend pull up. It had rained the night before and the gravel lot was dotted with small pools of muddy water. His friend drove carefully, avoiding the largest puddles. The man was just loading the last of his gear into his own car. He was eager to get back on the road. The small town in northwestern Montana he had stayed the night in was a little depressing. It was run-down and wild packs of family dogs roamed the streets. So far, Montana had been home to some of the most beautiful country he had ever seen. He wanted to get back out there and resume exploring.

The man and his friend were going on an adventure. They were heading into the backcountry to do some camping. This excited him because previously in his life, the man had gone camping twice. Both times for a single night and both times sharing the tent with at least four other people. This was going to be his first camping trip where he wasn't just tagging along. He and his friend, an experienced camper, were leading this trip themselves. This was to be his first camping trip with his very own tent.

His friend, D, was from Kansas. The similarities between their two lives at the moment were uncanny. D had lost his father the day after the man had lost his mother. Both men were in transitional phases in their lives and both were taking cross-country road trips to figure out just what it was they were supposed to do next. As D was traveling west and the man was traveling east, they had decided to meet in the middle and spent a couple of days in the sticks.

This current camping excursion was mostly unplanned. The men decided to just see what the country had in store for them, so they headed out in a direction that would be beneficial for both of them when they finished camping and resumed their travels. That direction was south. D had a road atlas that listed a few campgrounds. They would meander along, seeing sights and checking sites. When they found a campground they liked, they would stay.

The man wanted to go somewhere remote and beautiful. But, being the son of a woman whose idea of roughing it was having to use generic toilet paper, the man needed to ease himself into a life outdoors. So there was to be no five mile hikes to the perfect, pristine spot. He wanted to sleep no farther than twenty yards from his car and no closer than fifty yards from the next group of people. And the further into the woods, the better.

They drove south on a small rural highway. The scenery was breathtaking. Cattle grazed freely upon rolling hills. Rivers and streams wove their way through the land. The sun shone in the sky and in the distance, the great Rocky Mountains stood over the horizon.

They stopped for gas in a town riddled with advertisements proclaiming various dinosaur-themed amusements. Across from the gas station was an espresso slash ammo shop that they just had to check out. They bought coffee and firewood. Around the corner, hidden from the main street, the one that the tourists drove through, they found a grocery store. They went to shop for groceries for dinner. Because the man saw no point in going through all the trouble to camp if there wasn't a crazy delicious meal to eat around the campfire.

The locals in the shop were perfectly friendly to their faces, but the man sensed a sort of tension in the air. It was quiet, as if everyone was waiting for these two tourists to finish shopping and leave so they could resume their lives. It was a tension he would sense quite a few times, but one that he could empathize with. If he lived in a quiet town that was flooded with gawkers passing through for three months of the year, he would get annoyed, too.

They loaded up on bratwursts for dinner and bacon and eggs for breakfast. The man's family in Washington had given him a nifty cooler that plugged in to his car, but they also bought some ice for when the car was off. They also purchased some fine Montana microbrew, of course. What's the point of camping without beer?

The dinosaur town was about fifty miles from the first site that they wanted to check out. A mile off the main road, the pavement ended. They continued driving on dirt and occasional gravel. As they got deeper into the boondocks, the trees changed. There had been a fire. Judging from the growth on the ground, it had only been a few years ago. The trees were white and grey, black with char. Despite suffering the fire, they had a ghostly beauty. They stopped to sit by a small lake of clear blue water.

When they finally came to the campground, the man was surprised to see that quite a few of the sites were already taken. These folks had probably been coming up there since before the fire. It takes a certain kind of person to camp in a place like that. He wasn't sure exactly what kind, but he knew he wasn't one of them. They moved on.

After rejecting the second or third site, he realized that finding a place that met his parameters would be more difficult than the man had imagined. He didn't take into account the fact that he was camping in the middle of the summer- prime camping season- and that pretty much everyone else wanted the same things from their camp sites. No matter where they went, it would not live up to the idyllic images he had created in his head. It didn't bother him to drive, he loved it. What bothered him was that they were losing daylight and needed to stop before it got dark so they could set up. That meant he would have to give up the idea of prefect and settle for good.

The site they chose was nice, if a little too close to the highway. Located at the top of a mountain pass, it was on a gentle hill and surrounded by trees and large boulders. The next closest campers were down the hill and nicely beyond sight. They set up their gear. D's camping stuff was the lightest, smallest gear he could find. When illuminated from within, his tent looked like an alien pod. He had a love for backpacking and camping gadgets. Everything was compactable and efficient. On the other hand, the stuff the man had with him was larger and with a mind for comfort.

They built a roaring fire to warm them from the roaring wind. D took charge of cooking dinner while the man went to work making a homemade sparkler. He had gotten a flint and steel firestarter from some friends a few years ago. It had a large bar of magnesium attached. When you scraped the magnesium onto kindling and hit it with sparks from the flint, the magnesium would burn so hot and bright that you could start a fire under water. Sure, it started fires, but the man loved it because it was perfect for science experiments and explosive camping fun.

After dinner and beer and not getting blowed up, the man was ready for bed. Zipping into his oversized living room slumber party sleeping bag, he reflected on his day. It had been a good one. This camping stuff was pretty cool. He was still having a great time on his adventure. He had only the tiniest bit of anxiety. But this was a new experience, so it was understandable to feel a little nervous.

During the night, the fire died down but the wind did not. The man's sleep had been restless. For one thing, he had slept on a hill. He could either lay flat and risk rolling down the mountain or lay at an angle and only slowly slide down the mountain. He chose to slide. After six miserable hours of the unending wind creating a cross breeze through the tent's vents and constantly readjusting his position, he decided to give in and just get up. Besides, there was something he had to do that he had been putting off for a while. His greatest fear about camping wasn't wild animals or wild rednecks. He could deal with most weather. The one thing he was afraid of was pooping in the woods. He liked to use a large, private bathroom with a flushing toilet and running water. He liked to take his damn time. That's why, he thought, God created the iPhone. He didn't like the thought of not being comfortable while he defecated.

It turned out to be just fine, though. He realized the camping pooping was a different experience than regular pooping. It wasn't relaxing alone time. It was business time and that's how he treated it: get in, get it out, get out. After relieving himself, he was in a surprisingly good mood for not having slept well. Camping was damn fun.

He cooked breakfast. He discovered that eating bacon cooked on a grill over a fire in the woods was just about the best way to start the day. They cleaned and loaded up. It was time to head back into town for gas and food.

He was pretty sure that after his native Oregon, Montana was the prettiest state that there was. He could live there, if only it touched the ocean. They stopped in Helena, the closest city. At the grocery store, the man chose the menu for the night. The gentleman who rang up their order was friendly. They asked him to recommend a few campsites. He almost told them about some hidden gems, but he must have gotten a signal from one of the other locals, and he clammed up. "Uh, yeah. I like to go up there. There's some good spots. Up there." Adding quickly, as if they might be able to discern the location from his vague directions, "There's bears, though. Lots of bears." People keep their favorite camping spots to themselves, like their favorite fishing holes.

Lacking local advice, they left the store and headed back onto the road. The driving was good. They had the same trouble finding a site that they had had the day before. But, like the day before, the man didn't mind. It seemed that D's map was inaccurate for the area they were in. They had driven past what should have been three different sites without even so much as a marker on the road. As they approached the border of Wyoming, they stopped at a visitor center overlooking a windy lake for advice. The man did not want to leave Montana yet. Wyoming and Yellowstone were for tomorrow. Today was still Montana's.

The wind through the gorge made the bluster of the night before feel like a weak breeze. For the first time in his life the man felt the wind moving his rather large, solid frame. Usually he was as a mountain in wind, but there were a few times in that gorge that day when he felt like it could carry him away. It was nice to be reminded of the power of nature without being witness to its full destructive force.

The cute girl who was vacuuming the closing visitor center let it slip that, yes indeed, they had passed a few campsites. She politely pointed them in the right direction and told them which signs to look for. Her name tag revealed that she was from a state back east, probably working for the US Forest Service as a summer internship. She had no problem dishing on the local spots.

They followed her directions to a long, winding dirt road. There was a popular fishing hole a few miles before the hidden campsites. As they made their war along the road in their foreign-model sedans, a few locals going the opposite direction in their pick-ups and jeeps would give them a little salute. Just a simple gesture, raising their first and second fingers lifting off the steering wheel as if to say, "Brother, I approve." The man quickly changed from his usual one-handed slacker driving position to the more appropriate ten-and-two so he could return the salute.

When they came to the hidden campground, they knew they had stumbled upon pure camping gold. There were actually two different campgrounds, each by a lake. The first one was full of locals who eyed the tourists in their absurdly dirty little cars. Their faces said, How did you know about this place? They left the first lake site and were headed to the next one when D, who was in the lead, turned on a dirt road only marked by a tiny sign of a hiker. On top of the hill, they found their prize: a secret, double hidden, third camp site. They found the best vacant spot and began to unpack.

There was no settling that day. The site was surrounded be trees on three sides and a cliff on the other. The ground was flat. Dinner that night was sublime. They had fire-grilled bacon mushroom havarti cheeseburgers. After the first bite, the man let out a whimper of pleasure. He needed to stop and reflect on the fact that he was eating the best burger of his life. It was unreal and a little insane how good this burger was. This was the kind of meal that could ruin a person for all other meals.

After dinner, fire. After fire, sleep. He rested well. D had given him a couple of extra blankets, but the wind wasn't a factor so he barely needed them. In the morning he made breakfast again. They packed their cars slowly and drove back to the highway, saluting the locals as they passed. This was the end of the interlude. Once they made it back to the main road, they would go their separate ways. D was making his way west. The man was going east to Yellowstone. They stopped their cars to say farewell by the side of the road. Their paths would cross again, but it was anyone's guess as to when.

As the man pulled away, he raised the first two fingers of his left hand from the steering wheel. Brother, I approve.