We'll hitchike bus or yellow cabit! Cabit? Nevermind.

So Serena, the British English GPS personality, is possessed. Stuck on a long stretch of road with dark coming on and no major town for an hour an a half in any direction except one little out of the way one, we opted to stop in the small town of Huelet. Which Serena proceeded to direct us to, along roads that were not there. More than once it told us to turn into what was clearly the driveway to a cattle ranch, whereupon we told it to shut its snotty british mouth and get us to a HOTEL. Luckily roads are not a big thing in rural Wyoming, so there was really only one road into town and regardless of what the gorram GPS said, we were on it. After a very harrowing hour of driving in twilight and then true dark ( and I mean DARK here people) through herd after herd of deer and some very clifflike structures, we reached Huelet. After procuring pizza from the one and only bar/restaurant open, we crashed in frankly the nicest hotel we've stayed in so far. The next morning was bright and beautiful and began with a harried search for my glasses which the-night-before Me had already packed and the-next-morning Me did not remember. It's a good thing we did check however, because we found Emma's favorite mouse on the second sweep.

As we left Huelet, we realized that we had completely missed driving past this in the dark.

WHAT THE HELL? Oh, literally. Its Devil's Tower.

So Serena the crazy GPS inadvertently lead us to the first ever national monument. I think she may have been rewarding us for resisting 1880 town. There are many more awesome pictures of this that I may post later, but just to give you an idea of scale, this thing is (according to the billboard) 10 watertowers high.

After that, we drove and drove and drove and drove, which leads us to our next section...

"Mountains, Gandalf!"

Allow me to treat you to the glory of our very quiet, awe inspired afternoon.

Mountain.

Mountain.

MORE mountain.

Also Mountain.

Strawberry cake. I mean, mountain.

Glorious sun-drenched valley in the mountains.

A really big hill. 

And then, we drove into this:

At which point visiting Yellowstone became not an option. But, we did engage in other outdoor activities, namely "Hey its raining! Lets get out of the car and dance in it!"

And at which point Cam the Evil Genius and his sidekick Spider Bear took these pictures of me running back to the car. Your interior soundtrack should play the drumroll that accompanies Lancelot's run to the wedding from Holy Grail. 

"Muahaha, stupid pictures of Leigh!"

The weather getting steadily worse, visibility getting steadily more awful, and the bugs on the windshield getting increasingly more gooey, and the sun getting less and less in the sky, we gave up on our goal of getting across Montana in one go, and decided to stop in the nearest large town. Butte we didn't expect to end up where we did. Driving innocently along we hoped for something modest, butte we instead found ourselves in a large mountain town. Our buttes being tired of sitting for so long, we decided to stop in...can you guess where? Butte, Montana. Let the jokes begin. 

"Look guys, its the Butte exit, we'd better turn."

"Oh my god is this going to be the Butte of every joke?"

"Butte wait, I have more jokes!"

There were more heinous jokes, but I will leave them out. I'm sure you can fill in the blanks yourselves. Note, even after I pointed out that it is pronounced Beaut, Cam and Michael continued to giggle like twelve year old girls after someone has farted at a sleepover. 

We are now at Nazi Hotel. This place has more rules and regulations than the OCD playbook. But, a good nights sleep, fantastic dinner at Perkins, and a very impressive breakfast bar later and I am happy to say we are on the road at 9 AM local time. 

Before I leave you, here is one last chuckle. There is just about NOTHING that will make Michael slow down on a highway. This did.