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fear and loathing in cooke city
ooking back, I think I was out of my mind. I don’t know what provoked me to leave Jackson during a huge storm, but seven hours later, I was driving delirious and 350 miles away. I couldn’t tell if the sulfuric smell emanated from my body or my surroundings, but the moment I got out of my Chevy Cavalier, I knew I was in a different world. The sign read, “Cooke City, Montana: Population 140.” I told him I was coming in a letter I sent around Christmas. The lack of phone reception and internet made it impossible to reaffirm plans. Six cars line the dead end street, but I can’t find a parking spot amongst the hoards of snowmobiles. I enter the lodge my friend, Travis, claims to be residing in, but the front desk rings empty. Twenty men line the bar; a nest of door keys tells me it isn’t very busy. A woman appears behind the doorway, her lips are moving. As I walk closer, I see a hole in her throat, and she speaks through a voice box. I silently curse all the cans of chew I ever touched and ask if she knows my friend. “Oh yeah, he’s one of those crazy ice climbers,” she smiles. “Check room number zero one.” I wander past myriad unlabeled rooms smelling of stale cigarettes unable to find room number zero one. My search continues outside until I spot a herd of snowmobilers staggering in the shadows. I retreat to my car for safety and doze off. A little puffball of hand taps through the snow on my windshield and takes me inside. Dazed, I enter a tiny hotel room Travis shares with his friend, Dustin. Soggy ropes hang from every corner and the room emanates a faint smell of mildewed boots and unwashed polypropylene. I carve out a
WORDS: ELIZ ABETH KOU TRELAKOS
little nook for myself on the damp carpet and promptly fall asleep. We go to a great breakfast joint at the end of the road. Actually, it’s the only breakfast place at the end of the road. Given the low price of the meal, I prepare myself for a gut bomb but am pleasantly surprised by the tastiness of my huevos. It all seemed like a strange trip: that this restaurant existed, that it was so delicious, that I wanted to vomit.
I L L U S T R A T I O N S : K E L LY H A L P I N
Maybe I was starving. After finishing my coffee, I head to the bathroom and am surprised to see my many options. I spy a toilet, a set of curlers, and a tanning bed. Tanning suddenly seems adventurous and intriguing. I’ve never been in one of those fake sun boxes before, but it suddenly seems as necessary as the toilet. It would feel so nice to lay down again. By noon, we break a trail through
