“THIS IS A SWEET CAR,” said the friendly sheriff of Hardin, Montana (population 3,500-ish), who’d just pulled us over for a burnt-out headlight. After promising to replace the light (Fat chance!), he let us roll on with no questions asked. (Which was damn lucky on our part, because if we’d have had to find any sort of official papers in that glovebox…)
To future drivers: Like anyone who’s spent time with him, I now feel a sense of ownership and rapport with Clyde. Please treat him well. I felt bad leaving him camped out in Fort Smith (population 150-ish). Who will take him to burn doughnuts on the boat ramp? Who will speed-test him on I-90? Who will use him to help run shuttles for Shelly at the Bighorn Angler?
One tip: Do not park overnight in the alley behind the cabins if you plan to pass out and sleep late inside the cabins. It worked in our favor—being woken early by another sheriff— because it got us on the river by nine. But that loud knock, by our second cop in three days, was not a fun alarm clock.