My adventure story, continued
Melissa Oyer
Editor
Continuing my adventure story from previous weeks, we are nearing the end…
I awoke in Billings, ready for the last day of my journey to get started.
I left Billings at 9 a.m. and the weather was the best I had seen since I left Alabama.
Sun was shining, the wind was still and the temperature was slightly above freezing, which was good enough for me.
I was in a hurry, forcing myself to make it to my new home in Plains by the end of the day. Bozeman was nice. I sent a text message to my mom and dad and boyfriend that said “this is the most liberating, gorgeous day of my life”. My dad’s response was “except for the day you were born”. Collectively, everybody say “awww”.
I missed home already but realized that what was in store for me just a few short hours away would surpass anything that I had imagined.
I pulled into Missoula around 3 p.m. and decided I was owed a nice, relaxing decent meal, besides the granola bars I had been nourished with for the past three days.
The awesome staff at the Iron Horse Brew Pub offered great service to me, including charging my dying cell phone and serving me a great steak.
I left Missoula, stopping for what would be my last gas tank fill up, and saw something that I had heard oh so much about.
My boyfriend raved about Henry Weinhard’s Private Reserve beer and told me if I did nothing else in Montana, I had to enjoy one of these.
So I bought a stash and began the last leg of a 34 hour journey that started 2,168 miles east.
I called my publisher Dan Drewry and told him of my expected arrival. He was as excited as I was to have me in my home, my new place of work, and in this new life of mine.
I arrived in Plains around 6 p.m. Wednesday evening and the town looked exactly what I had imagined. People were walking up and down the sidewalks, kids were swinging on a swing set at the town park and city hall was just as I thought, small and centrally located.
After perusing the streets for a bit, I went to my hotel to check in. As I was filling out my registration card, the door opened behind me and I heard this voice gasp and say, “you must be Melissa”. The voice belonged to Lisa Larson, ad manager at the Valley Press/ Mineral Independent.
She said she saw my car and figured she would stop in and give me a welcome. I was overwhelmed.
The next thing I know, I was unpacking my car and Coby Clinkenbeard pulled up and was inviting me to her house for dinner.
Coby is a sales rep at the paper as well and was as excited to see me as I was to not be gripping a steering wheel anymore.
My first few nights were tough but I made it through with good conversations with my mom and boyfriend and the stash of Henry’s I had purchased in Missoula.
The mornings were tough. Not since high school had I been up that early but with some strong coffee, provided by Charlotte and the amazing gang at the Dew Duck Inn, I made my morning treks to the office and became a member of the working class.
Work was confusing the first couple of days but with determination and clocking out with an average of 60 hours a week I have made it through these first 6 weeks without being mauled, either by fuming readers or the looming mountain lions.
I have lost a total of four reporters, hired new ones and somehow managed to attend community benefits, sporting events and monthly meetings all while producing papers in the process.
And as fitting as this day is, just as I am typing the last sentence in this tale of my adventurous journey to Plains all the way from Alabama, my boyfriend, Justin, the one who pushed me out the door to live in this grown-up world, is pulling into to Plains to join me on this adventure.
I appreciate your patience with me and this paper and know that just as my adventure to arrive here has ended, my quest to make this paper the best it can be is just beginning.