The path to Polson

Zach Kulpa, Staff Writer

Our typical quality of life has not been progressing well and it is quite apparent that we need drastic modifications to the way we think and the way we act on a daily basis. After serious contemplation I decided to make some radical adjustments to my life, and subsequently ended up living and working here in Polson, Mont.

I found a general assignment reporter opening at this small weekly newspaper in a tiny Montana town and applied for the opportunity in hopes of changing my scenery. I was contacted immediately by the Leader's editor and accepted the position, not realizing the chaotic week that awaited me during the trek west.

Immediately, I researched and explored the Internet for anything and everything I could find about the town of Polson and the surrounding area. I googled and searched for pictures of Flathead Lake and Glacier National Park. My anticipation grew and I quickly prepared for the trip by hastily packing my belongings.

I departed my home in Boston hoping that I could drive to Polson as quickly as possible; more importantly, I hoped that my tight financial situation could fund the entire trip.

When driving across the country, something is bound to go wrong, and it had only been a couple of hours before the first major obstacle slightly interrupted my trip. I was driving on the thruway in upstate New York, crossing the Adirondack Mountains, and two semi-trucks slowed my feverish tempo. Intolerant of their slower pace, I followed the trucks, hoping they would let me pass, when I noticed dirt and pebbles falling from one of the trailers. A particular rock fell from the cargo, innocently bounced off the pavement and violently ricocheted into my windshield.

The rock caused a horribly loud sound that startled me, but only produced a small crack in the windshield. Relieved that a possible catastrophic disaster had been averted, I relaxed a bit and pushed ahead. A few moments had passed before the small crack exploded across the width of the windshield like lightening stretching across the sky during a storm. I pulled over and assessed the damage, deciding that I could "hopefully" make it to Montana with a damaged window.

Making good time, I stopped at a rest area in western Ohio and got a coffee while stretching my legs. I returned to my car and nonchalantly rolled down the driver side window. The standard operation was interrupted with a loud banging noise that ended when the window precariously disappeared into the door and would not rise again. I attempted to return the window to normal operation by completely disassembling the door and found that the only solution would be awkwardly pushing the window up and shoving some of my gloves and a towel into the window cavity to keep the window up. My makeshift wedge somewhat worked but cold air ripped into the truck through the opening and, unfortunately, I realized that I would have to open my door to pay tolls. This turned out to be a hassle and one particular tollbooth worker in Illinois was frightened by my situation.

I pulled a little past the booth window outside of Chicago and opened the door to pay the toll.

"Hey!?! What are you doing," she shrieked. Her nametag read Tolanda, therefore making her name Tollbooth Tolanda - I should have taken a picture.

I explained my situation, "I'm sorry, my window is broken and I have to open the door, it's embarrassing, I'm sorry again."

"OOOH, its fine child, you just scared me," she responded. I humbly smiled and continued on my way.

The trip was long yet fascinating as I passed through this enormous country and the diverse states along the way. I drove through flat plains in South Dakota and slowed throughout metropolitan areas in Cleveland and Buffalo. I slugged along through construction in Pennsylvania and almost had to pull over during a storm in Indiana. I slept in my car at a rest stop in Wisconsin and almost fell asleep at the wheel in Iowa.

Finally, I passed the Montana state line but was disappointed, as it was night and I couldn't observe any of the landscape. It seemed as though the only thing I could spot would be the hundreds of deer who calmly lined the highway on my way toward western Montana. I drove through the night and watched the sunrise behind me as I made it into Missoula and headed north to Polson. In what seemed to be the perfect crescendo to my expedition, the sun beautifully lit Mission Valley as I entered Polson and was captivated by what stood before my ignorant eyes. I pulled over at a scenic point and walked around astonished by what surrounded me the majestic and crystal clear lake enclosed by the massive and spectacular Mission Mountains.

I am settling in to my new home and new job quite well. It had been a difficult and complicated decision to make the challenging journey to Montana, but my determination for positive variation has most definitely been worth it.