In the high country of western Montana, picking huckleberries is serious business. When I was growing up, we discovered patches of the delicious small berries while hiking and picked our fill. It takes some effort and energy to pick a pound of huckleberries. They are small. They grow close to the ground. You have to know where to look. Grizzly bears love huckleberries, and when they are ripe, the bears are eating everything they can find because they have to store a lot of fat and energy for the long hibernation in a place where it gets cold in the winter. These days, I would be reluctant to pick huckleberries unless I was on a backpack trip and was 10 miles away from any roads. And then I would keep an eye out for other people. Serious huckleberry pickers are highly territorial and, unlike grizzly bears, which are dangerous, huckleberry pickers are likely to carry guns. It isn’t worth it to mess with their territory.

If you want to buy huckleberries, you have to know where to get them. I’ve been driving through western Montana at least once a year for a long time. I have my secrets. Still, you have to want huckleberries to pay $25 per pound. There are many other options for berry lovers. Flathead cherries are available most of the summer across the western half of the state and can be procured in most small towns.

When I was a child, we had relatives who lived in the Flathead Valley, and we visited them most years. Later, my sister lived and worked in the Bitterroot Valley. In those days, we knew where to pick huckleberries, with only bears to fear. When we finished graduate school, we lived in North Dakota while my sister lived in Portland, Oregon. We made many trips across Western Montana. Later, we lived in Idaho and visited family in Montana. I’ve pulled a trailer over every pass between Idaho and Montana, including the Lemhi Pass, which is now considered to be a four-wheel drive pass where trailers are not recommended. Our son went to college in Forest Grove, Oregon, so there were more trips. And, after graduate school, he settled in Washington. Before long, we had grandchildren. I know the territory and roads of Western Montana pretty well.

Now, I’m older and I have fewer secrets to keep. On this trip, we’re traveling on the Interstate for most of our drive, and the secret I have to share is barely a secret. If you ever drive up from Missoula over Lookout Pass, or drive east from Mullen, Idaho, over the same, you will see billboards that say, “Best. Milkshake. Ever.” There are a lot of billboards all across the United States proclaiming the best this or the best that. I know where there is a billboard proclaiming Montana’s favorite small town. The residents of every other small town in Montana disagree with that sign. I’ve seen signs for best pizza, best Italian food, and lots of different “bests.” I always take such claims with a grain of salt. Here is the secret. The signs that declare St. Regis, Montana, to be the home of the “Best. Milkshake. Ever.” are telling the truth. If you drive by them, you will miss something truly special.

We rarely do. We’ve been known to stop for huckleberry milkshakes morning, afternoon, and evening. Combine one with a buffalo burger or a prawn skewer and you’ve got eating that is as good as it gets.

Now that I’ve shared the secret, which isn’t a secret, don’t expect me to tell you where you can buy huckleberries. Those places don’t need advertising. If you don’t know, you won’t know.

One of the treats of being retired and traveling at a slower pace than we used to is that we notice little things that we might have otherwise missed. Friday evening, we pulled into The Dalles, Oregon, to find a place to eat supper, and as we got to downtown, it was evident that they were getting ready for a parade and that we were right on the route the parade was going to take. Crowds were gathered along the sidewalks. People had set up their lawn chairs. The National Anthem was being played over loudspeakers, and all around us were carefully restored classic and antique cars. The 32nd annual “Cruise the Gorge” car show is a big deal. The next morning, we took a stroll through the park where they were setting up for the car show. Over 500 cars would be on display. We didn’t have time for a close look at all of the vehicles as their owners polished them to get ready for the show, but I did take a few pictures of Corvettes for our grandson, who is a fan and knows quite a bit about the various years and models. Another grandson asked for photos of an Audi TTS, but this car show featured American muscle. In earlier years, when we were driving these roads, we might not have taken the time to look, and it was fun not to feel rushed.

At lunch, we stopped in Ritzville, WA. The town is in the high desert southwest of Spokane, and it's been pretty dry there this summer. The wheat has been combined, and most of the fields are brown. After lunch, we took a walk and discovered a three-hole golf course in this small town with immaculate fairways and greens. The city of Ritzville apparently has enough water to keep this oasis in the desert. It must take a lot of effort and care to produce the weed-free short grass and keep it so green and lush. I’ve stopped in Ritzville dozens of times and failed to notice.

Bound for the “Best. Milkshake. Ever.” however, we continued to head east and soon were out of the desert and into the mountains. North Idaho is spectacular country, and we always enjoy the scenery.

Today we’ll make a few more miles and see a few more sights. There is always something new to discover even on routes that we’ve driven many times before. Who knows, I may even pick up a few berries.