Sarah Nigbor

Growing up, summer meant two things: A break from school, which seemed interminable, and the possibility of a cross country road trip.

When I turned 15, my mom, best friend Derek (who is more like a brother than a friend) and I undertook our biggest road trip of all: Out West by way of North Dakota to Montana, Idaho and Wyoming. Now that I have teenagers in the house, I credit my mom for taking us, number one, and for not leaving us anywhere in exasperation.

The trip was filled with memorable moments. Riding shotgun, I directed my mom down a dirt road through the middle of Montana for miles on end (I was reading the map and swore to my mom it was a shortcut). Sure enough, after rumbling over several cattle gates, we came blasting out onto I-94. I cheered because I love being right and my mom looked relieved. I was a bit relieved too. My teenage self didn’t want to end up on “Unsolved Mysteries.”

We made all the requisite stops along the way: Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota, cowboy country in Miles City, Mont., a ghost town near Helena, Yellowstone National Park, the Grand Tetons and Devil’s Tower. And while those sights were memorable and amazing, the out-of-the-way odd places made for the best memories, in my opinion.

One early afternoon, we rolled into the eastern Montana town of Glendive looking for a place to eat lunch. We found a cute café on Main Street advertising that it had opened for business that week. When we walked in, the place itself was inviting, but the staff were all a bit off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but then the lightbulb went off in my head. None of the women, all of whom were at least 60, had eyebrows! They all wore ruffled aprons, had perfectly coiffed hair sprayed into submission with Aquanet (mostly in unnatural bright red or blond) and NO eyebrows. It’s like they all waxed their eyebrows off and drew them back on with a very thin pencil. It was not flattering.

The service and food were even worse. Almost everything we tried to order, our stern waitress said flatly “We’re out.” We finally settled on grilled cheese sandwiches and Derek ordered a cup of turkey noodle soup too. We waited and waited and waited for our food. Everyone who came in after us was served quickly, but our order seemed to take forever. Soon we noticed that tray after tray of plates heaped high was carried through a swinging door never to return. Curiosity soon got the best of me and I peeked through the door’s window only to find an empty dining room. I walked in and gazed at a completely empty room. The only other doors in the room led to the basement and the restrooms. Where was all the food going? That’s a mystery that remains unsolved.

When we finally got our order, we dug in hungrily. Derek slipped his spoon into the steaming soup cup in great anticipation, only to pull out a rubbery, slimy turkey neck. There were no vegetables, noodles or even turkey in his cup, just a bit of broth and the turkey neck. When he politely asked for another cup of soup, the waitress again flatly said, “We’re out.” Needless to say, we were not impressed. In my mature wisdom, I nicknamed the eatery “The Menopause Café.” Now that I’m closer to that era of life than my teenage years, I’m no longer laughing at my clever wit. I often wonder how long the café stayed open and if it still exists. Hopefully they don’t serve turkey noodle soup.

Next week’s installment of road trip reminiscences involves a wig, an angel and a cattle dog.