Halfway to Somewhere

On the road to Minnesota, a Montana ranch became the two-day reset my co-pilot and I needed.

This summer marked a first for me and Chase: our very first trip alone with the Casita. I’d imagined it would feel freeing, and it did — but freedom always comes with a learning curve. Those first days on the road were humbling. Hitching, unhitching, leveling, figuring out how the new lithium battery, solar panels, generator, and propane all worked together. It felt like a hundred moving pieces, each one a test of patience and persistence. I kept reminding myself this was exactly why I’d bought the Casita — the ability to live self-sufficiently, to wander without being tethered to hookups and RV parks. Still, in the beginning, it was… a lot.

By the time we reached Livingston, Montana, both Chase and I were worn thin. He gets anxious in the car, and too many days in a row of driving catches up with him quickly. I had planned two nights at Wineglass Ranch, a place I stumbled across on Hipcamp, and it turned out to be exactly what we both needed. Not just a stopover, but a reset.

From the moment I pulled in, I felt the difference. Horses roamed freely across open pastures, the mountains pressed close, and the stillness settled into me before I even stepped out of the car. By the next morning, when I opened the Casita door to see mist spilling down from the mountains, I realized just how much I’d been holding. It’s amazing how silence can strip away the noise you didn’t even know you were carrying.

Chase seemed to sense it too. On our walks he bounded happily through the tall grass at the end of his leash, ears flapping, tail relaxed and steady. Watching him loosen his own tension made me realize just how deeply I’d needed this pause. Sometimes it takes seeing peace reflected in someone else — even your dog — to recognize your own.

The family who owns Wineglass Ranch welcomed me like a neighbor, answering my questions and making me feel at home in that way Montanans have about them: genuine, open, unhurried. I set up the solar panels for the first time, ran the generator just enough to test things out, and for once, I didn’t worry if everything was working perfectly. I just sat outside under that vast Montana sky and let the land hold me.

Two nights there stretched long and easy, like time had finally loosened its grip. It wasn’t just a beautiful stop — it was the moment on my journey when the weight of learning something new shifted into the wonder of actually living it.

Wineglass Ranch wasn’t simply a place on the map. For me, it was the reminder of why I set out on this road in the first place: not to master every detail, but to find the kind of peace that makes the challenges worth it.

– R. Michael

P.S. If you like this, you might enjoy my other series, Not That Anyone Asked, where I wander into stories that are sometimes less about the road and more about life itself

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