previous evening that there was an interesting looking diner called the 600 Club just a couple of blocks down that advertised homemade pie, so surely it had *some* merits worth investigating. When I walked in, I was treated to a charming small town diner scenario. I sat at counter because I love to, especially when I'm by myself. The first thing I noticed was how the pattern on the formica in front of me had been burnished away over the years from continual use. It made a wonderful organic splotch of light yellow peeking out from the faux wood patterning. Not dirty or ragged, mind you, just wizened and worn.As I looked over the menu, I noticed that the meat choices were bacon, sausage, ham and....SIDE PORK!!! Oh my gosh! "What is side pork?!" I asked the waitress eagerly! "Well," she asked innocently, "...do you like bacon?" I didn't burden her with listening to the bacon-on-a-stick song to prove my ardor, but I think she got the idea that I was a big fan anyway. I ordered up two eggs over easy with crispy hash browns and white toast to go with my nice big helping of side pork. I could hardly wait to see what would arrive on my plate!
I am here to tell you that I had a culinary orgasm sitting right there at that counter in Miles City, Montana. I slowly chewed mouthful after mouthful of the tender crispy pork, savoring the flavor much like a wine connossieur. I rhapsodized emphatically about the side pork to the waitress and begged her to tell me how it was made. She told me they started with uncured pork belly (the same cut used in bacon), sliced it about 1/8" thick, dredged it in seasoned flour and fried it up just like you would a pork chop. It had the meatiness of a good pork chop, the saltiness of cured meat and the meat to fat ratio of the perfect slice of bacon. My waitress had asked the fry cook to make it good and crispy since that's the way she liked it. I was in absolute heaven. 
After I floated out of the 600 Club on a cloud of porky pleasure, I got in my car and started driving west, parallel to the interstate, but on a small highway that snakes through a number of tiny little towns, some without even a gas station or grocery.
One town I passed by (Vananda) had nothing but a group of about six dilapidated old houses and this abandoned school building. It was apparently established in 1908 as a water stop on the railway, but fell into decline in the 20s when people realized farming in the area was just too difficult. Now it's considered a ghost town. I walked up to the door of the school building and peeked in. 
It looked intriguing, but I just couldn't muster the nerve to go in all by myself. Even the most intrepid urban explorers seem to agree on this point - poking around abandoned sites by yourself is risky. For the wise trespasser, it's considered a buddy sport only. I did find half a handle to an old rusted cap gun on the front stoop as a consolation prize. It was the perfect souvenir to carry away of that past tense place.
I spent most of the rest of the day meandering through a series of tiny townships, absorbing the realities and pleasures of living in remote and sparsely populated places. Every little town I passed through had it's own character. I spotted quite a few wonderful 50s era signs, many of which elicited a 180 in the middle of Main Street so I could snap a picture.
Above: Rough Riders Bar in Miles City, MT
.Left: A lawyer's office in Harlowton, MT. Notice that it's an old enameled gas station that the loosers have painted over, trying to disguise its identity (and true beauty).
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