"Hike naked. It adds color to your cheeks."

-a popular idiom at Glacier

How to spend 24 hours of freedom? This a.m. I hopped on my bike to ride downtown here in St Mary, Montana, located immediately to the east of Glacier National Park. Went to the groovy Park Cafe & Grocer, where I downed a delicious mango-strawberry smoothie, a decaf coffee, and relaxed as I wrote out postcards, listened to old Bob Dylan songs playing overhead, and immensely enjoyed the lilt of fellow patrons' Canadian accents as they spoke of Alberta news.

Sue Clapsaddle and I seem to be on the same page when it comes to how we utilize our free time. Most of the team pile into the van and site see, some choose to hike as a group, others fly fish together. Personally I find it of the utmost importance to have solo adventures on these rare afternoons, time for reflection and recharge. In an hour or two I might mosey along a pleasant gravel path I noticed yesterday when we rolled into our campground; it leads to a cluster of aspens, and I imagine the scent of huckleberry dances with the wind. I'll take in the surrounding mountain ranges, try to file the image into my memory bank. Pray a little, think a little, read a little, nap a little. It's how I like to interact with the outdoors: quietly, respectfully.

What I appreciate about Glacier most so far, other than the given beauty of it, is the type of tourists it attracts. There are few Bermuda shorts-wearing, photo snap-happy, twenty-member families spilling out of mini-vans, like we saw firsthand in Yellowstone. Instead the visitors at GNP are gentler, less consumerist - or so they appear to me, anyhow. There are of course gift shops and info centers that sell collectors' edition shot glasses and magnets and t-shirts and "genuine" Indian blankets. But something's different. There are no floods of people, no crowds. And at Yellowstone, employees referred to various park features in a monotone tourguide manner. Here, rangers and locals seem to have personal connections with the area, as if they've developed a relationship with the land; so when they describe a particular river or suggest a certain trail, their animations and gesticulations lend me to believe they do in fact admire and adore this place. It's comforting somehow, to know that the park's caretakers and other residents feel responsible for its success and protection, not out of obligation but love.

The clock is ticking on my internet access time, so for now I'll sign off. Till Calgary, blessings to all...