Cowboy Hospitality

God Bless Karl and Joyce Muri.  I was wallowing in self-pity and loneliness in a huge darkened church in Miles City--and doing a pretty good job of it--when big old Karl invaded my space.

"Where's the biker," he announced instead of asking.  "That would be me" I countered cautiously.  (When you don't know a soul in a desolate cowboy town, and you're wearing spandex, you learn to be cautious.)

"Why don't you come over to our home and sleep in a real bed."  I thanked him for his neighborliness and declined.  "Staying in the church is fine," I said.  I have  a couch over there and some blankets in the nursery."

He pulled out his repeater:  "Why don't you come over to our house and sleep in a good bed?" he said in that announcing instead of asking voice.  "We're just around the corner on Palmer Avenue."  This guy just doesn't give up I remember thinking.  Truth be known, I would rather have slept in a real bed after 60 miles bicycling into the wind in 90 degree heat for eight hours.  But I'm just not good at this hospitality thing.  I finally had the grace enough to receive his hospitality and away we went off to his house on Palmer Avenue.  "But only for a shower," I said.

Once I got over to the house to take a shower, big old Karl sprang his hospitality bear trap:  Joyce.  How do you say no to an energetic 98 pound woman who looks at you with her netted hair with such joy and welcome?  Exactly.  You don't.  "Why don't you just stay with Karl and me for the evening.  We've got an extra room and a fan already going in your room."

And so it came to pass in the year 2013 on the 13th day of July during the reign of Barack Obama, that Thomas Hall encountered a cowboy hospitality that just wouldn't take no for an answer.