"You," he yelled, waving his hat at me. "Come over here."
"What's the problem?" I asked, not wanting to be hassled.
"Why in tarnation ain't you ridin' a horse, or drivin' a car, or anything besides that thar' bicycle?" he drawled, drunk as a skunk.
"I like to go slow and I don't have to feed my bike or put gas into it," I said, stopping in front of him.
"Well I'll be damned," he said, scratching his scruffy black beard, peppered with gray. "Ain't nothin' like it used to be. Well, I'll tell you what young fella'. I'm gonna' buy you a drink."
"I don't drink, sir."
"You don't drink?"
"Nope."
"Well, sir, would you set down at that bar over yonder and tell the Ugliest Man in Montana why you ride a bicycle instead of a horse?
"Who is the ugliest man in Montana?"
"You're lookin' at 'im and I'll prove it."
Even though he was drunk, he seemed interesting enough, so I walked my bike over to the bar he had mentioned. We walked into a log cabin that had stuffed animal heads on the walls, including grizzly bears, elk, moose, badgers, trout and geese. Traps, guns, bows and arrows rounded out the artillery that decorated the back of the bar. I wanted to sit down in one of the wooden booths, but he was intent on leading me to the bar. I quickly understood why. Up over the cash register was a large picture of a man with a rifle walking out of the woods dragging a bear. It was titled: "The Ugliest Man In Montana." The man was my newfound friend.
"That's you isn't it?"
He cocked his head as he rubbed the hairs growing off the top of his nose, "Shore 'nuff, it's me, that bear was one of the toughest fights of my life."
"You fought a grizzly?"
"It weren't but a few years back when I had to battle the meanest and hungriest bear in Montana. He was so big, that my ole friend Paul Bunyan wouldn't even come to help me."
