A July 4 to forget

Perhaps the weather is an omen.

The sky has darkened. A storm is approaching. An American storm. Fierce. We are out on the open Montana roads heading to the city of Billings. Bruce slows the car to fight against the powerful crosswinds. They are scary. Then the rain comes in splatting frontal attacks. All the traffic has eased back. We seem to drive out of the storm but then mercilessly the road takes us back into it, out of it, into it…

And finally we reach Billings.

As we negotiate our way to our lodging,I’m feeling apprehensive. It seems to be a city depressed. There are street people on corners.

Our Best Western Plus Clocktower Inn seems to be in something of a tough neighbourhood. My requested room with a view is dismissed with the assurance that the allocated room has a window. We are directed to drive up and around and under a

carpark to a back alleyway where our room is on the second floor. We have to park outside and carry the luggage upstairs. Looking at the dodgy environment, we empty the car entirely and decide to make the most of things by doing a much-needed luggage reorg. The luggage is getting a bit out of control. We’ve been on the road for a month now. So, there are many trips up and down the stairs.

Yep, the room has a window. It looks over an access balcony, down on the alley and onto the roof of the next building. We keep the curtains drawn.

To get to the office, to the laundry or to

the breakfast, we have to walk the alley past a very smelly dumpster and through the covered carpark and around the corner. I don’t ever find the swimming pool. It is just too hard. The room itself, however, is spotless. The Internet is brilliant.

It is the eve of July 4. Everything is shut. Google suggests there are several restaurants around so we set out tentatively. At least the rain has stopped.

The first place is shut. A grimy old dero sitting outside asks for money. He is the only person on the street.

Then we turn into a street to find a noisy microbrewery restaurant with its patronage bursting out onto the footpath. It’s very bopping busy but I note that few of the tables have any food. A sign of slow service. Not

what we are seeking. There’s a wine bar next door. I poke my head in. No, it’s a bar. We are just heading away when a rotund man on his way into the premises turns and says that it has really good food, he recommends it. What do we have to lose? Bin 119 turns out to be utterly wonderful. A glass of crisp savvy for me and a pinot for Bruce. Great big American pours, too. And then the food. A seared tuna salad. Superb.

Billings has hope.

July 4 dawns.

We chose Billings because we thought, as the largest city in Montana, it would be sure to have a good Independence Day parade.

Goddamit. The Billings Independence Day parade is in

Laurel, a much smaller town - about 20 miles back down the highway.

Off we go.

The streets of Laurel are well lined with a waiting crowd.

Young and old are dressed in patriotic gear, red white and blue, stars and stripes…

We borrow some chairs from the pancake breakfast setup and wait with everyone else.

When the parade begins,

late of course, it is with heavily decorated official vehicles tooting horns and sirens - firetrucks and service vehicles. Then various organisations with decorated trailers. Lots of trailers and more trucks and cars and tractors and vans. Red, white and blue balloon decorations, people in red,white and blue, stars and stripes, shimmering bunting, flags, flags… There’s a mob with remote control tanks. There’s a mob

with jousting sticks.

Lots of people in red, white and blue throw lollies to the children. Lots of lollies. Lots. Where is the music? Where are the American drummers? Where are the baton-twirlers?

Not to be seen.

This parade has a darker feeling.

It is not about jubilant celebration of American liberty.

It is about fierce patriotism. Heroes.

Thus is it Homeland Security, Supporting our Troops, Respecting the Veterans, Thanking the Military…

It’s about troops, wounded vets, forces…

The Viet vets thunder past, flags waving from their shimmering, shiny, polished Harleys. There is even a float with huge photographs of all the locals who have died in service, The parade goes on for an hour. It is jerky with huge gaps, poorly marshalled.

Hunters and shooters are a high point, especially the taxidermist’s float. It is covered in stuffed dead deer. Happy Independence Day.

A priest in black walks behind a huge picture of Jesus.

Farm machinery. Local political candidates. Oh, look. Deloreans! A trailer draped in camouflage says "MASH- America’s Heroes, To Our Military, thankyou - Laurel Family Medicine".

I chum up with the woman standing beside me. She is lean and so heavily wrinkled, I really can’t determine her age. I learn that she is a grandmother of two, one of whom has Mosaic disease. “He’s a sweet little thing. He’s alive. We love him,” she says. She runs a convenience store on the edge of town. Always has.

She loves Laurel. City of Lights, she calls it. Apparently they have a Christmas parade for which

the shops all turn on their lights as the people pass.

I try to look impressed.

I am relieved when the parade finishes.

Where was the razzamatazz? Where were the young musicians and dancers?

This was vastly different from the spirited, snappy parades I am accustomed to in New Hampshire with their fabulous high school marching bands.I have always so looked forward to July 4. If this is a mirror of the mood of the conservative underbelly of the country, it is concerning.

My disappointment is leaden.

I’m so sad that only retail therapy can fix me.

Good old Walmart is open on July 4. I buy three pairs of knickers and a tank top realising that in this good consumerist deed I am truly celebrating spirit of America.