If something catches my eye when I'm driving around, I'm one of those people who erches to a stop to explore.  No joke: Sometimes I read historical signs on the way to and the way back from destinations.  I also tend to ask people random questions.  Go figure, with my being a reporter and all.

It's amazing what you can learn about the area from old timers who, while laughing on the inside at your ignorance, are founts of information.

People had told me about the bar for months, so a week ago, when I drove past the Cleveland Bar, and it was open, I had no choice but to stop.

I was one of four people in the bar.  That number includes the bar tender, but not the hunting dog who lay in the doorway.

Disappointingly, the infamous pony was not present.  It must have been too early in the evening for him to make an appearance.

I saw area brands painted on the archways; heard about brandings taking place that weekend; was told that the aerator parked across the street spans 50-foot; discovered that there is a pub crawl guide for the state; learned that the actual bar used to be the fourth oldest in the state before the third oldest burned a few years ago; heard about the gentleman who, while drinking, ran his lawn mower into a telephone pole; and was told about how the town is in a tizzy because the school teacher is up and getting married.

Tidbits like those right there are important to my cultural education, I tell you.  It might sound like I'm making fun of what I was told, but that information and stories like it are part of the reason I love living in Montana so much.

Maybe my fascination had to do with the fact that I left the bar more than a little tipsy after a solitary drink.  And no, I was not driving.

I may have been there only long enough for a leisurely conversation and one stiff drink, but the atmosphere of the local institution was enough to make clear that a future trip to the bar is necessary — even without the pony present.