Checking my hair in the rearview, I cruise along the empty main boulevard of Crimson Ridge. The place is all twinkling lights and small-town charm, with a giant outdoor Christmas tree erected in the square. Festive cheer of grandiose proportions proudly greets me as I make my return for the first time in twelve months. My hometown. The sweetest little middle-of-nowhere-Montana winter destination, where nothing much happens, and the population is pretty much exclusively ranchers and cowboys.
