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The town of Gros Ventre was so far from anywhere that you had to take a bus to catch a bus.  At that time, remote locales like ours were served by a homegrown enterprise with more name than vehicles, the Rocky Mountain Stage Line and Postal Courier, in the form of a lengthened Chevrolet sedan that held ten passengers besides the driver and the mailbag, and when I nervously went to climb in for the first time ever, the Chevy bus was already loaded with the ladies' club heading home from an outing to Glacier National Park.  The only seat left was in the back next to the mailbag, sandwiched between it and a hefty gray-haired woman clutching her purse to herself as though stage robbers were still loose in the middle of the twentieth century.

-Ivan Doig,  Last Bus to Wisdom