It was a simple misunderstanding. An out-of-towner without a clue, my friend's sister, Christie, was driving cross-country and asked if I lived anywhere near Whitefish, Mont. where she had apparently stopped for the night.

Sure do! I replied, thrilled for the change of pace and the opportunity to head north for an evening out. The problem, however, was that Christie wasn't in Whitefish after all. She was staying with some friends in Martin City - clear across the Flathead Valley.

Then it occurred to me. A stroke of genius. Martin City is at the gates of Glacier National Park. It's 6 p.m. - that's three hours until sunset - I had a plan that beat out any snooty Whitefish pub and would knock the socks off of every supposedly "cool experience" she'd had thus far on her month-long road trip. We'd grab some sandwiches and hit the road - you know the one, Going to the Sun.

Christie was tired from a day of driving, but agreed to accompany me to the top of the world, as long as she wasn't the one behind the wheel.

For a while, we were the only car on the road. We made our way along Lake McDonald, through the deep cedar forests in the shadows of Glacier's towering cliffs. We passed only two cars, a small black bear and a few animated chipmunks scrounging for dinner before reaching the Loop.

We talked about her trip, her favorite stops along the way. One thing was for sure, with a completed itinerary that included stops in the Badlands, Great Teton National Park and the Olympic Peninsula, Glacier had some scenic gems to compete with. Good thing there are no jewels I've ever seen that shine brighter than Montana's own.

Once we cleared the tree-line and began ascending into the heart of the majestic Crown of the Continent, conversation all but stopped. We uttered only an occasional instinctive "wow" or "oh, look!" as we bathed in the evening sun, pointing to endless waterfalls overhead and across the valley, seemingly appearing out of thin air at every opportunity.

A pair of big horn sheep trotted beside the car as we rounding the final turn before Logan Pass. Christie handed me the camera and with almost zero effort, I snapped a breathtaking silhouette of a ram against what can only be considered one of the most incredible backgrounds in the world.

We spent ten minutes at the top and hurried back to the car to catch the full effect of the sunset from further down the road.

Then the colors of the sky really began to ramp up the volume. I pulled the car into a small pullout, inching as close to the cliffs as I could comfortably get. We were surrounded in vibrant hues of yellow, pink and indigo.

Wildflowers were in full bloom along the stone wall - a recently constructed improvement to the engineering marvel completed in 1932.

"This is incredible," Christie said through the lens of her camera, grinning ear-to-ear.

"I know it is," I replied. "I love this place."