When I started to become snarky simply at the idea of getting on the freeway, and my usual love affair with crowded urban sprawl started to make my skin crawl, I daydreamed of wide open spaces, crisp fresh air and clear blue skies. Then someone suggested a dude ranch in Montana as an antidote to my complaints of civilization’s chaos.

The next day someone hit my car, denting the hatch. This happened while it was parked at a restaurant en route to the mechanic to replace a taillight broken the week prior by teenagers playing with mall shopping carts. That same afternoon another driver dangerously accelerated in response to my blinker, and later I got a huge parking ticket. I started to think that maybe a sojourn to Montana, where cattle outnumber people 4 to 1, might be a good idea.

And this was how the three of us ended up at The Resort at Paws Up, a 37,000-acre ranch with 120 miles of trails, more than 60 horses, 300 head of cattle, several bison and a few Ankole-Watusis — a breed of cattle originally native to Africa — thrown in for good measure, along with activities for every taste, just 40 minutes from Missoula, Mont. Enticing us further, Paws Up was ranked the No. 1 family resort in 2016 by USA Today.

Paws Up concierge Frank collected us at Missoula’s small airport — which reminded me of Maui’s airport of my youth. For the ride, Frank gave us bottled water and homemade cookies: dark or white chocolate chip, and macadamia nut. I’m fairly certain it’s impossible not to love a man who arrives bearing warm cookies.

Driving on Highway 200, the first thing one notices is nothing. No cars, no traffic, no people. Eureka! Just a smooth, meandering highway with a few charming Sears catalog homes built in 1927 by the nearby lumber mill for its employees. There are also seemingly endless blue skies, several varieties of pine trees and the rushing Blackfoot River, named after one of the area’s native tribes, and made famous by Robert Redford in “A River Runs Through It.”

Arriving at Paws Up Reception Barn, we were soon greeted by Fenway, owners Nadine and Dave Lipson’s enormous, friendly Bouvier des Flandres, a Belgian herding dog, fashionably donning a Red Sox collar. We were then driven to Pompey’s Pillar, our ranch home in the Wilderness Estates for the next two nights. Best described as cowboy chic, it had three bedrooms and 3.5 bathrooms in 3,250 square feet, could easily sleep eight, and contained everything, including a huge deck with a hot tub. The house came with a Kia that we could zip around the ranch ourselves, or we could call for a ride to one of the restaurants or the many offered activities.

With a glass of wine, I stepped outside to take in the sublime surroundings, and heard a loud trill and simultaneous symphony of chirping. Looking up, I saw an ample woodpecker fly off. In one of the eaves was her brood of noisy babies waiting impatiently for hors d’ouevres. Concrete jungle this was not.

Carnivorous delight

Although we were already happy, it was time for happy hour, and so we headed to The Tank for the ranch’s signature drink, the Huckleberry Hound. Appearing like tiny blueberries, huckleberries — also called whortleberries — are a bit more tart, and a fantastic adjunct to enjoying this refreshing vodka-based cocktail.

As the sun set, we went to the outdoor dining pavilion, Pomp, where Torchon-caramelized squabs were devoured, followed by perfectly cooked Angus prime rib-eye steaks with blue cheese cream, so flavorful and tender that a knife was truly unnecessary.

Joining others at the nearby campfire, the waiter brought large trays of s’mores fixings. But these were no ordinary s’mores. On offer were mouthwatering bacon-infused marshmallows and the heavenly trifecta of Hershey’s, Reese’s or Butterfingers to linger on graham crackers. If they’d had these in Girl Scouts, I’d still be wearing green.

Saddle up, float away and eat again

Breakfast at Trough with huckleberry pancakes, farm fresh eggs and thick-cut bacon reminded me why I love breakfast.

At Wilderness Outpost we met up with Dustin, the horse manager who assessed our riding skills. Looking deep into Biscuit’s eyes before I mounted, we negotiated a quick contract — this caballus wouldn’t throw me off during our two-hour ride and I would let him live to trot again. We both kept our bargain, while Justin led us on a breathtaking ride surrounded by thousands of ponderosa, spruce and lodgepole pine trees. For music, a brook babbled, while ground squirrels that looked like Lilliputian-size prairie dogs constructed abodes aplenty. Cows and calves roamed nearby as we first trotted by, then galloped away.

Following lunch served outside, we drove to one of the river’s launching areas. Donning life vests, we hopped onto a float raft. It was similar to 1.0 river rafting, except the float raft “pilot” does all the work. Our job was to sit, enjoy the views — including deer and bald eagle sightings — get soaking wet as we traversed the rapids, and not fly overboard. It was employment I took very seriously.

As good fortune would have it, Australian celebrity chef Pete Evans was filming a PBS segment at the ranch’s Chuckwagon, where we feasted on elk steaks with morel mushrooms and haricots verts and Black Angus fillets with pineapple and leeks, reconfirming that I could never be a vegetarian. After dinner, ranch hands patiently attempted to teach us how to brand cows — practicing on split logs — and rope cattle, both of which are far harder than they look.

Tightrope to a cattle drive

After another great breakfast, we drove around the ranch, visiting its impressive equestrian center — the largest privately owned in Montana, skeet shooting area, go-cart track and several other camps, before ending up at Sky Line Aerial Adventure ropes course.

Decked out in helmets and harnesses, we commenced the hair-raising 10-platform tour with 22-foot drops and a 40-foot, exhilarating free fall. Without doubt, the rope climb to the first platform was the most difficult, though walking on metal tightropes while bear-hugging logs was a close second. The challenge was thrilling despite the realization that I would certainly be a military boot camp failure if I tried to join up.

After lunch, we headed back to Wilderness Outpost, for what would be the highlight of the trip — the three-hour cattle drive. Remounting Biscuit, I stealthily reminded him of our bargain. With 10 riders and three wranglers that glorious afternoon, we set out to gather the cattle and trail them to working corrals. Particularly enjoyable was learning how to sort cattle shoulder-to-shoulder to get them to the desired location, then trail them back to home pasture. Initially preferring to graze the high grass, Biscuit performed beautifully to my commands and “my” bovines blissfully bisected the pasture. Given this success, I was deeply disappointed not to see Billy Crystal and Jack Palance saunter by.

‘Glamping’ thankfully is not camping

For our final night, we moved to Creekside Camp, another section of Paws Up to experience the grandeur of “glamping.” Make no mistake, this is nothing even an Eagle Scout with an engineering degree could imagine. My tent, Salmon Fork, on Blackfoot’s Riverbank, was enormous at 600 square feet — far larger than my first apartment — and beautifully furnished with a heated mattress king-size bed, comfortable sitting area, and large, double-vanity bathroom with walk-in stall shower, separate WC and towel heaters. Outside, a furnished deck with an inviting hammock strung between the trees beckoned.

Dinner at the Creekside Dining Pavilion beside a roaring fireplace was a lovely group affair with Angus steak tacos and already cracked, colossal crab legs served by our ever-smiling butler, Kayla. Following dinner we returned to the campfire to perfect our s’mores samplings.

Walking the few feet to the pavilion the final morning, cotton-tailed bunnies scampered around, while rock chucks — yellow-bellied marmots — that resemble large ground hogs were engaged in colonizing capers. Breakfast of warm biscuits, homemade sausage gravy, eggs and yes, more thick-cut bacon, was consumed like I’d been fasting for days. Perhaps it was all that fresh air.

A quick drive to the guilt-assuaging fitness center was followed by a great massage at the ranch’s white-tented Spa Town facing panoramic, seemingly endless Montana vistas.

Just like Hugh Conway in “Lost Horizon,” I left the ranch feeling physically happy, emotionally satisfied and mentally at ease. Landing in the city, I eased my car onto the freeway, and realized restoration never felt so good.

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Julie L. Kessler is a travel writer, attorney and legal columnist based in Los Angeles, and author of the award-winning book “Fifty-Fifty: The Clarity of Hindsight.”