A Concluding, Unscientific Postscript

I traveled like a turtle, moving slowly and carrying my home with me.

I was reminded that hills are just hills and wind is just wind. We breeze along when we can. We limp along when we have to.

I went outside my comfort zone and got comfortable there. Still, I'm glad to be home.

I ate. I ate a lot. I lost weight anyway.

BJ and I met a lot of people: vagrants, vagabonds, dropouts from society, an addict, a panhandler, hard-living people, hardworking people, a PhD, a precocious kid, farmers, ranchers, cooks, and servers. Most of them were kind to us.

We met people who have done long, self-contained bike rides; people who dream of taking a long, self-contained bike ride; and people who couldn't imagine themselves ever doing such a thing.

So many people wished us, "Have fun," and "Be safe."

We rode over mountains, through valleys, across rivers, through wheat fields, cornfields, forests, wetlands, deserts, prairies, open range, small towns, and large cities.

We saw countless railroad cars on hundreds of miles of track.

Blogging about this trip has been part of the fun. I'm grateful to everyone who has read this blog, and particularly to those who left comments or sent emails. Part of our morning ritual was to read, share, and chuckle over your remarks. Your encouragement helped to keep us going.

In my wife's office, there is a monthly meeting which always begins with an inspirational thought of some kind. They call it a "Higher Ground." Last month, the company's CEO was responsible for the Higher Ground. I was flattered to learn that, among other things, he read part of one of these blogposts. It was the post dated September 25, in which I related our nighttime difficulties with drunk boys, noisy neighbors, and an automatic sprinkler system. To that account he added this quote from G.K. Chesterton:

An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered; an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered.

It was a great adventure.

BJ was a good partner. We formed, for a while, a community of two, trusting, tolerating, and relying on one another. Frankly, I wouldn't have gone without a partner. BJ's different. I think he'll be fine out there on his own.

Anyway, thanks, Beej!

And thanks, especially, to Melanie who encouraged me to go and missed me when I did.

Stats and Superlatives

In 32 days I rode my bicycle 1932 miles for an average of 60.375 miles per day.

I rode in 7 states: Washington, Oregon, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Iowa.

Longest Ride: September 13, Havre to Malta, MT, 94 miles.

Shortest Ride: Septermber 20, 35 miles on the Enchanted Highway from Gladstone to Regent, ND.

Hardest Ride: the climb to Steven's Pass, August 29, day one.

Easiest Ride: Gladstone to Regent, ND, September 20.

Best Day of My Life: every day.

Worst Lodging: the hard luck RV Park in Kalispell, MT.

Best Lodging: the Badlands Ministry Bible Camp Retreat Center in Medora, ND. (Thanks again, Nathan!)

Weirdest Lodging: the Kountry Inn Motel in McLaughlin, SD.

Biggest Surprise: the lack of rain.

Second Biggest Surprise: homesickness. I didn't see that coming.

Nicest Surprise: a gift of baked goods from the cook/owner of the Midway Cafe in Canby, MN.

Best Meal: spaghetti with Prego Sauce and two cans of chicken breast meat; a can of green beans, and a can of pears for side dishes at Badlands Ministries. We ate in our pajamas while the rest of our clothes were in the wash.

Second best meal: medallions of beef over wilted spring greens and sauteed asparagus, and a glass of decent cabernet at Lunker's in Watertown, SD.

Best cup of coffee: a double espresso at the public library in Havre, MT.

Worst cup of coffee: the diner in Regent, ND.  It was worse than the stuff we made in camp.

Packing List

Here, in excruciating detail, is a list of the things I carried on my velocipedic saturnal:

ON THE BIKE: front and rear racks, handlebar bag, 4 panniers, 3 water bottle cages, 3 water bottles, headlight/flashlight, tail light, rear view mirror, bike computer.

ON MY BODY: jersey, vest, shorts, gloves, socks, shoes, watch, helmet, bandana, arm warmers, leg warmers.

IN THE HANDLEBAR BAG: wallet, glasses, pen, notepaper, compass, key for BJ's bike lock, lip balm, loose change.

SNACKS (in outer pockets of front panniers): usually 2 Clif Bars, 2 packets of Fig Newtons, 2 Rice Krisipie Treats.

ON TOP OF REAR RACK (secured with bungee net): dry bag containing sleeping bag, pajamas, thermal shirt; stuff sack containing self-inflating mattress, tent and rain fly, Buddy.

IN RIGHT FRONT PANNIER: rain jacket; warm jacket; extra plastic bags; toilet kit containing toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, soap, adhesive bandages, 4-ounce squeeze bottle of Dr. Bronner's liquid peppermint soap, small pair of scissors, nail clippers, comb, dental floss, antibiotic ointment, travel size deodorant (yes, I broke down and bought some); tool kit containing chain tool, spare link, cassette cracker, screw driver, 2 tire levers, 3 hex keys, small screwdriver, tire patch kit.

IN LEFT FRONT PANNIER: spare tire, walking shoes, 10 spokes with nipples, Swiss Army Knife, Leatherman multi-tool, spare tire, pump.

IN RIGHT REAR PANNIER: shirt, jeans, 2 pr. socks, stocking cap, bandana, glove liners, pack towel, iPad, tent pegs, 1 qt. Nalgene bottle.

IN LEFT REAR PANNIER: 2 pr. cycling socks, jersey, 3 pr. cycling shorts, nesting knife-fork-spoon, cook kit, clothesline, 10 clothespins, charger and cords for electronics, notebook, 1 qt. Nalgene bottle.

When I left BJ in Rock Rapids I gave him my pump, spare tire, cassette cracker, and cook kit.

My Daily Bread

Untold Stories

ONE

Barreling down the last descent before a steep climb into Cut Bank, BJ was making 44 mph. I was working the brakes and holding my speed at 40. A passing pickup truck blew its horn, a couple of short toots, not aggressive, not unfriendly. The driver made a gesture I didn't recognize. His hand at 90 degrees from his wrist, fingers toward the temple of his head, he wagged his hand back and forward. Thinking about it later, I decided it must be a Native American sign that means "crazy."

At least I hope that's what it means.


TWO

We stopped for lunch one day at a bar. The meat loaf special was actually quite good. When we were getting ready to leave I went into the men's room. It was a small men's room. There was essentially space for one person.

Almost immediately the door opened behind me. A deep voice said, "Hey, buddy."

I was startled. An adrenaline rush hit me. The old fight-or-flight reaction kicked in and there was no place to fly to. I turned around fast.

There blocking the doorway was a big guy with a goatee. He looked like the offspring of the union of a linebacker and a brick outhouse.

For a second I thought I heard banjos.

"I think you dropped these," he said holding my arm warmers out toward me.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a million. I appreciate that."


THREE

As I walked into a cafe for breakfast one morning, a local man greeted me.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Best day of my life!" He sounded as if he meant it.

"Really?" I asked.

"Every day," he replied.

End of the Trail

Today was the last day of my ride.

We stopped at the Calumet Inn again for breakfast. Our server was also one of the new (as of 30 days ago) owners. She was a frighteningly energetic young woman who had spent a year backpacking around the world. Taking on a historic hotel and restaurant seems a risky business venture but, if youth, energy, and enthusiasm count for anything she might just make a go of it.

Our route was predominantly south, into the teeth of the wind.

Just north of Luverne (where we had lunch) we stopped at a tiny wayside chapel built in 1963 by the Luverne Christian Reformed Church. Inside were pews to seat 6 people, racks full of devotional literature, and Gideon's Bibles for the taking. We signed the guest book.

Crossing into Iowa made the seventh state of this trip.

When we rode into Rock Rapids from the north we found a lovely city park with a designated campground. It's almost too bad we aren't staying there.

Almost.

BJ's wife Pam came to spend the night with BJ. I will ride back to Illinois with her tomorrow. I have a room to myself at the Four Seasons, Rock Rapids' only motel. The dark, quiet, and solitude are unfamiliar.

There is no longer a laundromat in Rock Rapids, but the motel owner did our laundry for a reasonable fee. So I have fresh clothes to wear home.

When I checked in the owner asked if I wanted a queen-size bed or, for ten dollars more, a king. I have been sleeping on an 18 inch wide self-inflating mattress for more than a month. A queen was just fine.

Although I didn't ride all the way home I have no regrets. I have traveled more than 1900 miles under my own power on a bicycle I assembled with my own two hands and tools. It has been a great adventure.

I have a few more posts in mind before I finish this blog. If you would like to follow BJ's progress you can find him on FaceBook as Bernard Fenwick.

Today's milage: 47. Trip total: 1932.

TXT MSGS

Melanie and I have been in daily contact during this ride. Among other things we have exchanged text messages about three times a day.

One morning when it was particularly cold she commented on the weather. I replied that it wasn't a great concern.

"We have warm clothes."

She texted back, "You are intrepid."

Intrepid is not a word I would ever have applied to myself but if it means that I have gotten up every day and pedaled my bike down the road regardless of the temperature or terrain, then I will accept it.

One Sunday evening I texted that I was sitting on the steps of a public library taking advantage of the unsecured Wi-Fi network inside.

Melanie texted, "You are resourceful."

I'll take resourceful. When I left on this trip I figured that BJ and I had the resourcefulness to deal with whatever might arise.

Resourceful and intrepid. I guess those are good qualities to have if you want to do a self-contained bicycle tour.

And, oh yeah, my mom says I'm cool, too.

Minnesota Nice

This morning we had breakfast at the Midway Cafe in Canby. Our server, Sherri, apologized for the cook. Not his cooking (which was excellent) but his happy whistling in the kitchen.

"He whistles all the time but he owns the place."

"So you can't say anything," I added.

"Well, we have church in here once a week and I shush him during the sermon."

When I went to wash my hands, the cook came out and gave BJ a foil packet with two slices of freshly baked herb bread "for later."

"If you don't tell your friend you won't have to share."

The cook/owner told BJ that he was stationed at San Diego when he was in the Marines.

"I used to ride my bike all the time to San Francisco and L.A."

He envied us our adventure.

When BJ went to wash his hands, the cook came to the table again and gave me a foil packet with a slice of freshly baked sour cream-cinnamon coffee cake.

"This is in case you friend doesn't share," he said.

When we got to camp this evening we both shared and the baked goods were delicious.

We rode a hard 60 miles today against the wind and were glad to put the tent up at the Pipestone RV Camp, a pleasant campground in Pipestone, MN. We rode down into the Pipestone National Monument before dinner at the Calumet Inn in historic downtown Pipestone.

Trip total: 1885 miles.

3 Maidens at Pipestone National  Monument

Downtown Pipestone

Can this be Canby?

We washed up in the men's room before we left camp this morning. A man came in and greeted us jovially.

"So there's those two crazy idiots," he said.

We owned that we were.

He was from Illinois, near Peoria.

"What brings you to South Dakota?" we asked.

"I'm here looking for work," he said. "I got two job offers yesterday."

I don't know if it's a sign of economic recovery, but it accounted for his buoyant mood.

He was familiar with Dixon.

"I played in chess tournaments there when I was in high school."

We stopped for breakfast at the Stockman's Family Restaurant next to the sale barn. I bought a couple of "home made" date-filled cookies for the road. They were more like small pies than cookies. (Most people who know me also know that I believe a cookie is defined by the presence of chocolate chips). We ate them when we took a break 15 miles down the road. Cookie or pie, whatever they were, they were good!

BJ's rear tire went flat by the time we stopped in Castlewood. His cash boot had finally given out after a few hundred miles. I offered to let him use my spare again "even though I know you won't take it." He didn't. But it makes the story better.

We stopped at Clear Lake hoping for lunch but Kathy's Korner Kafe was, shall we say, "klosed?" A handwritten sign on the door said "Back by 4:00." It was 2:45, so we made due with sandwiches from the Cenex store.

From Clear Lake to the state line, the shoulders of Route 22 sported tarry, freshly-milled rumble strips. How freshly-milled? We saw the equipment used to make them returning toward Clear Lake. Happily, they left us plenty of ridable shoulder.

At the Minnesota line our shoulder ran out but the lanes were wide and the traffic light. We stopped at Casey's for information when we reached Canby.

"Is there a place in town where we can put up a tent?"

The clerk thought for a long moment.

"The campground," he said, making it sound like a question.

"Where's that?"

Again he took a long pause.

"You take a right at the corner and go down that street a little way."

"About how far is that?"

"Oh," he said, "about half a block."

It was closer to a full block, but I'm picking nits. The information was sound.

Our tent is up in the city park. We have running water and a place to plug in our electronics. No shower, but that's OK.

We are eating dinner at P.K. Egan's, a pizza and pasta joint named for a fictional tailor. There are framed pieces of velocipedic stitchery on the wall.

Minnesota is the sixth state of this journey. I think Montana was four of them.

Today's mileage: 63. Trip total: 1825.

 

Webster to Watertown

I had a good night of sleep in the Webster city park. It was quiet and I pulled my stocking cap down over my eyes to block the lights.

We were awake before construction started on the new pool for the day.

Webster's has a Casey's General Store, the first we've seen since this trip began, a sign that we are closer to home.

We took State Route 25 south out of Webster to Route 20. The day warmed quickly. The sun was bright. The winds were mild and mostly favorable. It made for an easy day of cycling.

We saw more waterfowl today including Canada geese, and, I think, coots, and a pelican.

Today's distance was a short 48 miles to Watertown, but there isn't much else in striking distance. The last few miles into town were along a pretty, paved bike path.

We have made camp in the Lake City Park campground on the shores of Lake Kampseka. I'm looking forward to my shower and shave and a good night of sleep.

I'm writing this post after a truly yummy meal at Lunker's, a fine restaurant by the lake just less than a mile from our campsite.

Trip distance: 1762 miles.

Making camp in Watertown

Still More Secrets

On a bicycle tour it is important to trim your fingernails short because it is impossible to keep them clean.

Headlights make a car much more visible even in the daytime. "Lights on for safety" works.

On cold mornings, warm air hand dryers make effective hand warmers.

A diner that will not let you charge your lunch will probably let you charge your cell phone if you ask.

You don't really need a shower every day. Most people either do not notice or are too polite to say anything.

One for Ripley's, or, Slouching Toward Webster

Last night at Melgaard Park we set up camp beside a picnic table. We sort of knew that it was not technically a part of the tent camping area but hoped to get away with it. The grass was lush and green. The tent pegs pressed into the ground easily.

Shortly after dark a couple in a large fifth wheel trailer pulled into camp, our only neighbors for the night.

Around midnight we were awakened by the sounds of three or four teenaged boys, probably drunk, definitely loud, playing on the swings.

About the time they finally quieted down, the automatic lawn sprinklers came on, spraying one side of our tent and telling us definitely that we were not in the designated tent camping area and we were not going to get away with it.

Had we pitched the tent just five feet farther over, just where we had locked up our bikes, the sprinklers would have missed us. We waited between passes of the sprinkler and moved the tent and all of our gear into an officially sanctioned place.

Some time before dawn our neighbors in the trailer left. Loudly.

It was not the restful night I had hoped for.

Yes, I just ended that sentence with a preposition. I didn't sleep well last night. Sue me.

Before we left Aberdeen this morning we tried several stores looking for gas canisters for BJ's stove. We finally found them at, believe it or not...

Wal-Mart.

Immediately east of Aberdeen, we encountered a 9-mile long construction zone. Route 12 skinnied down from 4 lanes with a median and wide shoulders to 2 lanes of "head to head" traffic (meaning no median). But we still had our wide shoulder. So we were happy.

We stopped for lunch at Groton and 10 miles later at Andover (population 99) for a potty break.

BJ took off his tights outside the Andover Bar and Grill while I went inside. The place was neither clean nor well-lighted but it did have cold Gatorade and a men's room. I bought two Gatorades, sipped on one of them and set the other on the bar for BJ.

The bartender, a large man with a gravel voice, was the only person in the place.

"Where you heading?" he growled.

"Illinois eventually. Webster for the night."

"All uphill to there."

"I didn't want to hear that," I sighed.

He laughed.

I was in the men's room when BJ came into the bar. He was followed by another patron who greeted the bartender by asking, "Think this is all the walk-ins you'll get today?"

The bartender opined that there might be one or two more before closing.

Closing is at 2:00 a.m.

The bartender did not lie. We climbed all the way to Webster. The cold northeast wind sometimes opposed but never favored us.

We slogged along observing the signs of drought. Creek beds were desiccated, small ponds dry, and larger ponds receded far from their parched banks.

Still there was some water and we saw plenty of waterfowl. I recognized loons, egrets, and herons. There were many ducks that I couldn't identify. And is possible that I saw anhingas?

Webster has a free overnight camping area but our investigations showed that it has no restrooms. We rode up to City Hall and got permission to camp in the city park instead. Earlier a work crew was busy digging a new civic swimming pool. They have all gone home now and the park, though brightly lit, is fairly quiet.

We rode 55 miles today. Trip total: 1714.

The Waldorf in Andover

Different Goals Yield Different Results

From the start BJ's goal has been to ride from Seattle to Bloomington, Indiana for the Hilly Hundred, a two-day invitational bike ride beginning on October 20. Each year they give an award for the person who rides the most miles to the Hilly. BJ wants to win.

My goal has been different. I don't have the time to ride all the way to Bloomington. What I have told people all along is "One way or another, I have to be home by October 2."

We looked at the maps and did a little figuring and it doesn't look like I will get all the way to Dixon on my own power. The problem does not reside in my body or my bike. The calendar is just running out.

We left Rte 12 for a while this morning, going east out of Selby to Java. Not much to see there except an old Lutheran cemetery. Then we cut south back to Rte 12.

We stopped for lunch in Ipswich. BJ, who lived in England for a while, pronounces the name of this town "Ippish." The locals and I say "Ip-switch." One of said locals told us, "We're kind of hurting for restaurants around here." Our choices were Subway or the truck stop deli. We opted for the latter.

When we left the truck stop BJ discovered that his front tire was flat. He repaired it and we traveled on...

...for about four miles before the tire went flat again.

When BJ flatted in Regent, I offered him my spare. He refused it and cash booted the tire. When he flatted in Ipswich, I offered the spare again. Again BJ declined. When he flatted the second time today, BJ finally accepted my offer.

It was a warm day and tailwinds carried us all the way to Aberdeen, which is, I believe, the largest metropolitan area we've seen since Seattle. It is large enough to have a good bike shop (Gearhead Bikes) where BJ bought a new pair of tires. He replaced the front tire and returned my spare with only a few miles on it. We also bought some fresh tubes and tire levers.

Somewhere along the way BJ lost a piece of his tire pump. Fortunately we both carry a pump and I, saint and all-around good guy that I am, shared mine.

Aberdeen has two city parks with designated campsites and (yay!) showers. We are staying on Melgaard Park where it is dark and, if the traffic on Melgaard Avenue dies down, may be quiet.

Today's ride: 91 miles. Trip total: 1659.

'Cross the Wide Missouri, Again

Last night we tucked a rolled-up rug against the door jamb and stuffed a towel under the window air conditioning unit to stop the drafts in our motel room. We slept snug and warm in our sleeping bags.

This morning as we left McLaughlin, a familiar pick up truck came behind us blowing its horn. The driver called out the window as she rolled past.

"Did you leave the key in the room?"

"Yes!"

"Thank you!"

"Thank you!"

We rode hills today. Long 20 mph descents were followed by unending climbs at 8 or 7 or 6 mph. On one hill my speedometer read 3 mph.

Clever reader that you are, you are probably thinking "3 mph? That's a walking pace!" You have guessed our secret. It was a good day for a walk.

Prairie dogs barked at us from their town beside the road.

As we have progressed east we have seen huge fields of sunflowers. They would have been pretty a few weeks ago but now the flowers are played out. The seed heads are drooping in anticipation of harvest.

We have also seen more and more cornfields among the acres of wheat.

We crossed the Missouri River again heading into Mobridge. It is wider here,, probably 3/4 mile across.

After lunch and an unsuccessful search for a gas canister for BJ's stove we continued on to Selby where we are spending the night in the City Park. Selby boasts that it has been the home of two of South Dakota's governors, George T. and George S. Mickelson.

My drivetrain was making an ugly squeaking noise today. The chain, cogs, chainrings, and derailleur pulleys were filthy. There was no surprise in that after a month on the road. I bought a new toothbrush when we got to Selby and used the old one to clean my drivetrain. A few drops of fresh oil and the squeak was fixed.

Tonight we got the distressing news that BJ's mother has been hospitalized. We will see what that means for the rest of our ride. She is in my prayers.

Today's mileage: 55. Trip total: 1568

Update: BJ's mom is, as of this posting, on her way home from the hospital.

The Server's Tale

The pilgrims stopped for lunch at the Grand River Cafe in Mobridge. The server told them this story:

"A few years ago, it must have been five or more, a big bike ride came through this town. They were following the Lewis and Clark Trail. There were over a hundred bicyclers like you. They were camped out in the city park and the library was open for air conditioning.

"Oh, my! And was it ever hot!

"There were people from town serving them hot dogs and ice cream and stuff in the park but it was too hot and they all wanted to come over here. They were lined up all around the building. We had to call in another cook and an extra waitress. It was crazy in here.

"We served them all the food we had and if I set anything down and turned my back it just disappeared like that.

"And malts! They all wanted malts..."

"Ooh!" the pilgrims said in unison "You have malts?"

"Not any more," the server said.

Not A Boring Ride Report

I thought this was going to be a boring ride report. A wind blowing primarily from the north kept us chilled all day but did little to hamper our progress. We have been on the Standing Rock Reservation most of the day. We rode 71 miles to McLaughlin under clear skies. Trip total 1513.

That should have been it.

We stopped for lunch at McIntosh. The server said that she had seen our tent in the city park at Lemmon. When we asked what we might find in McLaughlin we were told:

A) We did not want to camp in the city park. "They want to have some gangs in McLaughlin." (I could not verify this information but wanted to take a room for the night anyway. It had been too many days since my last shower and shave).

B) The Prairie Dog Cafe in McLaughlin had good food.

C) There was a motel in McLaughlin. The owner had been remodeling it all summer.

We found the motel at the edge of town. It was clearly still being remodeled. A dumpster full of construction debris was parked in the middle of the yard. An electric sign in the office window read "OPEN" in an inviting manner. There were two hand printed signs on the locked door. One said, "Please Ring Doorbell." The other said, "If You Have Any Questions Please Call..." and listed two phone numbers.

Ringing the doorbell produced no results. BJ called the first number. He got a recording to the effect that the number was no longer in service. He called the second number. The owner answered on the fourth ring. He was in Mobridge and was entirely unhelpful.

We went to the Cenex station to see what we might learn. The teenaged clerks there didn't know much.

We tried the Prairie Dog Cafe, hoping at least to get a meal. It is closed on Saturdays.

We talked to a local resident on the street. He hadn't a clue where we might lodge, didn't know if camping was allowed at the park, and told us that the Cenex station was our only chance for food on a Saturday night in McLaughlin.

I asked him where the Lutheran Church was thinking that I might call the pastor and beg for help. He pointed us around the corner and, as I started to ride up the street, a pickup truck came along behind me blowing its horn. I assumed that the horn was a comment on my riding and kept going as far as the corner. When I looked back I saw BJ talking to the driver.

She said, "You want a room?"

BJ answered, "We were hoping to stay at the motel."

She said, "I have a key. Meet me there." Apparently the owner had sent her.

We are spending the night in a small, drafty, single room with no heat. We were able to take warm showers and got a shave. We have a roof over our heads and a flush toilet. We had subs at the Cenex station.

We're OK.

A Fix-it Upper

A Fortunate Flat

Regent turned out to be a pleasant place to spend a night. The city park was quiet. The public restroom on the main drag was surprisingly clean. We hit the Cenex store for breakfast and grabbed road food at the Co-op grocery.

Early yesterday BJ complained that his bike felt sluggish. I teased him that he was the sluggish one and we pedaled on. BJ was dragging, though, and kept lagging behind.

Last night in camp he went to air up his tires and found the back tire was down to 30 psi. Normally he keeps them at 80 or 90 psi. No wonder he was sluggish.

This morning he pumped up both tires before we started out of town on Rte 21. By the time we had gone 4 miles, he was down to 30 psi again. We stopped on the roadside to make the repair. BJ's rear tire was in about the same shape as the ones I replaced in Havre.

As BJ was finishing up the tire a farmer came by on his tractor.

"Do you guys need any tools or anything?" he asked. "I have lots of wrenches and stuff, metric and standard."

"We're okay," BJ answered. "It's just a flat."

"I'm sorry you have to fight these North Dakota winds," he said, as if he were personally responsible.

We talked for a few minutes more exchanging the usual "Where you from? Where you going?" information.

"Where are you heading for tonight?" he asked.

"Lemmon," I replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, once more as if it were his fault. "You're going the wrong way."

His wife was walking across the road about 20 yards away.

"Honey!" he yelled. "Point these guys which way Lemmon is."

She pointed the way we had come.

He said, "You came down the Enchanted Highway, didn't you? Everybody makes that mistake. The good news is you only went four miles out of your way."

He gave us the proper directions and we were on our way again. Once we were faced the right direction the winds favored us.

We took Rte 21 to Rte 8 and turned south until we reached US 12. After we crossed into South Dakota we lost our shoulder but the traffic volume was low and most of the drivers courteous.

By chance the first person we spoke to in Lemmon was the director of the Chamber of Commerce. She oriented us to the town, suggested a place to eat, and apprised us of our camping options.

"You can stay in the city park for free. I'll call the chief of police and let him know you're there. Or there is a little campground if you need a shower."

We investigated both places. The campground only cost $5.00 but it was small, ugly, surrounded by industry, and close to the highway. The shower was dirty.

We're staying in the park.

Downtown Lemmon has a strange, delightsome Petrified Wood Park. Rather than try to explain it, I refer you to the attached photos.

I told BJ that if we could find fuel for his stove I'd cook tonight. Neither fuel nor an alternative stove could be found. Supper was a rotisserie chicken and a variety of salads from the IGA.

It looks to be a cold night.

Today's mileage: 61.5 miles including navigational errors. But, hey, every mile counts. Trip total: 1442.

We'll walk up to the R Bar in a bit to post this using the free Wi-Fi.

Committee Reports

Chairman Brain called the meeting to order. He asked for reports from the five standing committees. "What have you learned in the last 1450 miles?"

SMELL

The Committee on Smell reported that, though they are sometimes unnerving, lumber trucks actually smell good when they pass. The same is true of hay trucks. Cattle trucks are another matter entirely.

HEARING

The Hearing Committee reported that headwinds are not only demoralizing to the entire body but also deafening. Tailwinds, on the other hand, both make pedaling easier and carry the sound of traffic approaching from the rear a long way.

Hearing further reported that sometimes, on long climbs, the only sound it hears is Brant's breathing. Chairman Brain noted that this is actually a reassuring sound.

SIGHT

The Committee on Sight presented its report in the form of a dialog.

Bartender in Gladstone: You boys must see a lot of cool stuff riding bikes.

Brant and BJ (riffing alternately): We see lots of road kill. Dead birds. Dead snakes. Dead deer. Plenty of broken glass. Bungee cords. Broken tie-down straps. Discarded toys. Nuts and bolts. Lots of hardware. America's cars are shaking themselves apart on the highways.

TASTE

The Taste Committee reported that food tastes better when the body is really hungry. Smell concurred.

TOUCH

The Touch Committee was not in attendance.

Chairman Brain took a point of personal privilege to state that long stretches of open road give Brant too much time to think. He suggested that, if there were no objections, the meeting be adjourned so that everyone could get a good night's rest and be fresh for the morning.

The meeting was concluded with the Lord's Prayer.

Time to think

Minimalism

Packing for this trip, I did a sort of triage. I categorized things as "Necessities," "Comforts," and "Luxuries." Necessities were packed without question. Comforts were given careful scrutiny. Luxuries were eliminated.

Before you ask, yes, Buddy was a necessity.

I estimate that I am carrying 40-50 lbs. of gear.

The three coast-to-coasters we met are even more minimalist than I am. They were riding with rear panniers, none on the front, and handlebar bags. Their tent was tiny and they seemed to be getting by with space blankets. People define "necessity" differently.

BJ started with about 70 lbs. of gear. He whittled that down by 5 lbs. or so when he ditched, among other things, an 8 inch adjustable wrench. I will confess that I have benefitted from BJ's penchant to carry too much stuff. I have used his spare cables, housing, and cutters.

On the other hand, BJ admits that we would have been OK without those things. We could have limped along until we found replacements.

I suppose that even my spare tire is a "comfort" rather than a necessity. When I had my blow-out, I could have cash booted the tire temporarily.

Cash boot? Oh, that's when you fold a dollar bill into a worn tire as a temporary patch.

The Enchanted Highway

Our accommodations last night were spartan even by city park standards. We had a pit toilet with no toilet paper.

We walked back over to the bar and had a cold bottle of beer and a pizza. When we told the bartender about the situation in the park she gave us a roll of TP.

This morning we ate snacks from our panniers and left Gladstone without coffee.

The road south from Gladstone is designated 100M Ave SW, though it changes names a number times. It is popularly known as the Enchanted Highway. Sculptor Gary Greff has erected several large, whimsical scrap metal sculptures at various intervals along this road between I-94 and the town of Regent.

In addition to the geese we saw yesterday there are grasshoppers, pheasants, fish, and Teddy Roosevelt on a rearing horse. The oldest of the sculptures is a tin family unveiled in 1991 The most recent is a pair of deer from 2006. Another sculpture is in the works.

We also stopped to look around Lefor, which seems well on its way to becoming a ghost town. Houses are run down and in disrepair. Curtainless windows suggest that some are no longer occupied. Yet this little town boasts a large, beautiful Catholic Church, in good repair and recently roofed. The ranch style rectory next door was well-kept. Its lawn trimmed and green.

We stopped in Regent for breakfast at about noon. We were served tepid water in a plastic cup and stale coffee. The club sandwich and ham-and-potato soup were serviceable. Conversation with the locals was pleasant.

The wind came up and we were both tired. The road ahead holds nothing more promising than what we've found in Regent, so we made camp in the city park.

We had a good ice cream cone at the Enchanted Highway Gift Shop. Later we'll hit the saloon for supper.

Today's mileage: a short 35 miles. Trip total: 1393.

 

Enchanted Highway Sculptures

Lefor Church

Medora to Gladstone

We left the luxury of the Badlands Ministries Retreat Center this morning, rumbling over two miles of dirt road before we hit pavement, crossing five cattle guards, and pushing our bikes up an 8% grade before we arrived back in Medora for breakfast. The Cowboy Cafe was packed. A petroleum conference was in town.

We saw Nathan, Larry, and Nancy for a few moments outside the restaurant and said goodbye to Nathan. We saw Larry and Nancy again for a few minutes at Theodore Roosevelt National Park where I finally saw Emily, who works as a ranger there.

We started on I-94 again. After Medora, traffic increased in volume and aggressiveness.

There is an oil boom in the area of Williston. Gooey crude is being taken out of the ground by any available means: pumping, surface drilling, fracking. With the boom has come a quantum increase in traffic. Thousands of trucks haul oil to the distant refineries. According to a guy we talked to in Wolf Point, a 24-hour traffic volume study on Rte 2 at Williston counted 2700 vehicles. Betty at the Green Valley RV Park spoke of half hour long waits at stop signs in the area. I can't vouch for either of these sources, but their force as anecdotal evidence is strong.

Adventure Cycling used to recommend Rte 2 through Williston as a part of their Northern Tier route. No more. Speeding oil trucks and an 8 inch shoulder have led them to reroute bicyclists.

Do I need to say that we gave Williston a wide berth?

The traffic we saw today on I-94 was the edge of Williston's oil traffic.

We stopped to buy snacks at Don's Convenience Store in Belfield. A pair of guys in jumpsuits with FracTech patches were there at the same time The clerk (Don?) had helpful advice.

"Stay off of 85. That's suicide highway. Lots of accidents. Don't take 10. It's under construction with lead cars and all. If I were you I'd get back on 94 to South Heart, then get on Old Route 10 through Dickinson."

We did as instructed with good results.

Northwest winds blew along at 26 mph. As long as we went south and east we made good progress. The few times we turned north were painful experiences. Like riding into a wall.

After Dickinson Old 10 turned into a scenic byway. So it was billed, anyway. We took this road to 100M and turned south toward Gladstone. We stopped to visit the world's largest scrap metal sculpture at the I-94 overpass.

Tomorrow we plan to head south from Gladstone on the "Enchanted Highway" where many of the same artist's other works can be seen.

Gladstone doesn't offer much. We had bar food for supper. We're camped in another city park. We'll eat snacks from our panniers for breakfast. No coffee in the morning (a circumstance for which I hold BJ entirely responsible. Further I reserve the right to grouse over it at great length.)*

We rode 59 miles today. Trip total: 1358.

*I'm not serious. Well, not very serious.

The world's largest scrap metal sculpture

Emily

Last night as we sat in the rocking chairs on the deck of the retreat center, Nancy, Emily's mother, mentioned that Emily was giving a tour of "the cabin" today.

The Maltese Cross cabin was Theodore Roosevelt's ranch house when he stayed in North Dakota. It has been moved several times but now resides permanently in Theodore Roosevelt National Park at Medora.

"I want to go on the tour," Nancy said, "but Emily thinks it would make her nervous."

After breakfast at the Cowboy Cafe in Medora, BJ and I went over to the park. I wanted to say "hi" to Emily before we left town. The ranger at the reception desk said that Emily had just started the tour.

"You can join it," she said and pointed us in the right direction.

Larry and Nancy were already with the tour, of course. And if that wasn't enough to unnerve Emily, her gooball uncle-in-law and his biking buddy showed up in the middle of it all wearing cycling clothes.

Emily is, among many other good things, a trouper. She carried on beautifully in spite of any pressure applied by her family, immediate and extended. In fact, she gave a highly informative and whimsically entertaining talk about Teddy Roosevelt, his cabin, and the influence of his time in North Dakota on his life and career.

It was a good tour. More than that, it was good to see Emily whom I care for so very much
.

Emily

Glendive to Medora

When we looked into possibilities for a campsite in Glendive we learned:

A.) that the KOA campground was defunct, the land taken over by a big new motel;

B.) that the city park might or might not allow camping;

C.) that the state park had camping, but did not offer showers, and it was on the wrong end of town for our purposes; and,

D.) the Green Valley RV Park had showers.

We opted for Green Valley. We should have gone to the state park. Green Valley RV Park caters not to tourists and recreational RVers so much as people who live in trailers while locally employed. In other words, it's not really a campground. It was loud and too close to the interstate and not far enough from the work crew that was putting in late hours repairing the railroad tracks.

Our near neighbors had a little campfire beer fest going and some of the revelers parked a truck what seemed like inches from our tent.

When the festivities eventually subsided we were able to drowse off but we were awakened several times by the squeaking door of the trailer being opened and one of its occupants coming out to hork up and noisily expectorate apparently huge globs of snot.

But we survived. And we did get showers.

We stopped for lunch in Wibaux, the last town in Montana. A local "gentleman" (as the chatty clerk at the little grocery store described him) has decorated the town with a number of large metal folk sculptures. I posed my bike next to one by the grocery store. We ate lunch beside another in the city park.

Soon after Wibaux we finally left Montana behind and entered North Dakota. We biked along the wide shoulder of I-94 through otherworldly landscapes and striated badlands. The wind favored us.

Riding the interstate was not so unpleasant as you might imagine. Traffic volumes are low and motorists polite. Semis and RVs even gave us a friendly toot of the horn and a wave.

At the edge of Medora we stopped at Chimney Park, the site of the old De Mores Beef Packing Plant (destroyed by fire in 1907). I called my nephew, Nathan. He was in the car, showing the sights to his visiting in-laws, Larry and Nancy. He said he would be in Medora in about a half hour. So we stopped at a side-street coffee shop for Scotcheroos and espresso. We sat on the porch and chatted with Doug, one of Medora's 60 residents and 37 registered voters.

Many of Medora's shops have "Closed for the Season" signs in their windows.

After coffee with Doug, we went to the Medora Convenience Store to buy a few groceries. By chance Nathan, Nancy, and Larry were just pulling in as we arrived. Nathan was kind enough to transport our groceries out to Badlands Ministries Bible Camp where we are spending the night.

If there is any disappointment to this day it is that I didn't get to see Nathan's wife, Emily.

Hilly is too mild an adjective to describe the road back to the camp. BJ shifted to his smallest chainring and threw the chain into the space between the crankset and the bottom bracket of his bike, a condition cyclists call "chainsuck." It took a while to get rolling again. When we did, the road turned to gravel.

It wasn't easy to get to camp but it was worth the effort. The place is beautiful and the facility we are staying in luxurious.

We rode 74 miles today for a trip total of 1299.

 

 

 

Wibaux Bike Sculpture

 

 

 

 

 

Another Wibaux Sculpture

Over Half the way home!

Chimney Park

Nathan

Nathan H. Clements is my nephew and godson. He is also (and I say this without undue bias) a fine human being.

Nathan is the program director for Badlands Ministries Bible Camp, 4 miles south of Medora, North Dakota.

Nate called a couple of weeks ago and extended the invitation for BJ and I to come visit the camp.

Tonight we are staying in the spanky new (opened in October 2011) retreat center. We are, literally, the only people here.

We used the kitchen to prepare a meal for ourselves. It is amazing how delicious a box of spaghetti, a jar of Prego sauce, two cans of water-packed chicken breast, and a can each of pears and green beans can taste. We found a little shredded cheese and a pat of butter in the fridge to season our meal.

Nathan also authorized us to use the laundry and we have washed literally every item of clothing we brought along.

Thanks, Nathan!

The Routine

Life on this journey has become a routine:

Break camp. Eat. Ride. Eat. Ride. Make camp. Shower, when possible. Eat. Blog. Sleep. Wake up in the night to do that which good hydration requires. Sleep some more. Get up and start again.


Photos by Joey.

Circle to Glendive

We added about a mile to today's route by starting out of Circle toward the west. It didn't take us long to discover our mistake and the little detour allowed us to visit the museum in Circle or at least to see the concrete sculptures of dinosaurs, Native Americans, and Sen. George McCord in its yard.

We spotted another pair of antelope alongside Montana Rte 200S. BJ took their picture. The electronic shutter sound sent them racing away from us.

We sat beside the road to eat the ham and cheese sandwiches that we bought at the Mini Mart before we left Circle.

Tonight we are staying at the Green Valley RV Park in Glendive, MT. A young woman sitting in front of her trailer has been singing off key renditions of the songs on her iPod. The park is a little seedy but the shower was hot.

This should be our last night in Montana. Tomorrow we're making for Medora, ND.

We rode 55 miles yesterday and 60 today for a ride total of 1225 miles.

Dinosaurs

Sen George McCord

Lunch Stop

I'm Bound Away 'Cross The Wide Missouri

The first local person we met in Wolf Point yesterday was a panhandler named Terrence. He asked where we had started our travels.

"Seattle," we said.

"Seattle?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Do you know how f___in' far that is?"

He got a dollar from each of us. It was probably worth it for the laugh.

We crossed the Missouri River this morning. It wasn't so wide, really, maybe a quarter mile across.

As we pedaled south, the sky ahead of us was dark and foreboding. We stopped at the end of a driveway at the top of a hill to put rain covers on our panniers. I stowed Buddy in a pannier and put my rain jacket on top of my rack. All of this was a precaution.

It seems to have worked. We rode over wet pavement and got spattered by a few raindrops, but mostly the storm missed us.

We stopped briefly to stretch at Sand Creek Road. A pickup truck turned in at the intersection. The driver rolled down his window.

"Lost?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

"Well," he said, "it's a good place to be lost."

We stopped for the night in Circle. The restaurants are all closed, so we went to the grocery store to buy food to cook in camp.

While I stowed groceries in my bags, BJ went into the Mini-Mart to get some information about the town. The clerk, Heather, told him we could camp in the city park.

"There's a sign there that says 'No Overnight Camping.' Ignore that. That's for RVs who don't have their own tent. We want them to go to the RV park. Bicycles and motorcycles who have their own tent can camp there. If anybody gives you a hard time, tell them Heather at the store said it's all right."

So far the only person to give us a hard time was Joshua, a preternaturally self-confident young man of about 10 years of age. Joshua and his friend Chance were playing in the park while we were eating dinner. Joshua strode up and sat down at our picnic table.

"I see you guys are camping out," he said. "Are you homeless?"

We assured him that we were not homeless, just taking a bicycle trip. He told us that his mom works at the Sheriff's office and that he was on his way there next. He shook our hands when he left.

I think it is safe to assume that the sheriff knows we are camping in the city park.

Jesus Has Low Standards

Back at the Sweet Memories Ice Cream Parlor this morning we enjoyed some of Leona Knutson's egg bake, huckleberry bread, and cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I used the rest room before we left.

Over the sink is a mirror etched with the saying, "This is the face of someone Jesus loves."

Looking at the reflection of my sunburned, road ravaged, unshaven face I thought, "Jesus has low standards."

There may be a sermon in that.

This morning's tailwind turned against us this afternoon. It was a long 81 miles to Wolf Point. Trip total 1110 miles. Tomorrow we turn south.

About five miles from town, a familiar blue Metro tooted its horn as it went by. Our friend Joey stopped and took more pictures. He attended a rodeo in Canada yesterday and spent the night at the border, sleeping in his car. Apparently the border closes at 9:30 p.m.

By the way, BJ found his bandana. It wasn't stolen after all and I owe an apology to the birds of Havre, MT.

We took a room for the night again. It will be good to sleep indoors in a real bed.

I talked with Melanie for a while. I miss her.

Pete and Doug

We met Pete and Doug at a rest area 15 miles out of Hinsdale this morning. They are traveling in a 1991 Mazda Miata and, in Doug's words, "having a ball."

Doug mentioned that he spent some time "hoppin' freights" a few years ago and wrote a book about it.

"What's the title of your book?" I asked.

"Good Company: A Tramp Life" was the answer.

It turns out Doug is Dr. Douglas Harper, a PhD sociologist from Duquesne University.

Pete knew of Dixon. He comes through our area from time to time to see his friends at Prinz Racing in Sterling.

Oh, yeah, Pete is Pete Egan, columnist for Road and Track magazine.

Pete and Doug are traveling together, revisiting some of the sites from Doug's book and working on an article for Road and Track.

They were both interested in our travels and told us of their own cycling experiences. Nice guys. They seemed to be having a lot of fun.

As we rode out of the rest area, Doug snapped pictures.

"You guys will be in Road and Track!" he called.

Maybe we will. Wouldn't that be cool?

Even if we aren't it was fun to meet these guys.

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

Last night, in our mosquito-infested campground, as the sun was going down, I put a fresh tire on my front wheel. This morning, in the cold light of day, I inspected the old tire. The rubber was a bit thin in spots. It is good to have fresh skins on both wheels and a spare in the boot.

The map showed what looked like a good detour. A mile or so out of Malta, old Rte. 2 went a little south past the Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge. It would get us off the highway for 20 miles or so and might show us some scenery.

Five miles down that road the pavement ran out. For the next twelve miles we struggled to pick a line through dirt, rocks, sand, and stutter bumps. There were a few patches of old asphalt remaining that provided too-short relief. We came to the one intersection shown on the map. Ahead, a sign said "Road Closed." We turned left and took more gravel road back to Rte. 2.

Let's just say it was dumb.

On the plus side we did see a beaver swimming in the marsh beside the road.

A half mile from that intersection we stopped to see the Sleeping Buffalo Rock, sacred to Native Americans. The rock is surrounded by a wooden fence to which many pieces of cloth and bundles of herbs are tied.

Shortly after we stopped a full size pickup of no recent vintage pulled in. There was a border collie in the bed. The driver wore an official looking patch of some kind on his sleeve. He watched us for a while before he shut off the engine. He stayed in the truck and continued to watch until I threw my leg over the top tube to get started down the road again. Then he started the truck up. He passed us a short time later.

I'm thinking he was one of those to whom the rock is sacred. I'm thinking that he was watching to be sure we did nothing to desecrate it. We wouldn't, of course, but he didn't know that.

I can't blame him.

Out here on the road, we lose track of the news. Mostly, that's OK. I don't miss the political ads and mudslinging. I was surprised, though, when we stopped for lunch at Saco. A TV in the cafe showed the ceremony honoring the Americans killed in the attack on the Libyan embassy.

I didn't know.

The news is sad and frightening. This troubled world needs peacemakers and prayers. God help us.

We have made camp for the night in the city park at Hinsdale, a pleasant little community with a good ice cream parlor called Sweet Memories where I am currently drinking coffee, charging my electronics, and using the Wi-Fi. Camp has pit toilets and water from a spigot. It will do nicely, I think.

Today we made 43.5 miles or so. That makes a trip total of 1028.5 miles.

Sleeping Buffalo Rock

Havre to Malta

Our campsite was robbed in the night. I suspect it was a bird that flew off with BJ's bandana. While a nest somewhere in the vicinity of Malta is now warmly lined with cotton, BJ was left with nowhere to blow his nose.

BJ stopped at a Western store to replace the purloined kerchief while I rode to the Post Office to claim my tires.

"I have a package for you," the postal clerk said when I walked in. Her co-worker had alerted her that a guy in bike clothes was looking for a General Delivery package.

We rode out of Havre and left the Bear Paw mountains behind us.

We stopped for lunch at Harlem. There we met up with three cyclists on their way to Boston.

One of them rides with a little stuffed moose named Logan.

The three are younger and faster than we are. They are also carrying less gear. They will easily outdistance us in the coming days, but slow and steady wins.

We covered 94 miles today under sunny skies with a nice tailwind. Trip total 983 miles.

We are spending the night in the Malta City Park. Free camping with no showers.

We made the paper today:  Sauk Valley Media article

Riding between Havre and Malta, photo by Joey

Joey

Joey Gonzales is on a mission. The goals are a little vague and the itinerary is, shall we say, flexible. We met him last night in Havre.

Joey is traveling across the northern U.S. and Canada in a blue Geo Metro sporting a bumper sticker that says "JESUS IS ________." In small print it advertises a website, jesusis.org

The website belongs to City Church in Kirkland,WA. I can't sign off on their theology, but I can say that the front page of the site is inviting and interesting. It asks us all to fill in the blank. Jesus is....

Joey prayed with us and took our pictures before we left Havre this morning.

We stopped for a snack at Chinook and a little while later, as we pedaled along, a blue Metro pulled alongside and slowed down. Joey yelled out the window, "I'm going ahead to take your picture."

He pulled out at a wide spot and snapped a photo as we rode by. Then drove past us, pulled over again and took more photos.

"Take care," he called after us.

"You, too," I said. "Send me the pics!"

"I will!"

He did

Joey believes that God brought us together. Who am I to argue?

Hemingway Would Have Liked Spencer's

Apparently there was a wildfire near Shelby that closed the eastbound highway after we left. We were fortunate to get out ahead of it.

Melanie has been teasing me that I must not be in Montana because I haven't seen an antelope yet. Last night I emailed her a photograph of the first antelope I saw. It was on the wall at the Grand Bar at Chester.

"Grand" is a bit of an exaggeration. "Sufficient" is more accurate. My broasted chicken dinner was filling and acceptable.

This morning I finally saw a pair of live antelope on the north side of Route 2.

It was 33 degrees Fahrenheit when we woke ip this morning. The content of my water bottles was liquid. Cold, but liquid.

After breakfast at Spud's Cafe we set out on a 62.75 mile ride to Havre, MT. It's pronounced "haver," as in "one who has." My tires had not arrived at the Post Office but should be here in the morning.

Our lunch stop was Spencer's at Hingham, an honest bar, clean and well-lighted.

We have ridden about 889 miles in 15 days.

I think.

I'm tired.

Our tent site at the Havre RV Park was a little pricey ($23.58) but includes great showers, a pool, sauna, and hot tub.

My Pedal-Driven Pack Mule

Because some have asked...

< oldcodger > I built this bicycle back in ought-four. < /oldcodger > The frame is a Nashbar aluminum touring frame with a steel fork. Made in China, it is sturdy. The welds are goopy and unfinished. Though it sports braze-ons for fenders, there really isn't sufficient clearance for them. The third water bottle mount, under the down tube, will only take a short water bottle and, at that I position it carefully to keep the bottle from rubbing the fromt tire. The racks, front and rear, mate firmly.

My saddle is a Brooks B-17, a heavy piece of leather stretched over a steel frame. It's a classic design and provides a firm perch for pedaling. It is more comfortable than it looks. The leather both provides a certain amount of give and, with use, conforms itself to the rider's anatomy. The impression of my sit-bones is clearly visible in the saddle.

The drivetrain is Shimano LX 9 speed with a triple up front. The shifters are Dura-Ace (the only bar-end shifters available at the time. Someone suggested that hanging top end components on a cheap frame was like "polishing the proverbial turd." I've come to think of the bike as "The Polished Turd."

Linear pull V- brakes provide plenty of stoppage.

I'm running Louis Garneau panniers up front and a set of Axioms in the back. A handlebar bag carries my most valuable items. It pops on and off easily. I keep it close at all times. Occasionally I will say to BJ,"Watch my purse, Beej."

Tent, sleeping bag, and mattress go on the rear rack. Buddy rides shotgun on top. Everything else goes in the panniers.

The wheels are heavy and have lots of spokes. Tires are 700 x 35. All in all, it's proven to be a road-worthy rig.

Melanie tells me that I should mention that I took a header on this bike and broke my collar bone. I maintain that the accident had more to do with a too-short stem and operator error than any flaw in the frame's design. The stem has been replaced with a Ritchey adjustable stem that gives me both decent reach and height.

Pancakes, Historical Markers, A Pup Named Scooby Doo, Etc.

Before bed last night, we hiked to the top of the earthen dam to see Lake Shel-oole. We looked back to see the campground and, beyond that, the city lights of Shelby.

A little after midnight we were wakened by headlights, the crunch of tires on gravel, and the sound of car doors in the next campsite over. A male voice said, "This is a better place to sleep than the back of someone's pick-em-up truck, innit?"

I figure that the sheriff had picked up a vagrant and brought them out to the campground for the night. As long as I was awake, I thought I'd take the opportunity to "ease nature," as the New English Bible expresses it. By the time I crawled out of the tent ten minutes later our new neighbor was gone.

We stopped at the Griddle restaurant for breakfast. I ordered one egg, over easy, and three pancakes. The waitress looked at me skeptically.

"They're really big," she said.

"I'm really hungry," I answered.

I did my manly best and it was a titanic battle but, in the end, the pancakes won.

I decided to take photos of every historical point along today's route. There were two. Both in the first five miles.

The marker describing the Baker Massacre is a heart-breaker. The event, the sign says, "is very much alive in tribal memory." At the base of the sign an empty Chivas bottle and a vase of artificial flowers bear testimony to the fact.

As the day grew warmer we stopped several times to shed layers, doing the "roadside striptease."

As we rode a passing truck blew its horn in an unnecessarily unfriendly manner. A few minutes later a woman called "Looking good" from a parked car. About par for the course.

At Galata we stopped at an oil company station, bought candy bars, and chatted with the friendly owner for a while.

I asked, "Do you mind if I use your men's room."

"Go right ahead," he replied. "Ignore the 'Out of Order' sign. That's for truckers who stop, don't buy anything, and plug it up."

There was a dog bed and a bowl of kibble. "Where's your dog?" I asked.

"Scooby? He rolled in something nasty last night, so I cologned him before I let him in the truck. He's kind of pouty."

"Scooby?" I asked.

"Short for Scooby Doo."

He stuck his head out the door and called "Scooby! Come say hello!"

I was a little disappointed that he didn't call "Scooby Doo, where are you?" But only a little.

Scooby sauntered in and leaned on my leg. I patted his big shoulders a while. Now the right side of my body smells like Axe body spray.

It's an improvement.

We stopped for lunch at Chester, 45 miles from Shelby. There isn't much up the road and we can camp free at the city park. So, we're spending the night and making for Havre tomorrow. No shower tonight but this is a friendly town. The public library has Wi-Fi and an espresso bar. (A double espresso cost me $1.00).

We need to be out of the park by 9:00 tomorrow morning. Or else.

Can you see the tent?

I see Canada!