July 1 - 14, Day-By-Day

The beginning of July was very eventful, so I am going back to a Day by Day accounting:

July 1 -- Lame Deer to Broadus, MT. 68.2 miles. Stopped for the night 2 miles short of Lame Deer, which is in an Indian Reservation. When I got to Busby, which is the preceding Reservation, I saw that the depressing old "Trading Post" was under new ownership. The whole family, a Native American Woman and her numerous children, were standing out front looking up at the roof. A teenage boy was nerving himself up to jump across onto a nearby trailer. From my bike, I could clearly see that it was too far. I assured him with all the authority I could muster as someone who has always liked to jump off of things, that it was "Just this much too far", and that he'd spend the rest of his life missing his teeth. Hopefully, this was enough to let him come down off the roof without losing face in front of everyone.

Thought about stopping for the night there, but it was noisy from the Highway, and there was no water. Lots of Indian Dogs, however, in every stage of de-evolution from the noble Wolf down to the useless and annoying Yap dog. On the positive side, these two towns are way less depressing than they used to be. I don't know if it's Government investment, or Casino Gambling money that's done it, but there's been a marked improvement.

In Lame Deer, saw a Native American leading a pony with a child on it. This is the first person I've seen riding a horse in Montana so far. Later on, passed by a farm with a wrought-iron sign that I recognized: "Fortners - Honey". Ten years ago I was going by there when an immense thunderstorm started up. They took me in, gave me dinner, and let me sleep in on of their farm sheds. No-one was home, so I left a note thanking them for what they had done.

Got to Broadus and was checking out the Library. Naturally, it was closed, and wouldn't open until noon the next day. I was looking in the windows to see if they even had computers when a large white van pulled up. I thought it was a Church Youth Group coming back from an outing, but it was just one large family. The father was a bicycling enthusiast and invited me to stay at their place. They turned out to be John and Amy L---, who had met while in Pharmacy School in Missoula.

They are are home-schooling their five children, and have a sixth one on the way. They generously fed me dinner, told me about life in a small town, let me use their computer, and then crash in one of the kid's rooms. It was the first night I'd been indoors in two weeks, so I put the mattress on the floor right in front of an open window.

July 2 -- Broadus, MT to Colony, WY. 76.8 miles. This was the part I'd been dreading all along--the last stretch of southeast Montana, hot, dry, and empty. Even though I had four bottles of water with me, it was a rough haul:

First, stopped at Hammond, and bought a can of soda at the not-really-a-Store-anymore. Then, got to Boyes, which is now just a Post Office. Some bikers on their way to the big Honda GoldWing Rally in Billings gave me a bottle of cold water in return for directions. I drank it, along with a lot of my water, and then refilled of all my water bottles from the Post Office's outside tap.

Further on towards Alzada, a couple from Seattle stopped to see if I had enough water, and gave me a cold can of Pepsi. The closer I got to Alzada, however, the stronger the headwind grew. I felt like I was only an hour away for three straight hours. A retired Master Sargeant on his way to Maine stopped to offer me a ride. At this point I was like a four-year-old with one of those "Tie Your Own Shoes" books: "I can do it all by myself!". I turned down the ride but gratefully accepted a tall can of Arizona Ice Tea.

Once I finally made it to Alzada, I stopped at the Stoneville Cafe, which proudly boasts "Cheap Drinks - Lousy Food". Ten years before, I had complained to the Biker Barmaid about paying $2.00 for an O'Douls, and she had snapped at me, "And the food's not lousy either!". I had felt bad ever since. She was still there, so I apologized to her. She said, "That's OK, that's what I say to everybody -- the drinks aren't cheap, and the food's not lousy."

After 694 miles, I was ready to be done with Montana. At the Wyoming border, I didn't actually get off my bike and jump up and down, but inside I was egotistically exultant. "Yes! Yes! I am the Bicycle Master of Montana! Childish, but satisfying. Students of the Classics know, however, that Hubris is always followed by Nemesis.

July 3 -- Colony, Wy to Newell, SD. 47.1 miles. Had biked through darkness and an imminent rainstorm to get to Colony, which is in the extreme Northeast corner of Wyoming. It is the "Bentonite Captital of the World". Bentonite is a dark grayish-black clay that absorbs liquids. Its chief uses are as drilling slurry and Kitty Litter.

I could see the lighning flashes clearly through my tent as I went to sleep. Woke up to lashing rain, and had to hold the front of the tent down with my hands to get a little more sleep. This part of Wyoming is not accessible by paved roads from the rest of the State. The Devil's Tower is nearby, along with the Lowest Point in Wyoming. At 3,691 feet above sea level, their lowest point is exactly 200 feet higher than Mount Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts.

After breakfast in Belle Fourche, SD, I started to feel sick. Everyone was geared-up for the Fourth, but I just wanted to curl up in a ball. The only thing my stomach could tolerate was root beer. After a long rest, went the 25 miles to Newell, and set up camp in the park.

At midnight, I was rousted by the Police. Although there were no signs prohibiting camping in the park, someone from the Town Council complained to the Sheriff's Department. Two apologetic Deputies explained, while holding high-powered flashlights on my face, that they were under orders to take me to the town's official lot for Campers and then to the Town Hall to make sure I paid the $10.00 fee, or to escort me out of town. Naturally, the official lot turned out to be a patch of weeds by the highway, with no privacy, water, or restroom. I walked sowly back in to town, and showed the Deputies that I only had Twenties on me. Since nobody from the Town Council wanted to come down and make change, I was allowed to sleep in the weeds for free.

July 4 -- Newell to Gettysburg, SD. 47.1 miles. While having coffee at the BP Station, told story about being rousted to curious locals. They were very sympathetic, as they're not happy with the town government. They also told me that the Sheriff was very good at taking Native Americans and Mexicans right out of town.

There's nothing for 79 miles after Newell, so I made sure all three water bottles were full. Did not count on it being so hot, however. Made it it Mud Butte, which I knew was just a Post Office and Trailer Park. Unfortunately, the Post Office, and everything else, was closed tighter than a crab's carapace. There was no water available at all. This was very bad, as I had already drunk a lot of my water, and the remaining liquid was the temperature of bathwater.

Went on another 4 miles towards Maurine, another Post Office-only town, and realized I was in big trouble. Was walking the bike at that point in the well-over-100-degrees heat, with not a scrap of shade in sight, and knew that if I didn't get off that road, I would probably die. Luckily, someone stopped. Getting a ride, as the late Ben Meikle of Arlington, who used to impersonate Benjamin Franklin, would say, is aleatory. It's a throw of the dice.

My rescuer was John W---, of Ogden, Utah. He was driving across South Dakota in an old Jeep Wagoneer without air conditioning because of a death in his family. As we barreled down the two-lane highway at 70 miles an hour, my life flashed before my eyes. To be precise, it was the next day and a half of my life, which I would have spent covering the same distance. It was an education to see the arrow-straight road from the viewpoint of the drivers who had to go past me.

We stopped at the Native American town of Faith, at the very end of the 79 miles of nothing, to get cold drinks. I knew I should say "Thanks for the ride", and continue on my own from there, but when we got out of the car, it was so hot it was like walking on the sun. Instead, I offered to pay for the refreshments.

The only part I really regretted not riding through by myself is the approach to Lake Oahe, which is a huge reservoir created by damming the Missouri River. It stretches through the middle of both North and South Dakota. The approach is along a high ridge through an Indian Reservation, with the blue of the lake glinting in the distance. The road swoops down to the lake and an ornately curled suspension bridge.

At Gettysburg Corners, John W--- was turning North, so I unloaded my bike with many thanks, and rode into Gettysburg, a nice town with a good sense of humor (Town Motto: "Not that Gettysburg"). They also have a very nice park that not only welcomes camping, but has a handicap-accessible restroom. The town's big fireworks display was going to a humdinger, but it was back at the huge Lake. I was glad to just sit quietly in the park.

Not that I missed out on anything. Thanks to it's liberal policy towards fireworks (they're totally legal, and for sale everywhere) South Dakota may be the noisiest place in North America during the first week of July.

July 5 -- Gettysburg to Fishers Grove State Park, SD. 94.8 miles. In Faulkton, the people who ran the Drugstore told me that the stretch between Newell and Faith was the most desolate in the country. This may just be perverse local pride--what about Nevada or Death Valley?--but it made me feel better about the day before. In Zell, I saw people riding on horses for the second time so far. Zell is world-famous in South Dakota because the road leading to it actually has a bend in it.

July 6 -- Fishers Grove to Watertown, SD. 62.5 miles. Ignoring all the warning signs that RT 212 was closed ahead, I pressed on to Frankfort, which is all but cut-off from the world. An enterprising newcomer had set up a cooperative "General Store", so that residents wouldn't have to drive for miles just to get necessities. He was originally from Virginia, and when he had called up the Mayor to ask how they'd feel about him moving there with his wife and five kids, the Mayor said, "You have five children? How quickly can you get here?"

I walked and rode my bike through the 11-mile construction zone. As I said to Annie on the phone, gambling that I could get through is an adventure, whereas a 40-mile detour into a headwind is just a pain in the butt.

When I got to Watertown, I was able to use my cellphone for the first time since Idaho. Despite what their ads say, ATT/Cingular really has terrible coverage, and I am switching providers as soon as I get home. It was over a hundred degrees out, and I was beat, so I caved-in and got a motel room. It was nice to be indoors for a change, with my sink-washed clothes spread out to dry, and the TV on. Watched part of a hilarious Kung Fu movie called "Shaolin Soccer". My storytelling friend, Michael Anderson, would love this movie, as it combines his two favorite things.

July 7 -- Watertown, SD to Montevideo, MN. 76.7 miles. Extremely hot, 102+ degrees, and very humid. Could feel the heat being reflected off the pavement at me. South Dakota ended in a final burst of Fireworks Stands, and I was in 'Lac Qui Parle County', Minn. Stopped at at Dairy Queen in Dawson, and basically wanted to suck the soda fountain dry. Very little was open in Montevideo, so I went to a Chinese Buffet for dinner, but may have had too many root beers. Got my tent all set up in Lagoon Park, and went to bed at 9pm. And lay there, wide awake until 6:30am. At intervals, I was driven out of the tent by my own chinese restaurant farts, and would lie outside in the cool grass, until I was driven back in by the mosquitos. Woke up from a frustrating dream at 7:30, after having slept for an hour.

July 8 -- Montevideo to St. Bonifacius, MN. 109 miles. Decided to be good and follow detour in Hutchinson. Big Mistake. Wound up going miles out of the way, through the Airport. East towards Minneapolis, the sky was gray-black with a monster storm. Kept going anyway, and was eventually sideswiped by a sudden rainshower. There was a lightning flash a mile behind me, and then another one about a mile ahead. Started looking around nervously to make sure I wasn't the highest thing on the road. The storm moved on, and I stopped to wring out my socks.

July 9 -- St. Bonifacius to Minneapolis, MN. 32.8 miles. RT 7 used to be a simple country road that would quietly bring you right into the City. Now it's a concrete highway roaring through suburb after suburb. Found the International Hostel, an old mansion next to the Minneapolis College of Art & Design, and signed-up for a space in the Men's dormitory. Went to a Bike shop for a chain tune-up and more tubes, then did laundry, washing everything but the shorts and T-shirt I was wearing.

July 10 -- Minneapolis, MN to Mondovi, WI. Saw more Western Wear stores just on Lake Street in Minneapolis than I had from Seattle to South Dakota. Crossed over the Mississippi and was in St. Paul. It took a while to get out of Twin Cities and the industrial areas along the River. Stopped at Plum Creek, WI to eat. In the park, four mother ducks were shepherding a combined flock of about 30 fuzzy babies around the pond. Got on bike and discovered that cyclecomputer had died. Without it, I would not only not know how far I had gone, but wouldn't know if I was pedaling too slowly to get anywhere. Unsuccessfully searched the next few towns for a replacement battery.

July 11 -- Mondovi to Stevens Point, WI. 115.8 miles. Found battery at Drug Store, and went through the whole ritual of measuring how far one wheel rotation was in millimeters. Reset the cyclecomputer, and was on my way. Just outside Stevens Point, had to take shelter from a rainstorm at an old Roadhouse. According to local legend, it had once been a favorite hang-out of Al Capone.

July 12 -- Stevens Point to Manitowoc, WI. 116.6 miles. Made it across Wisconsin, along RT 10, in three days. Got to Manitowoc well in time to catch the 12:30am Car Ferry across Lake Michigan. This was good, as Plan B was to put all those laps I had swum in the pool at the Boy's and Girl's Club to good use. Getting to the Great Lakes is weird: it certainly looks like you're at the shore--seagulls, waves, boats, water to the horizon, etc.--but there's no salt in the air.

July 13 -- Ludington to Rodney, MI. 101.3 miles. Slept poorly on the ferry, having opted for the "Quiet Room", instead of grabbing the "Playroom" and locking the door. Got to Ludington at 4:50am. Now in Eastern time zone, so moved watch forward an hour, but didn't feel any better. Had breakfast, but resolutely stuck to decaf, as I did not want to wake up. Biked along slowly until I found a National Forest Campsite, and took a nap in the sun. Made it to Rodney, which consisted of a convenience store, a house, and a Bar. Asked at the store if I could camp there. They said yes, so I set up my tent in field. Headed across street to "Pappys" to see if they had a payphone. Only three people in bar: the Waitress, and the couple who lived next to the convenience store, Don and Kimmie R---. Don said that there was extreme weather forecast for that night, and that I was welcome to sleep in his award-winning "Pole Barn". This was really a huge Barn-shaped garage that dwarfed his Trailer. The upstairs was a well-appointed rec room or "man cave". He told me that because they lived in a Trailer, he and his wife were unable to have a Chrismas Tree. Since he built the Barn, they had the tree in there, and slept there during the Holiday Season.

July 14 -- Rodney to Richville, MI. 79.9 miles. Got off to a slow start due to rainshowers and another detour. Stopped in Mecosta for breakfast. Headline in the local paper: "Man arrested on OWL Charges". It turned out to be Operating While Intoxicated, and not something out of Harry Potter. Sign on the Big Boy Restaurant, Alma: "New: Chicken-Fried Chicken". When I was in the Air Force in Texas, I certainly ate a lot of chicken-fried steak, but this is a stroke of culinary genius. With their permission, camped under an Apple tree by Fritz' Family Restaurant.

Total miles: 2,238. Daily average: 79.9 miles.