This was a different "Perkins" somewhere between Council Bluffs and the boonies of South Dakota.
Only planning on a short day, I had time to do a little sightseeing, which involved stopping at a couple abandoned Indian towns. Though no structures were there, it was really neat learning about what was once where I was, only a couple hundred years ago. The first site, Double Ditch, was a booming Mandan post until a smallpox epidemic broke out, killing 9 in 10, forcing a relocation.
My next stop was in the historic town of Washburn, home of a really nice Lewis and Clark interpretive center. I thought it was a little odd that they charged admission, but it turned out to be worth my while, as I spent the better part of an hour looking at historic artifacts and learning a little more about the route that I had been following the last couple weeks.
The expedition: Lewis, Clark, Sacagawea, and Kazilsky
After a healthy dose of sunscreen (apparently pasty white boys burn up real quickly), I left to head another 25 miles to the next Indian site and area of Fort Clark. Once playing a key role in the American Fur Company's legacy, this was the westernmost site of the AFC's trading empire. Once again due to a smallpox epidemic, the Indians were forced to abandon, while Fort Clark burned to the ground on a seperate occasion. I spent another hour here, and could've easily doubled that time if there weren't so many Mosquitos.
This was tucked away a mile and a half off the road behind a ranch. I think I'm becoming a history nut.
My destination for the night, Stanton, is a town most people have never heard of. Boasting a population of 306, you wouldn't think it has any significance. It was, however, home to one notable figure. Sakakawea (or Sacagawea, as we more commonly know her as)
At first it looked like a silhouette of a hunter, but it was indeed that of Sakakawea
As I was packing my gear the next morning, somebody drove up and rolled down their window, asking which direction I was traveling. When I answered west, a worried look ran across his face. Apparently there were a few tornados that had touched down last night in the area, and that some severe thunderstorm were expected to form later that afternoon. I was going thorough small towns 12 and 25 miles into the day, so I figured that if I ran into any trouble, I'd just duck inside a gas station and wait it out.
A few black clouds loomed in the distance, but it ended up clearing up to open skies. I think this sign did the trick...
Though I had originally planned in stopping for the night in Glen Ullin, I decided to push an extra 15 miles to Richardton. I had heard if a Romanesque Monestary being situated in town, home of about 30 Benadictine Monks and that it was common for them to welcome visitors. I was greeted by Father Odo, who invited me to either pitch my tent on their grounds, or to sleep in the guest room down in the basement. To be honest, pitching my tent sounded much more appealing at the moment, but how many people can say they've slept in the basement of a turn of the century Monestary? Besides, I was invited to take a shower and the magical L word, laundry, was an option if I so desired. After joining the Monks for a fantastic dinner, I went to my quarters to start looking over maps for this upcoming week.
Father Odo came to check up on me and see if I needed anything later that night, and told me that another adventurer had arrived- this guy who was walking the return route of Lewis and Clark- and would join us for breakfast in the morning!
Lucas, Father Odo and myself in front of the towers of the Monestary
Although the Monks eat breakfast in silence, Father Odo explained that when most are gone it would be okay to whisper. When this time passed, I got to learn a little about Lucas, the man walking the trail and possibly extending it to the east coast.
Before he began his journey, Lucas adopted a dog through Craigslist from owners who wouldn't be able to take care of him anymore. After a little training, Buddy the dog was ready to join Lucas on his epic adventure. One fateful day, Buddy went underneath an underpath and wound up on the opposite side of the street. Without looking, he dashed across to meet Lucas but was hit by a car. He had back off just in time to survive, but not without extreme damage to one of his legs, forcing an amputation.
So now, Lucas and his three-legged pup are travelling the country by foot, Buddy walking up to 20 miles daily, and learning much as I have that people are more generous than what is given credit to.
Go give his blog a read, you won't regret it!
Graced with a 20 mph tailwind, I was able to go just over 100 miles, crossing over the border into Montana, and still have time for a few stops along the way. One such stop was at Theodore Roosavelt National Park, the painted canyons. Holy scenery change! Coasting through the badlands has to go up as one of the best riding moments I've experienced thus far. I whizzed by herds of bison grazing, and went through entire cities of prairie dogs. Passing the city of Medora, the badlands evened out with the rest of the terrain, the landscape beginning to flatten out with the exception of a few monstrous buttes.
Camel's Hump Butte. I have a Semi circled for scale
Lucas had let me know of a great place to pitch a tent for the night- right behind the small museum in Wibaux. As I read up on the history of the "Gateway to Montana", I stumbled upon a fun little detail.
My first full day in Montana consisted of a 30 mile climb, gaining just over 1,000 feet in elevation. Of course, my good luck had caught up to me and the climb was accompanied with 20mph headwinds. It's amazing how much it wrecks your mental game, one day pushing 16mph easily, the next, struggling to break 6. I've been honked at dozens of times so far (good honks, usually accompanied with waves), so I didn't assume anything out of the ordinary from the RV that honked as it passed me as I struggled up the hill. But when I looked up again, the RV had stopped, a man waiting by side side watching me intently. I got off my bike, and he reached out to shake my hand, explaining that he had done a bike tour of sorts a couple decades ago. 9,000 miles, through the United States and Canada. After retiring from GM, he made it a goal to pay off his home and purchase a motor home. When he realized his passion for traveling across the country, he took on a job delivering RVs to dealerships across the country. After we chatted about our love for touring, he proceeded to hand me a $10 bill, explaining that somebody had once done the same for him, that he doesn't want to hold me back but would still like to buy me lunch.
Seriously. The generosity of some people is amazing.
As I approached the cluster of homes known as Lindsay, MT, I began to consider pitching my tent there for the night, 24 miles short of the town I wanted to stay in. Although the climb would end in 10 or so miles, my legs were telling me to quit. As I cooked dinner, the wind began to die down a little bit, and with a full stomach, decided that I could push my way to Circle, my destination for the night.
My day today looked like this all day.
Long rolling hills with nothing and nobody in sight
In the 70 miles to Jordan, there was one 'rest stop' which consisted of a bathroom, and a picnic table. Other than that, wide open ranch land. Dry, dry ranch land.
They tell it like it is
And I thought finding wifi in Missouri was hard. Ha! I obviously hadn't biked through Montana.
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