A difficult day

It's 12:50 am and I'm sitting in front of a Cenex station just outside of New Salem. I finally got Bud calmed down and resting comfortably on his blankets. Poor water-logged guy! It's been a rough day for both of us. Where to start?

Yesterday, if you'd asked me to try to put together the most difficult travel day imaginable, I think the events of this one would still have it beat. Not that I'm complaining. In part, it's the unknown, the variability of each day and its trials that make doing this sort of thing worthwhile. As far as that goes, you could say that this has been the most worthwhile day yet.

So let's see...I guess there've been five components to today's challenge which put it up there with the epics of Gilgamesh. Alright, so I might be stretching it a bit. You be the judge.

Firstly, for every sojourner distance is key. When to start? Where to break and how often? What pace to keep? All of these revolve around distance. Now, I feel pretty comfortable with 30 miles, but add a sustained head wind of 40-60 mph all day and the distance dynamics change substantially. Today's wind was utterly relentless.

Next, there's the temperature; it either makes walking a joy or a chore. 90 degrees isn't terribly hot, but when combined with the aforementioned wind, it sure can dry you out quickly. 1 gallon, I found, isn't nearly enough water.

After that, there's the terrain to consider. On this crossing, it's become clear to me that for every downhill section, there are at least two uphill ones, and that doesn't bother me too much any more, that is, unless the uphill portions are loose gravel and dirt. I tell you that this cart of mine becomes a curse when its wheels get into that soft stuff.

So, by now you should be able to envision our protagonist battling the elements in the fashion of Lawrence of Arabia over rough terrain with only a few drops of water left to get him to his destination. Oh, and of course the faithful companion bolstering confidence with his insatiably long tongue, and wry smile.

Now when we arrive in Salem we're both so tired, but I'm keen to keep my appointment with Sue, the town's mascot and the world's largest Holstein cow statue. She sits on a hill over the city, looking out to the country beyond. I'd imagined this as the perfect place to set up our tent for the night, and took no little comfort from the fact that she'd been standing there securely for many years.

And that brings me to the reason why I'm now waiting for the dawn at a gas station. It may be well and good for Sue to weather the storms on her hill, but when a thunderstorm rolled through around 23:00 hours, my tent was found comparatively wanting. To be more specific, it collapses under the intense wind and allows Buddy and me to be pelted by hail. With lightning striking all around, I make the call.

'We gotta get out of here Bud!'

So, without another thought, I amass everything into a giant wad, and stuff it precariously into the cart. Another bolt flashes and the hail turns to a downpour. Buddy needs no instructions; he's already on his way down the hill. I'm trying to hold the cart's Velcro cover shut on the one side that reaches while balancing a now wet sleeping pad and steering partially blind. It must have been a comical site. The salt on the wound comes about ten minutes later when standing wet under the cover of the convenience store eves, I watch as the storm blows past to the north.

I probably should have seen it coming when I took this.

So, perhaps it's not as impressive a feat as building, say, the walls of Uruk. However, it's a day that in the analogs of this trip will be hard to top. Knock on wood. Bud's sleeping soundly now, and I'm ready for a cup of coffee. Two and a half more hours until the dawn, and then, we'll find out what the path has in store.

What time is it?

When the coffee shop in Hebron said it was closing time, I thought nothing of it. After all, businesses in small towns make their own hours. However, I've just come to find, she wasn't closing an hour early. I've crossed into Central Standard Time.

Woo hoo! A new first: walking across a time zone.

Two travelers, opposite directions

What an amazing morning to be alive! A crisp breeze wafts over the hills to my left, as the radiance of the sun's beams shines through the clouds on my right. As promised, father Otto promptly arrives at 7 and introduces me to a cyclist named Adam who's heading west along a similar path to what I've taken.

Although the monks take their morning meal in silence, we have some time to talk after. I'm encouraged to hear that his experiences of the kindness and goodwill of people mirror my own. I think we've both realized that 'value' can't be measured by the criteria of urban popular culture, and if you try to gage yourself by it, you could easily become jaded. As it stands, I'm convinced that there's no justifiable reason to be a pessimist if you're daily looking for the good.

Anyway, the father takes us on a tour of the monastery and church, and I learn several new things about the order. We part ways around 9, me heading for Hebron, Adam going to Webo, and the father returning to the parish and brotherhood of which he's been a part for 53 years.

Assumption Abbey

After two 20 mile days, I figure Bud's due for a rest, so today I'm pushing him in the cart. I wait until 11 o'clock to leave Dickinson cause I want to see what the weather's going to do. There had been a tornado in Dunn county the day before and the morning had been quite stormy, but at the first cloud break we push off, and there're perfect conditions all the way into Richardton. Arriving at the Assumption Abbey around 19:00, I have the privilege of meeting father Otto of the Benedictine order. He's keen to talk, but must finish a meeting first. However, he points to a well kept area and says, 'You're welcome to set up over there; I'll return in about 45 minutes.'

This wonderful opportunity has come about thanks to a fellow I'd met at the Walmart in Dickinson and the info he provided. Both Buddy and I are thankful to spend the night on these peaceful grounds. Cheers for the tip, Adam.

After I get the tent set up in a lovely place under some large conifers, the father comes back and invites me to have some dinner, turkey and a spinach salad. Delightful! And the best part is that I'm able to enjoy it as the sun sets through the beautifully grand picture windows in the cafeteria. What a blessing to be here.

Painted canyons and oil fields

After taking a wrong road that dead ends at a gully, we go back into Medora a little defeated and I opt for a consolation coffee. I score a vanilla latte which the owner Barb wants to donate. Cheers for that! Then, encouraged by kindness and caffeine, it's back out for another try. This time, we head the right way and soon find ourselves in a beautiful area. The colors of the canyon and wild extensive spaces are strangely juxtaposed by the newly established oil wells, popping up here and there like mechanical daisies, and I'm a little ambivalent about how I feel. I know this industry provides some much needed jobs, but at the same time, I'm sad that children in the 21st century have more of this to look forward to. I'm no authority on energy, but it seems with all our alleged technological advances and innovations, we could do a lot better than to expand this sordid sector.

The Badlands can be a pretty good place.

Rick, the mayor of Sentinel Butte, had invited us to stop by the gas station for some coffee before leaving town, so somewhere 'round nine we pull in and are greeted by a feisty little granny named Gerdie. I pull up a seat and she offers me a freshly baked carmel roll. We get to talking 'bout the differences between city folks and the people in small towns. Gerdie's been a part of this little community for nearly 75 years and probably wouldn't dream of moving to an urban setting. She has a pretty good way of putting it colloquially: 'You know those people in them big cities don't give a tinker's tootle when it comes to knowin' their neighbors.'

Eventually things start winding down and I'm ready to say goodbye. Rick loads me up with a refill on coffee, and Gerdie sends an extra carmel roll for the road. As the butte gets further and further away, I'm thinking, 'Sure would be nice to settle in a place like that, where community potlucks and game nights are commonplace.'

Along the road into Medora, Bud's bathing in the Billabongs and I'm on guard for snakes. We've made it to the Badlands and the temperature is climbing. Deserted homesteads, pallid ridges of sedimentary silt and sandstone surround . But the ever present horn of the BNSF lets you know that you're not alone.

 Into Medora we go... another frontier town put on the map by an affluent French fellow. Well, the Marquis's legacy remains, though predominately in facades and replicas mirroring architecture of the 'beef boom' period. The town seems to be marketed for weekend adventurists and senior travellers. But it's redemptive feature is it's location, right on the doorstep of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. So, Buddy and I will enjoy a couple days of R & R here before setting out upon the open road again.

A new State to explore

It's 6:30 and already the sun has warmed the inside of the tent far passed the 35 degrees I'm used to. The night was so warm that I slept clear through without zipping up my sleeping bag.

'Ahhhhhh.' An ostentatious yawn escapes my mouth. It's volume is over exaggerated to let my still resting canine know that I'm ready to get up. He glances at me with indifference and plops his head back down. I again try to engage him:

'Guess we're gonna jump right from winter to summer this year, Bud.'

He still refuses to stir. So I jump up, quickly pack everything into our cart and pull the blanket out from under him. He moans, protesting my move to sequester his cushioning and then takes a few steps forward and again flops down in the grass. Little does he know that I've got a full day of walking planned.

We leave Wibaux behind and make our way south on highway 7 for a few miles. It's busier than I'd expected, but no worries, we're soon off it on some back roads. Here the pace slows substantially. The constant concern over traffic is gone. Perhaps one vehicle passes per hour, but other than that, it's just me, Buddy, and the dusty road.

After a few hours we come to a sign that says 'Golden Valley County' and I figure we must be at the State line. The color of the soil is changing with each mile; it's growing darker and leaving thick tracers on the veins of my legs so that they appear to protrude more than they actually do.

In the town of Beach, I have a bite to eat and try to get my bearings on Google Maps. 'Right,' I say to Bud, 'another eight miles or so and we'll call it a day.

So we go further and arrive in the town of Sentinel Butte (population: about 70). There in the center of town a sign informs passer-byers that General Custer passed by this way with the ill fated 7th battalion in May of 1876 as they proceeded to the infamously doomed battle. I, however, am more interested in finding a place to pitch tent. So, going into the store opposite the sign, I inquire from a group of ladies whether they might know of any place nearby.

We're in luck. Not only do they suggest a great spot next to the town pavilion, but Sue also invites me to share in a community potluck. Apparently, lots of folks had gotten together to clean up the town cemetery and were going to have some supper together when the work had all been done. So, once again I am the recipient of good stuff, coming from good people. First impressions suggest that North Dakota is going to be a pleasure.

Accosted by blood suckers

Well spring must be here cause ticks have started appearing in masses. Neither I nor Buddy are getting quite the quality of sleep we did last week, thanks to the little blood suckers. But I console myself with the thought that early settlers, like Pierre Wibaux, had to put up with these same critters. And those folks had a much more difficult time of it since bug sprays either weren't available, or weren't very effective.

Still, I'm hoping that North Dakota won't be quite as full of these particular nuisances.

Good times in Glendive

'Yeah, that's not gonna happen.' I blurt out as I look at the breakdown of fees on the board. Nice as it may be, I have no intention of paying 23 dollars to camp in Makoshika State Park. I turn to Bud, 'We get to camp freely in fields and on BLM properties which easily rival the scenery here.'

But I suppose if pitching a tent is a recreational novelty for some, then it makes sense for States to make a little money out of it. Me, I get plenty of tent time. I'd rather just pay the extra 20 dollars to have a bed and hot shower back at the motel. 'Let's head back,' I declare.

But as we're walking back in the direction we'd just come from Mary grabs my attention. I don't recognize her at first, then she reminds me that her family had pulled over to offer us assistance the day before, and evidently, her husband William had mentioned inviting us over.

'You could get a hot meal and save some money,' she suggests.

'Hummh.' I pause for a moment to consider the offer. 'Well, if your sure you'd like us to come over, I'd be honored.'

Mary calls about an hour later and gives us directions to her house. We arrive around 17:00 and are immediately introduced to her three kids: Carley, Christian and Riley. Carley helps by determining the most advantagous spot in the yard to put up my tent, and Christian is eager to lend a hand so he can get inside. I suppose for a three year old, having someone put a tent in your front yard is as good as getting a new fort to play in. Anyway, once my sleeping arrangements are completed, dinner's ready. Carley had bragged her mom's cooking up and down the walls, and I certainly don't feel disappointed.

During the course of the meal, Christian tips me off to the hiding place of the Ninja Turtles, and proceeds to show me where they live after we finish. We find the ninjas in the creek behind the house and Christian does battle with several trees that he declares to be 'bad.' After presumably vanquishing all his foes, the kids begin to get ready for bed. Riley, who's one, is down first. Carley follows second, and her brother falls asleep lastly as I read him some nursry rhymes--somewhere between Little Jack Horner and Hey Diddle Diddle.

It's always great fun to be included in the lives of others. Thanks for opening up your home Mary and William.

Almost through Montana

I guess it's time to find out what's happening here in Glendive. After a pretty easy 50 mile hike from Circle, Bud and I have finished highway 200, by far the longest stretch of road I've ever walked. Now we're hangin' out here for a while, playing the part of tourists. There are a couple places I want to visit including the dinosaur museum and Makoshika Park.

In another turn of events, I've just had to make the difficult decision to toss my last remaining pair of shoes that began this journey with me from Long Beach, not so much because of the holes I'd worn through the soles, but because of the way the tread had worn down at an angle, causing me to walk on a slant in an awkward, gimppy way. Let's see if I can find some affordable replacement trainers here in town.

As I sit here journaling in front of JZ's fashion, enjoying a vanilla latte that a complete stranger named Tracy has just graciously bought for me, I reflect on the many wonderful people I've met here in MT & their acts of compassion and kindness which have left me feeling quite humbled. It's yet to be seen how other States will compare, but regardless, my time here has strengthened my belief in (and appreciation for) the inherent seeds of goodness found in people. Sometimes those seeds just need a chance to be cultivated, while in others, ample fruit is readily available 24/7. In any case, my conscience admonishes me to avoid the prevalent patterns of pessemism that so easily disuade me from recognizing that good.

Just under 60 miles to the border and we'll have a new State to explore.

Perspective

A couple days back we camped in an open field just off mile marker 300.

Sunsets and water are two of my favorite things.

Remnants of times long ago

In a 'circle' of new friends

Bud's pretty well spent as we enter the town of Circle. It's nothing a little food and rest can't fix, and he's soon to get both in abundance. I wanted to camp in an RV park Nancy had told me about the previous day, but it's not to be. Later some folks allege they've recently passed a new law prohibiting camping within city limits of McCone county. Whatever the case, everything works out pretty well when I get acquainted with Mr Perry Koonts (spl?), and he hooks me up with a decent room for the night. As luck would have it, Pear--as most folks affectionately call him--not only runs the motel, but also manages a bar/pizza joint with the help of his wife Paula. Once all our stuff's in the room Pear invites me and Bud to join him for a pizza. For Bud, this invitation means handouts galore; for me it's a chance to be sociable and learn a little more about this State.

I'm introduced to several wonderful people, including a lady named Trish who'd pulled over for a brief chat earlier in the day. There's ample time to share experiences and glean a few insights from the stories going 'round. Both Zach and Craig generously help to augment the conversations with more beer. Eventually I get to talkin' with a Mr James Clinton who works for the local paper. That discourse begins with my journey and proceeds to take myriad twists and turns into tangent realms of agrarian politics and a botanist's perspective on the grass beneath the grass, as well as numerous personal anecdotes. I thoroughly enjoy the way each person infuses the topic at hand with his own unique take on things. Meanwhile, Bud lays comfortably on his blanket, though off to the side. Once in a while his bellowing moans of protestation at not being the centre of attention can be heard, but they don't last long before he drowsily nods off again.

Anyhoo, by 19:00 I'm knackered and ready to get back to the room. Another day ends well.

No man's land

There really is some monumental scenery out here! But hyperbole won't due it justice, nor will inordinate attempts at creating the perfect panoramic photos. Nonetheless, today's been filled with so many of those jaw dropping--'Oh, I gotta get a picture of that'--moments. With some difficulty, I've had to stop myself from snapping pictures in order that I can just breath in the grandeur of the canvas before me.

As we get onto the sketchy 2" shoulder that accompanies the road, I think about putting Bud in the cart, but he's in good spirits and his cold seems to be getting better and, and I figure it's good for him to be moving. Along the way a few people stop to see where we're going (you get the impression not many folks are walkin' 200 east) and I pass out some cards. One lady named Heidi gives me some drinking water, which allows us to go a little less sparingly on water rations.

Around 16:00 we make it to the Dinosaur Historical Marker/Rest Area on the very edge of Garfield County. Bud finds some shade while I read the informational board. Apparently half of the world's existing T-rex skeletons have come from this area. The next thing I see is a large sign on the lawn which says NO CAMPING.

'Rats! So much for that idea.' I think.

We go over to a picnic table to take a break and grab some quick carbs (gummy worms and a Snicker's) for what I figure will be several more miles, but as I'm filling up the water bottles a lady appears and says 'hi.' We get to talkin' and Tina, the caretaker of the Rest Area, says there's no problem if we want to set up there for the night. She tells me that they had to put the sign up because some people had been making camp fires, and that set the surrounding wheat farmers on edge. I breath a sigh of relief at not needing to convince Buddy to go on further (He'd already plopped down and crashed under one of the tables).

Flavored water

Pushing out of Jordan around ten in the morning, we proceed a few miles east before Buddy's hunter instincts hault the journey. In the long grass beside the highway he's found a bird and subsequently demonstrates his canine prowess by throwing it around for about fifteen minutes. Once the bird is dead and no longer providing much amusement, he spends another ten minutes rolling around in the grass; I don't mind. In fact, I'm glad to see him acting more like himself again.

For the next four hours we sort of saunter along, stopping every time I see a good photo opportunity or when Bud appears to need a break. After 12 miles or so, fitigue appears to be setting in, so I swap the dog for my pack and let him rest in the cart.

We meet a guy named Brice, who pulls over a couple times to find out what's up. After talking for a little while he asks if there's anything we need.

'Just a legal place to pitch a tent for the night,' I tell him.

He supposes that pretty much any place would be okay; I have some reservations though. Most of the surrounding acrage has posted signs. After making a U-turn, he sends us off with lots of good vibes and some protein bars, both valuable assets to a hiker.

Only a couple more miles and I find the perfect spot--to be fair, Bud actually suggests the exit. It's on block management land (He's become quite adept at recognizing which properties are potential camp sites) so I open the cattle gate and cross onto a beautiful shelf that overlooks the valley. First priority is water, and because the water I'd gathered earlier from the Big Dry Creek looks a lot like cloudy sewage, I decide to boil it a little longer than usual. Me and Bud have some play time before the sunset, and what an amazing sunset it is! Then, back to the tent for a hot chocolate that's slightly soupier than normal with a hint of algae at the finish. All in all, a pretty good day.

Taking advantage of good weather

Kim drops by in the AM to give me some hydrogen Peroxide for Buddy. She also has a memento in the bag for me: a cap from Sand Springs. How cool is that? If I'd wished for a cap from any of the places I've been so far, this would have been it. So, things get packed quickly, and we're back on the road just before 10. 

Trodding along, we make good time. Bud sleeps most of the way, though he pops his head up once in a while when he catches a whiff of an antelope or some dead carcass on the side of the road. The landscape is fairly uniform with sagebrush and grass covering most of the ground and the highway ascending and descending the numerous hills of the high plains.

As the sun begins to go down, making it the full 33 miles into Jordan starts to look more like a more promising option.

We get into town just after 20:00 and check into the Garfield Motel. After demanding his dinner, Bud falls asleep in front of the heater and I go to the shower to remover a couple layers of grime.

Ostensibly, this is how ranchers send a message to predators to KEEP AWAY. 

Originally I thought this might have been a cougar with its cub, but the more I looked, the more I started thinking it's a sheep.

A harbour in the tempest

I was off by two days.

Swirling vortexes and tumultuous ribbons of water pour down from ominous thunder heads on all sides. Quite a transformation from the puffy white pillows that had filled the sky only an hour ago.

'Well Bud, should we make a run for it?' The question was rhetorical and somewhat chimerically emphasized since there really wasn't anywhere to run to. With almost no warning, the pleasant breeze I'd been enjoying turns into a fierce gale and the cattle lowing seem to me a portent that something dire is on the horizon. I remember that scene from Twister, you know, the part with the flying cows and wonder how aerodynamically bovine might take to the skies. My absurd anxieties are quickly put aside when a passing woman stops to say there's a little store/post office ahead that will allow us to make use of the back yard. Given the alternative of being surrounded on all sides by some truly dark and threatening storm systems, I feel fortunate to find this wonderful respite of Sand Springs.

Showers consistently pelt the tent all night, and upon waking in the morning, the sky doesn't appear to be changing its mood. Shortly after 8:00, I meet Mrs Daisy Dutton, the proprietor of Sand Spring's store. She welcomes us to remain for another day, and since Buddy is feeling under the weather, fighting off some opportunistic virus, a day of rest seems to be the best course of action.

Inside the Post Office I become acquainted with another in the traveller's kindred: a Mrs Kim Zimmerman, who after experiencing a great number of diversities and details from around the country, met her soul mate and settled down in this little known gem of a town--a far cry from the suburbs of Chicago. We chat for a bit about this and that and intermingled with tales of her past experiences and places she's lived, her love for this community can't help but shine through. I find myself thinking, 'It must be nice to find a place where you feel you belong.' Soon after, in a wonderful token of generosity, Kim picks up the tab for some items that I'd collected in the store. I'm grateful for the blessing, and hope I'll be as gracious when the next opportunity presents itself for me to give.

I'm back in my tent and it's 13:15. The rain turns to snow and then returns to rain again with a few brief intermittent periods of hail. The wind whips around us but Buddy is unfazed by the gusts, content to stay bundled up partially in his blankets and partially in my sleeping bag. I guess the thing to do is follow his example and take a little nap. Maybe this will have blown over by evening?

Rain drops keep fallen on my tent

Thanks so much Max for a wonderful breakfast. It was a pleasure to stay at the Little Montana Truck Stop.

Satisfaction

Bud and I are set to spend the night at a practically placed truck stop/campground just outside of the little town of Grass Range. He's been doing great considering... though I'm taking more breaks than before cause he looks to be tiring faster, but I'm pretty sure that one of his meds is speeding up his breathing, making it more difficult to go long period.

A group of contracted workers pull out--I think they're heading for Sydney to begin a new job-and I find myself thinking about some of the similar kinds of piece work I've done, and for a moment I actually feel jealous. But then, as Coldplay's Viva La Vida begins to play in the tent, I realize that I'm doing exactly what I want to do, and from what people keep telling me, what others only wish they could do.

So, when discontentment starts to rear its head and you begin to think that the grass is greener on the other side, stop and take a closer look. In reality, it's probably just AstroTurf.

Leaving Lewistown

After a good night's sleep we're ready to head off toward the next place. Bud's full of energy and takes off almost effortlessly to explore, ears flopping in the wind. Although he seems to be getting along just fine on three legs, he definitely reveals a new found fear whenever the noise of an approaching vehicle comes.

Not too far from town, rain clouds gather and we're forced to take a break.

The showers don't last long, however, and we're back at it again after 30 minutes or so. When, the pup starts lookin' like he's ready to call it quits, I pull off into a field and pitch the tent behind some bales of hay, hoping they'll help block some of the wind.

After that it's coco for me and kibble for Bud.

Burritos in the rain

I'd intended to be back on the road headed east today, but upon waking to rain, snow and more of that famous Montana wind, that plan doesn't seem quite so good. We stay in the tent until 11:00, when the weather starts to show signs of improvement. At the restrooms I run into Bob from the Kiwanis organization, and he asks if I'd like some burritoes. 'Is it okay if I give one to Bud?' I ask.

'You can give him two if you want,' he says.

So I go back to the tent and find Buddy all wrapped up in his blankets, sound asleep. Amazingly, he springs to life when I unwrap the foil revealing eight ham and cheese breakfast burritoes. We eat half of them and then I quickly break camp. By the time everything is packed, my fingers have gone totally numb, so we begin jogging, trying to get warmed up. By the time we're on the other side of town it's spitting rain and looking like worse is to come. So I decide to stop. No doubt this will be the shortest day of our whole trip, but I'd hate for Buddy to get soaked now, especially since he's healing so well. I hope the weather will be a bit friendlier tomorrow, or at least dry.