A day to play

After a good night's rest at the Faulkton city park, we head over to the laundry mat to do some cleaning. Sitting there waiting for my clothes to dry, I'm struck by the stark contrast between how welcoming the parks are toward camping in these small towns, and how utterly opposed large cities can be to it. I suppose when you've got a population of less than a thousand, vagrancy isn't a big issue. As Zack the groundskeeper puts it, 'With 728 people, we're not trying to drive folks away.'

I've had to take a video of his riding lawn mower. This thing's a beast. I don't think I've ever seen one that can tear it up quite as fast as this.

Since Bud's been putting forth such a good effort, I've decided to take another day here purely for fun. All work and no play makes Buddy a dull fellow. So, we're going to take full advantage of the nice park, and hopefully, Bud can reconnect with his inner puppy.

Not in PA

Although resting in Gettysburg for an extra day is an appealing proposition, I start to get itchy feet around 10:00 and feel as though staying longer would almost be transgressing against the first tenet of the trip: walking. So, we're back on 212 heading for Seneca with a light breeze and mostly overcast skies. Perfect weather for a leisurely stroll.

Not too far outside of town we receive a welcome surprise when officer Bill catches up with our funny little caravan of two. What's more, he's brought his wife and son along to meet us. Buddy's always keen to make new friends, but it certainly doesn't hurt if they've brought him a bag of treats. I'm glad these folks have taken the time to stop and say 'hi.' Sometimes the walking undermines the more valuable purpose of this journey: getting to know people. My sincere thanks thanks to the Wainman family for your kind donations as well as the interest you've taken in this trip.

Leaving the river

We've made it about 17 miles along the gravel road and now stand at the crossroads of 300 Ave and 155 St. Follow the sign right in the direction of the "Lewis ans Clark Trail" and we backtrack, but choose left and I'll be making a decisive move to bypass Pierre. Hmmmmmm. That's okay. I'm not real eager to go through bigger cities, and going back west would just feel wrong. So that's it then! Onward toward highway 212, Gettysburg (SD) and ultimately, the Atlantic.

Getting off the dirt road and onto the newly resurfaced 83 is nice. Smooth sailing with Buddy now in the boat. Just a few miles outside of town we're stopped by a police officer (as it happens frequently) who's responding to a call that a baby's being pushed alongside the highway. Well, he quickly realizes that the "baby" is a dog.

Officer Bill is quite friendly and, after running my ID, gives me a large Pepsi for the journey. He also lets me know where to find a good camping spot in the town. Such information is invaluable when arriving late in a new place. The officer's directions bring us to the city park where several lovely spots are available for camping, and there's even hot running water in the restrooms. Jackpot! I'm considering staying an extra day.

A taste of India

I turn in the key and say goodbye to our Punjabi innkeeper. However, before we leave the motel in Mobridge, Mrs. Jessica Singh insists I have a packed lunch. She goes to the back for a moment, and then returns with a sack filled with goodies: daal makhani, aloo sabji, roti, muffins and fruit.

I don't think we'll go too far today since it is drizzling. Interestingly, it was in the 80's the day we arrived, and now, two days later, it's in the low 50's. Whenever I mention these extreme variances in temperature, the locals just say, 'Welcome to the Dakotas.'

Off the dirt and gravel road that is 1804 south, I find a semi sheltered area behind a wind belt and pitch the tent. Just as the fly is being closed the deluge begins, and it occurs to me that throughout the journey we always seem to get inside just before the heavy rain starts to fall. An auspicious sign perhaps, or maybe the answers to my mother's prayers. Who knows?

Breakfast on the Standing Rock

It's 10:30. The miles from yesterday have left a slightly unpleasant reminder, but surprisingly, I'm not as sore as I thought I'd be. As the tent's coming down, my native host greets me with a huge smile, and his son Mason pulls up on his bike to meet the white guy who'd been sleeping in his yard. Tokub invites me to come in and have breakfast with the family.

Inside the house, I'm introduced to Mah^a Ska, Tokub's father and elder in the tribe. It's a privillage to be there and hear him speak about his people. Breakfast is laid out, and I kid you not, it's a meal fit for royalty. I mean, there's oatmeal, there's eggs and toast, sausages and grapefruit.

So I have the honor of eating with three generations of Lakota while learning first hand a bit about the culture. What I glean from the experience is, they are a highly spiritual people whose past suffering has made them a strong and extremely resilient tribe.

Walking away, I feel lucky to have been included in their day, and I hope I've added the Lakota to my ever growing list of friends.

Upon entering South Dakota, we get stopped by a woman named Jackie who's wondering what we're doing. When I tell her, she's quick to welcome us in the state with a big bag of sunflower seeds. Although there wasn't a sign, I think it's about the neatest way I've ever crossed a state border.

A new record

A bit of a storm keeps Bud and me waiting snug in the tent until 11:00. But since things don't appear to be changing, we finally head out. The intention is to make the relatively easy 13 miles into Fort Rice, where we can stay for the night. However, the reality ends up becoming a 45 mile adventure which sees us arriving near Fort Yates at 3 o'clock in the morning.

It's a long story, but sufficed to say, we find a place to stay on the Standing Rock Reservation with a really great Lakota guy I'd just happened to meet while stopping at the Prairie Knights Casino on the way. Around 1:30, Tokub was heading home after finishing his shift and he spots me pushing Buddy in the cart, and he must recognize me as the guy who'd been asking about camping several hours earlier cause he pulls over and asks if he can be of assistance. I explain that we're heading to the campground at Fort Yates since there hadn't been anywhere suitable before, and he offers to let us pitch our tent in his yard which is five or six miles ahead and much closer to the highway than the campground.

Well count me in! I'm really grateful for his suggestion, and although I'd also love to take him up on the offer to ride in, I figure I've got five more miles left in me. Besides, a mist has begun setting in and it provides a cool contrast to the heat of the day.

My Indian friend gives good directions, and by 3:30 the tent is pitched on his lawn. I don't bother to change clothes or even unzip my sleeping bag. I simply collapse and fade from consciousness.

Buddy wasn't happy about this 2 am photo op.

A different direction

The Missouri from Fort
Abraham Lincoln

On the way out of Mandan, we stop so I can do some laundry. There, I have the pleasure of meeting a kind lady who not only takes a keen interest in the journey, but also blesses me with a couple new ponchos and some beef jerky. She also makes sure Bud's treat compliment is up to snuff. Another great beginning to a day!

Clothes washed and supplies stocked, we make our way onto highway 1806, following "The Big Muddy" for about 13 miles. The tall grass near the river is a breeding ground for mosquitoes. Man, and I thought I'd seen swarms in Indonesia, but the tropics don't hold a candle to the menacing numbers here in the Dakotas.

Going past Fort Abraham Lincoln, we take a little break on the bank of the river. Actually, Bud prefers to hang out in the murky waters close to shore while I consider making this spot our camp for the night. Fortunately, a fisherman points out that a better campground is just a couple miles down the road. So off we go again.

In a short while we turn into the Sugarloaf Bottom, Graner Park. I find the park host, and pay the five dollar fee--well worth it considering the beautiful location and the facilities. Soon Glen returns with some and we get to talkin' about the trip. He's quite an easy-going and accommodating fellow. He even brings some firewood a little later.

I spend the last moments of the day watching a splendid sunset from the banks of the Missouri. Meanwhile, Buddy snaps wildly in the air, trying to rid himself of the constant nuisance of these implacable mozzies.