"Can I tell her? Yeah? She's a vegetarian."

As we've seemed to do pretty frequently as of late, we took our time getting ready this morning/afternoon. I peeked from the shelter early, snug in my sleeping bag on top of the picnic table, and saw the sun just coming up. The winds would still be there in the afternoon and I was too too comfortable. I closed my eyes.

Josh was making tomato soup when I woke up, and graciously shared some with me. It didn't sit very well with my stomach. I made oatmeal as well and spilled boiling water on my leg. It didn't feel too good but it didn't turn into a burn. That wasn't the first time and probably not the last time I'd do that.

Yesterday, I switched my back tire with the front one because the "Crucible", as it's called, is developing a swell in it. I figured with less weight in the front, it'll do better and last longer. To Josh's and my dismay, we learned the tire is only worth about $20 and has not gotten favorable reviews online. I'm going to have to swap it out when we reach Cardston, Alberta, about 100 miles away.

Matt helped me fix my brakes and I learned something new to add to my cognitive cycling manual. With my bike in as good shape as it could get, I left while Josh continued packing, and Matt typed away on his computer.

The headwinds were pretty bad but I was aware that they would be. I've learned that if you're not climbing altitude, you're usually getting frustrated by winds. I crawled along the empty plains. However, with a 3G connection, I was able to get the Pirates-Reds baseball feed before it faded out by the town of Lothair.

Now, I passed several towns on the windy ride today, all of which were unincorporated and thus, fairly empty. I stopped only momentarily in front of a motel with a giant wooden cowboy out front, and had a short lunch on a picnic table in Galata. 

At a snail's pace, I continued battling the eastern winds until I reached a sign noting that the town of Shelby was only ten miles away. Fantastic.

In Shelby, I waited for Josh who was only about fifteen minutes behind me. He strode up looking pretty haggard.

"Not a bad day, right? Honestly, the winds didn't bother me until that ten miles out sign," I rapped.  

Josh broke out into a wide grin, almost giddy that I experienced the same pains, "I was gonna say the same thing! I wasn't gonna come and complain but, oh my god. I saw the ten miles sign, and took a picture because I was so happy. Then those last ten miles just beat the living hell out of me. It was ridiculous!" he laughed.

We agreed that we would need a wide array of food so what other than Pizza Hut. The server, Dez, told us after we ordered, "You guys can just help yourself to the salad bar, no charge. Don't worry about it." I was beside myself and I'm sure my body was extremely thankful. 

Afterward, we went on a wild goose chase looking for the city park. We stumbled accidentally onto Marita's property and were greeted by her two dogs, Mindy and Molly. When we left, we couldn't get the dogs to stop following us and Mindy watched us sadly as she realized how far down the long drive way she had gone. She turned wearily back toward home.

By the time we finally found the park, Matt was leaving it. We agreed to split the $10 fee. Matt's using my extra tent for the night while I'm nestled in my duct taped mess of a tent. It is warmer though. All in all, a good day.

Tomorrow, we finally get off US Route 2, which we've been on for well over 200 miles. However, after the town of Cut Bank, we're heading into a 70 mile dead zone with no food or water. We decided to rest in Cut Bank tomorrow and prepare for the cold, the Rockies, and the desolateness. Tomorrow should be enjoyable. I need to sew up a lot of things.

A Quick Summary

In the town of Chinook, I learned about the Nez Purse Native Americans and their escape to Canada. From 1855 to 1877, they had their reservation shrink from seven million acres to less than seventy thousand. When one of the Native American's fathers was killed, one man killed several white settlers in a nearby village. The Army stepped in to quell the problem.

Chief Joseph and his brother led an escape of more than two thousand women and children over two thousand miles through the Rockies, north to Canada. Numerous battles were fought and many were killed. Within forty miles of the border at the Bear Paw Mountains (20 miles north of Chinook), they were attacked by a General Miles. Miles "sieged" the encampment for several days, firing cannons on the Native Americans for several days before Chief Joseph surrendered.

"I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is dead. Toohoolhoolzoote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say, "Yes" or "No." He who led the young men [Ollokot] is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are -- perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever."

- Chief Joseph

From Chinook, it was an extremely difficult and hot twenty miles to Havre, one of the biggest cities in Montana with over nine thousand residents. I met an older gentleman named Al Pennington that I had seen at the museum. His father grew up in Matt's hometown.

The sunset in Havre was something special.

Out of Havre, we had a long road to Chester. 

In Hingham, Josh and I stopped to have a beer or two at a bar known as the Hi-Way Bar. We became good friends with the owner, Mike, who rode his bike from this location to Anacortes, WA in 1988 in twelve days. Time got away from us and the bartender suggested we stay. It was tough to do with the wind behind us for once but I figured if we can delay getting to Glacier Park until after Labor Day weekend, the going should be more safe.

We couldn't leave the bar. We met Juanita and she bought Josh and I beers. We met the old-timers Joe, Kent, and Lowell and they bought us a few beers. Nate, the bartender, bought us shots. Roger bought us a round of beers. Matt showed up. The sun started going down.

Another group of people came in; workers from South Africa speaking Afrikaans and teaching us all the curse words. They got us shots. It was one of the warmest receivings we've ever had.

Roger, who said some of the most hilarious things to his buddy Dave, offered to have us at his house. Unfortunately, his wife was pretty sick and she wasn't up for company but that was okay with us. We slept in the park. I slept in a tunnel on the jungle gym, fairly impaired. 

Today was pretty dull and unexciting. We got coffee in the late afternoon at the bar again and watched some sports. We were able to leave without getting intoxicated and slowly inched our way to Chester, MT.

I met the most beautiful girl in the whole world at a local diner and left my number on a napkin. She hasn't called me.

My back tire is falling apart again.

"We didn't come all the way out here to take the easy way through Glacier Park. We want the harder, more rewarding experience."

My old friend, the Red-Winged Blackbird has noticeably disappeared out west after seemingly following me all the way from New Jersey. Something peculiar I always noted about it was how it would appear to fly with me. After many miles, I realized (to my dismay) that it was only protecting its turf, barking at me all the way until I was off its land. I heard a Killdeer this morning but otherwise, many birds seem to be in hiding. 

The sun was burning its way through my tent this morning at around 9am. Josh cooked up some spaghetti late in the park at around midnight and we stayed up reading. 

The riding went slowly today. No more slower than other days but the landscape tends to creep along in Montana. The Rockies can be seen in the distance now, its grey outline standing omnipotently over the prairies. Glacier National Park is less than 200 miles away and it makes its presence known.

The town of Dodson had a small convenient store where I got a Coca-Cola from an older man with peppered gray hair. He maneuvered his wheelchair up to the cash register and I handed him the cash.

"Yeah, there's a little picnic area around the corner. Mosquitos might be bad though," he said smiling to me. "But hell, you were born outside, weren't ya?"

I laughed, "Oh, I'll take my chances. If they're all bad I'll a come a runnin back."

"Well, you take care now," he gleamed again.

I waved as I went to the picnic area. Several buildings including two old bars were boarded up, smashed windows reflecting the sun in the spider-webbed glass. Another giant train depot sits idle, a testament to the train industry's past and to the worn down present of the town. The only thing looking new was the Post Office, undoubtedly supplied by the Federal government. At least ten cars in the small town of 190 people visited the building to collect mail. 

Two peanut butter jelly sanwiches later, it was on the road again. The mile-markers have become somewhat of a hassle out here. With not much else to gander at, their green reflection always draws my attention. However, I've managed to lie to myself at what mile-marker I started at, so twenty miles later, I've actually convinced myself that I've gone thirty.

Somewhere along the vast heat strip, I found Josh again.

The last twenty or so miles to town weren't bad. Conversation forced things to go faster and we took a road off Route 2 that took longer but completely avoided traffic. It was around there that I began getting dizzy. The heat was getting to me.

We crossed into the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation and got slushies at the gas station. A temperature reading flashed 95*. It all made sense. I was under the impression temperatures were to max out at 80* today so reading that made my body feel better. I can only imagine what all the cells inside are thinking: 45* yesterday morning to more than twice that now.

Everything you hear about the Native Americans and their current struggle is true. Rampant alcoholism and gambling problems were on full display while we sat out front of the gas station. As Josh put it, it's depressing to see such an honorable and storied culture hit such lows. But after all that's been done to them... I don't blame them one bit. I just feel sorry and guilty.

We left the reservation for Harlem, MT, 3 miles away.

Harlem, MT has been my favorite little town so far. If I were to explain all the people I met and how welcome they made me feel, I'd be writing for three more hours... With that said, we met John-Charles, a joyful Native American gentleman, Julie and Ron, two bar owners, and the locals hanging out at the place. Everyone talked to us like we were the center of attention. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing (and no, I didn't have that much to drink). It was absolutely wonderful.

In Harlem, we've stumbled into Matt once again. He helped me film the ALS ice dumping challenge of Josh, which was long overdue. Anyhow, we're set up in the middle of town in the park.

In the words of one Louis Armstrong...

"Annnddd I thhiinnkk to myself...

What a wooonnnddeerrffuuulll woiiirrlldd!"

Truly.

P.s.

We set up all of our tents before we remembered there are sprinklers here. I have two tents; one for rain and one for shine. The shine tent was already up. So... Like it or not, I plan on an early alarm. 

"Is the air conditioner on in here by any chance? I just saw my napkin fluttering... I mean, it's probably not. I'm just... it's really cold. Are you cold?"

We were up and at em early at 6:45 this morning but once again, it was freezing cold. The mass of dew stringing from the grass and clinging to the inside of my tent didn't help matters. Add to the fact that my sleeping bag was wet and my body was not very happy. Rolling up the soaked tent also caused my fingers to go numb. Thankfully, the bathroom in the park had a hand dryer that I stood underneath. Hey, the boys were cold.

Against my better judgement, we went to McDonalds to warm up and have some coffee. We almost ate their yesterday but an employee was having a minor breakdown when we entered. I opened the door yesterday to this:

Manager: "Well, where's Eric? Can't he help you?"

Employee: "I dunno where he went. It's just me back here."

Manager walks out.

Employee: "I hate my career! I hate this town! I hate McDonalds!"

We left and went to Subway.

This morning, McDonald's still sucked. And it was just as cold inside as outside.

We refused to leave until the sun came out. So... three hours later... we left. Josh got a flat immediately; number 12. Down the road, I was becoming anxious about a bulge in my tire, so just to play it safe, I changed tubes.

It was an absolutely beautiful day. Winds were blowing behind us at about 5mph. Without any wind resistance, you hear much more. One sound that seems to repeat itself all over Montana is the symphony of bugs. The grasshoppers and crickets play their fiddles all day and all night long. The festival never ends. Rarely, birds come out and about, usually birds found back at home in the wetlands. I saw a type of sandpiper today around the Milk River; one of the largest tributaries of the Missouri. Originally named by the Lewis and Clark Expedition, it was named for its milky color.

Ahead of Josh, I passed through the town of Hindman, where I got a giant ice cream cone for $3 from the sweetest lady I've ever met. And then shortly after, I came upon the town of Salco. Everything in Montana is currently flooded. Bugs.

In Salco, I waited for Josh to catch up and we had a brief lunch. Guess who had lucky flat 13. Yep.

I fell asleep for two hours on the ground of the picnic shelter. Josh was still there and got a little headstart before I began the final 30 miles to Malta. The sun had gotten much hotter.

In Salco, I stopped next to a train. The same train that we've been following since North Dakota. The conductor looked down at me.

"Heading to Malta?" I hollered up to him.

"What's that?" he called back.

"I said, You going to Malta?" I repeated.

"If you're looking for a ride, I can't give it to you, friend. Only freight upon here," he answered sympathetically. 

"Ahh, I won't tell if you won't," I said jokingly but not really. 

He waved and closed the window.

Alas, I had to do the ride naturally. It was still lovely out but the old winds had vanished. The bike no longer sounded as smooth or moved as quick so I popped headphones in and rolled onward. Remnants of where the Missouri River used to run cut through the earth. An old sacred Native American boulder laid on the side of the highway, covered in graffiti and cigarette butts. The sun sank quietly, closer and closer on the horizon.

I met another Josh from Rochester, NY. When I ran into him, he was on mile 105 for the day.

"Yes, yes, I was in Havre this morning. No. Was I? This morning... Couldn't have been. I'm really not sure," he said.

The man had biked far too much for one day. 

"You mind if I take a picture of you?" he asked me.

"Sure!" I said. "Actually, can I take one of you first?"

"Of course!"

I took the picture and then we switched places so I wasn't in the sun. He then handed me his phone. I held it, confused. 

"Um. You want me to take a picture of you with your phone?"

"Yeah," he said. "Wait, no. What the hell am I doing? I'm sorry, its been a long day."

He had been in Anacortes about 12 days back and was chugging along to make it home. He only had given himself about a month to make it. I'm glad I had 4 of those.

We're held up in the Malta City Park. I got chased by a dog coming in. And he was mean. This was my first experience with a dog where I felt more afraid of him then he was of me. I threw a piece of bread at him while he pretended to rush me. He shut up. 

Good night.  

"I'm running on Subway and Pizza Hut right now so, it's still pretty bad."

On my way to the Glasgow library today, the sun peaked out from behind the clouds for the first time in more than three days. Like a bat coming out of its cave during daylight, my first reaction was to squint and shield my eyes. It's good to see old Helios once again.

The last few days have been pretty miserable. The day after our action packed Friday in Wolf Point, we took another night at the motel, splitting the bill between me, Josh, and Matt. The day was pretty lethargic and it was hard to stay still with all the travelling we've been doing all summer. We all watched a lot of junk on the television, played some video games, and did a lot of thumb dwindling. I did get to read more of this Western book I'm reading titled "The Six Gun Kid", which is fun but mostly... played video games. It rained for most of the day and the sky stayed darkened. The day after, the rain was supposed to stop and the winds blowing West at a steady clip of 20mph would switch directions. We probably should have taken the next day off as opposed to Saturday.

Temperatures dropped to 50* and those winds that were blasting in our direction the other day now hit us square in the face, blowing at their natural eastern direction. Fortunately, we stayed dry for the first half of the day but about ten miles from Nashua, it started raining... hard. My half-assed, makeshift, motel trash bag (Josh called me the vigilant "Trash Bag Man") kept me sort of dry but it worked more like an opened parachute against the wind. The ten miles took years with the gale-force winds and the rain, coincided with the wind, completely numbed me. We'd planned on making it to Glasgow but we were too frozen and bitter to really go anywhere. We had a few shots of whiskey at a bar to warm up (no food or coffee in whole town of Nashua,pop. 250) and went into the city park to crash. We wondered if Matt made it to Glasgow.

I fell asleep around 8' o clock to the ever-present train crashing through the station with its myriad of freight boxcars behind it. The same thing woke me up at 1230am. I was parched as hell. Walking out of my tent into the frigid temperatures again, someone else had set up camp while we were sleeping. Matt, in his hammock cocoon was rested between the posts of the shelter. Come morning, he was gone.

The one grocery store in town opened up that morning so we went to get a few "treats". Josh got a jar of Nutella, and I got six bags of Kool-Aid because I figured I needed some spice in my water. A couple minutes later, we learned all of these products were expired. We probably should've said something to the owner but... we didn't. My Kool-Aid was super sour, and Josh's Nutella was super... nasty. He still ate most of it. So, on a stomach of old Kool-Aid and expired Nutella, we ventured the last 14 miles to Glasgow. It continued to rain on us with winds once again slapping us. Winds today were closer to 10mph but they were nonetheless felt. By the time we reached Glasgow, we were once again freezing cold. Pizza Hut helped to warm us up.

Tired of the wind and the rain,we're not going anywhere. The terrifying deadline of my sister's wedding shouldn't be a problem. I did the math and now, at a rate of 28 miles per day for the remaining 41 days, we'll make it to Seattle/Anacortes just fine. So, mom and dad, I hope this calms the nerves a bit. Its cooled mine. Glasgow holds a county museum that I'll be seeing, and more shit food to fill my stomach with. There's also a county park where we can camp for free, which is always a treat.

   

"Damn, I just got this car!"

What a day. 

I have no idea where to start.

In our shelter in Circle, MT, the beginning of the day went like this...

6am: Rain

7am: Rain

8am: Rain

9am: Rain

10am: Rain

11am: Rain

12pm: Rain stops

The conditions were grueling: cold, heavy winds, and rain. Of all days, we were going fifty miles north to Wolf Point (pop. 2000) while the winds were gusting west. We haven't had the winds at our backs for a long time and it wouldn't be today either.

The ride was pretty bad and monotonous.

Contrary to yesterday, all I wanted was to get to Wolf Point. The ride seemed to just go on and on and on. There was one stop in the town of Vida but there were no services or people. At 7pm, we headed the last twenty miles to Wolf Point. This part of the ride was beautiful with one viewpoint above the vastness of Montana, about thirty miles of visibility in all directions. We coasted into Wolf Point.

Before arriving, we'd talked to the police dispatcher about sleeping in the park. The only problem was the 100% chance of rain the next day and Matt, Josh, and I wanted a place to be able to sit tight and wait out the rain together. We called the police dispatcher if there was a shelter in the park. There wasn't but there was one in Sherman Park. When we got there, we thought it was a joke.

Dead center in downtown with bars all around, the "shelter" stood. It was actually a gazebo and cars went round and round the building. Spotlights shown down on us. We were on display. Despite our uneasiness about it, we set up our tents.

A man came up to the gazebo and started making conversation with Josh and Matt as I lay in my tent.

"You guys can stay with me. I just got a house, I live alone, it's really nice. I wouldn't camp here, man," Orlando told us.

"Ah, it's okay. We're tired and we've already set up our stuff. We really just wanna sleep," Josh told the man.

The conversation veered away from comfortable after that.

"People are gonna come up here and mess with your stuff, man. They don't give a shit here. There's gangs and all that," he warned.

"We're kinda banking on the rain keeping people away," Matt said.

"They don't care, man. They'll come up here and take your shit. Mark my words," Orlando said. At this he stood up and began making signs at a white truck driving around the block. "Hey Angel! Come over here! This guy's covered from head to toe with tattoos."

I came out of my tent after attempting to ignore the man. Things were getting a little out of hand. 

I began talking with the man, attempting to get him on our side or at the very least, friendly. 

Josh called the police to ask if there was a better place to go.

"No, no, no. You don't have to call the cops, man. Just come stay with me," Orlando continued.

Fat chance.

Officer Joey, a local cop, became our hero. Josh voiced his concern to Joey and he gave Josh a ride to a local KOA to see if we could get camping, which was closed. Then to a local baseball field, which was flooded. Josh was also almost a part of Officer Joey pulling a car over but Joey let him go.

Joey was a stout young officer with blonde hair and a deep, resolute voice. Finally, he came back with Josh to the gazebo as Matt and I stood watch. Josh was beaming.

"We got a hotel! And it's free!" Josh cheered.

"What?"

Joey explained, "Okay, we're gonna set you up at the Sherman Inn for the night. Don't worry about payment, the city will take care of it. Tomorrow, if you do decide to stay because of rain, gimme a call and I'll help you guys out."

What a guy. We were ecstatic. We shook his hand vigourously and patted him on the back. We just had to go down to the station, and sign some papers. Joey went back to the station.

We're packing up all of out gear when we suddenly hear the sound of two cars colliding with each other no more than 15 ft. away from the gazebo. A red sedan got t-boned by a maroon ford. The ford went flying off into the night.

"Josh, yo, call the cops," I said.

Everyone was okay at the scene but they knew exactly who the man was. It's also interesting to note that most of the people in the town of Wolf Point are Native American because the town stands on a reservation: Fort Peck Reservation. I vouched I would be a witness to the event.

Joey showed back up and gave us the paperwork for the hotel... and the accident. We could finally go to sleep... or so I thought. It was now 1:30am and one of the men, Cyrus, asked if any of us would drive the damaged car to his house. An awkward silence ensued. To hell with it, I'll take the car back.

Cyrus was drunk and didn't really give a damn about my help. I dropped it off at his house as a cop followed me all the way there and walked the ten blocks back to the hotel as the rain came down.

So! It's 3 in the morning and I am completely beat.

Josh in the cruiser.

"Circle used to have a population of over 10,000 people in the 50's with the railroad. Now, it's just around 600 people. It's nice though. We're all family. Thick or thin, we watch out for one another."

Hot Chocolate's "You Sexy Thang" blared out over the Badlands as my alarm clock at 5:45. I've never had such a good wake up. It's hard to word the beauty of the landscape just as the sun is coming up. 

Down the Interstate, we passed more splendors of the Badlands. After a few miles, we got off the Interstate and had breakfast at a little cafe in Medora. 

Medora is a strange place at the heart of the Badlands and the gateway to the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It has a population of just over 100, is a major tourist attraction, and is thus allowed to sell poor quality food in small portions at a brashly inflated price. Nonetheless, the owner was really sweet. Helga, from Luxembourg, was married to a local rancher and owned the restaurant. She knew eight different languages and worked for the US Army all over the world for over twenty years.

"It looks like rain," she told me outside as I rummaged through my baggage for my cell phone charger.

"Yeah, I heard it only rains 6-12 inches a year here. What's the deal?" I asked.

"Oh, we've gotten 18 inches in the last two weeks. It's been a strange year," she said. "We always need it though so it's a blessing."

We cycled out in high spirits at 7am through the remainders of the Badlands before they turned into rolling prairies.

Then, shortly after the friendliest truck rest stop area in Beach, ND, we hit our next state: Montana. There's about 700 of the remaining 1200 miles or so in this state. Should be a doozy. 

After biking on the Interstate for about twenty miles, we finally got off onto a parallel road where we didn't see a car for the whole ride. We did see rain though and lots of it. We pushed through it.

Shortly after the rain, Josh got his 11th flat of the trip.

We stayed the night in Glendive, MT. One of the larger towns along the route for awhile. The population is 4,000 and climbing due to the North Dakota oil boom. We stayed in a Super 8, drank beer for the first time in awhile and enjoyed ourselves. It was money well spent... but still money spent. I am a frugal bastard.

Today, we got our free breakfast and set out on S200. We'd be on it all the way to Circle, Montana, the only comfortable stop for the day. But before that town, there was Lindsay, MT. 

When they stopped using the railroads here in the 90's, everything in the town disappeared. 

Our maps said there was a bar in tow.n As gigantic and ominous storm clouds rolled in, Josh called the number for the bar and a man picked up the phone. Josh put it on speaker.

"Yeah, we were wondering if there's any shelter here or a restaurant of some kind?" Josh inquired.

The man on the other line responded with a hearty laugh, "Son, there ain't a damn thing in that town."

We ate lunch in an empty grain silo next to the abandoned train depot and sheltered ourselves from the rain.

The rest of the ride to Circle was pretty spiritual. I suppose that's what the word would be. There's so much vastness, and emptiness that it almost cradles your soul in a sense. Many peaceful thoughts and feelings of contentment ranged through my body as Josh tried humoring me and talking. I couldn't do it. Something about the landscape made me feel quiet and small.

There are absolutely no homes out here. The few that are, are abandoned, perhaps old relics from failed attempts at farming during the Dust Bowl. 

We live in a beautiful country.

I could go on and on about the people I met in the town of Circle. At first, it was a bit daunting and as I rolled through the town, I envisioned a tough, gnarled blue collar population that didn't have the time for some kid wasting his time parading around on a bicycle. Turns out, the people are tough and gnarled but they're also some of the most kind individuals I've met along the whole trip. I felt at home.

I met the sheriff, the police dispatcher (in friendly circumstances), the wonderful post office women, and tough old bar owner Bonnie. Every single person greeted me with a smile and warmth. 

We're sleeping on picnic tables in the park. 

Oh yeah, we found Matt again. :)

"Holy shit! My crotch hurts just thinking about it!"

We woke up late, very late. With the time zone change it was 9:30 but it was hot and humid already. My face was all puffy like I'd been in a fight the night before. Could've been. Those damn youngins were up till two in the morning creating all sorts of raucous in the campground. I slept with earplugs.

Josh had two flat tires, meaning both wheels. Alas, the Interstate had its debris field on the shoulders. My route was much more quiet and clean. We spent some time repairing those, got showers, and I had a cold can of beans as I departed West into the Badlands.

The day was pretty quiet. We rode through silent prairies with the occasional oil sites and trucks but Old Highway 10 continued to be reliable. We stopped at an Interstate gas station and had a regretful lunch at Dairy Queen. It was awful.

I did meet a friendly older woman named Cheryl who was having car trouble along with her husband. They were on route to Medora coming from Alexandria, MN. They came from the small town of Brandon. Josh and I met Lonnie there a few weeks ago on the bike path. 

She began walking away, car fixed. 

"Hey, don't worry so much. It'll work out fine," I reassured her.

"Oh, worrying is all you do at my age," she told me as she hobbled toward the exit.

"Hey! If you break down along the road, I'll give you a lift!" I joked.

She thought that was funny.

Another man who had initiated the conversation with the couple, talked to me as they left. A burly man with a red cowlick in the back, Carl worked septic and had done a lot of work around Theodore Roosevelt National Park; where we were headed.

Later, miles down the road and hours later, he passed by on the Interstate heading in the opposite direction. He tooted his horn frantically. I only caught a glimpse of the driver but I knew it was him.

Eventually, we arrived at the Painted Canyon Rest Area... and we haven't left. The Badlands are much too beautiful to leave. So... we're sleeping here.

"The river flows in long sigmoid curves through an alluvial valley of no great width. The amount of this alluvial land enclosed by a single bend is called a bottom, which may be either covered with cotton-wood trees or else be simply a great grass meadow. From the edges of the valley the land rises abruptly in steep high buttes whose crests are sharp and jagged. This broken country extends back from the river for many miles, and has been called always, by Indians, French voyageurs, and American trappers alike, the "Bad Lands"..."

-Theodore Roosevelt

As I was writing this at 9pm, Josh goes, "There's some kids coming."

A swarm of pre-teenagers came flooding around our shelter laughing and giggling. They came to look at the stars with their Church but within minutes, Josh and I found ourselves surrounded by inquiring minds. They laid down to watch the stars by us but the counselor shooed them to another spot. They were lovely company, albeit intermittent.

"Why are you biking across the country?"

"Just something to do."

"Yeah, we had a guy come in labeled as CAFE (complains about fucking everything). He complained about doctors screwing up, doing things wrong, and how we'd probably operate on the wrong leg. So, as a joke, we covered his arm in casting after surgery. You shoulda seen his face when he came to."

Josh and I surprised ourselves yesterday morning, awakening at the murderous time of 6:45 along with Joff and the Aussies. It was lucky we did, for not even fifteen minutes later, a man came by with a leafblower to clean out the shelter from last night's fiesta. We weren't sure if he was just doing his job or ensuring we were out early.

Joff, Ken, and Julie went to a local Walmart back in Bismarck while Josh and I hit the open road. We crossed over the gaping Missouri River and went into the town of Mandan; named after an old Native American tribe. We decided breakfast in one of North Dakota's few big cities wasn't a bad idea. At a gas station, attempting to make a decision, our old friends rolled on by. We were together again! Breakfast at Hardee's! 

Ken is an absolute riot. We had a fantastic breakfast with the group: Joff telling the greatest stories, Julianne patiently listening, and keeping Ken in line while he told his jokes. It was wonderful. But, eventually, it was time for Josh and I to depart. As opposed to getting all sentimental again like that morning, we gave each other high fives and counted on seeing each other again soon.

Leaving Mandan and heading toward New Salem, we got onto Interstate 94. Contrary to other states, there aren't any laws against bicycles riding on the thing. Is it safe? Yeah. Does it feel safe? No. The speed limit out here is 75, which I've never seen. However, even on the Interstate, cars are very considerate and stay in the left lane while we meander along on the right shoulder.

We stayed at a free campground in Hebron built for the local Boy Scouts. Like other times, we laid our air mattresses on top of the picnic tables and passed out.

In the morning, we didn't even head out until late afternoon. We gathered ourselves at a local coffee shop and shared conversation with the owner, Andy. The fifty something year old had two children that worked the coffee shop. We talked and talked. He had loads of information to tell.

Today, we got back onto the Interstate and headed for the city of Dickinson. After about 15 miles, I got tired of the fast pace and broke for Old Highway 10; a road that ran parallel but told could be too busy for cyclists. I took Old Highway 10 and Josh took the Interstate. Old Highway 10 was better ;).

Without contacting one another for a few hours, by some stroke of coincidence, we stumbled into the city at the exact same time, our routes crisscrossing.

We heard about the town of Dickinson before we got there. There's a huge oil boom in Western Dakota that has towns and cities sprouting and swelling with multitudes of eager men looking for work. In fact, our bicycle route was changed two years ago because of the influx of workers and traffic.

"It's one of those things that you really just have to see to believe," Andy said to us in the town of Hebron. "They make a good amount of money doing it. If you connect the cities of Minot, Williston, and Dickinson, you have what they call the 'oil triangle'."

And Dickinson was quite the city on arrival. It actually looked like the old prairie towns we'd seen all over North Dakota with a large grain mill on the railroad and a few large farms and pastures. The only difference was all of the corporate stores hastily being built and the amount of trucks moving manically around the roads.

Dickinson is one of the fastest growing cities in the United States. In 2010, it had a population of 17,000. Estimates now range anywhere from 20-30 thousand. The hotel costs even for your run of the mill Super 8 is around $150. Apartment pricing is grossly inflated and homelessness/crime has skyrocketed. And for whatever reason (the Aussies would be cringing), we paid a steep price to camp in a dirty and unkempt primitive campground for the night.

The oil boom in the Bakken Shale is benefitting the economy of North Dakota but certainly at its costs. The shale here runs about 20,000 ft. underground for the gas so it apparently hasn't hurt too much drinking water or things of that nature. At least, there isn't much in the health records/reports.

Meanwhile, back at home in New Jersey, we're seeing the Marcellus Shale being tapped. The Marcellus Shale stretches from upstate New York south through Pennsylvania to West Virginia and west to parts of Ohio. It's not as deep as the Bakken Shale but frankly, the environmental, and social results worry me. The East might see a similar boom in the area if the fracking continues.