Day 25: Rain Rain Go Away, Team-mate Tim, Pfffffsssstt, The Beach!

Day 25: Monday June 30th, 2014.
Circle, MT to Beach, ND.  89.9 miles

I awoke to steady raindrops on my tent. Assuming it was a passing thunderstorm (a 50% chance in the forecast), I figured I would sleep in and wait it out. But, it didn't stop, and there wasn't any lightning.  I had to see what was going on, so I crawled out of my tent only to find grey soggy skies for as far as the eye could see. It wasn't going to let up anytime soon. So, reluctant to pack up a soggy tent, I decided I would go into town for breakfast to wait out the weather. But, when I rounded the corner of the laundromat in the middle of the campground, headed for the bathroom, there in front of me was another touring cyclist, packing up his tent, ambitiously intending to forage ahead. 

Tim was his name.  He was headed to Iowa to catch the start of RAGBRAI (the Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa). In it's 42nd year, the annual 7-day ride across the state is the oldest, largest (by attendance), and longest (of its kind) bicycle touring event in the world. Tim was gearing up to head East. "Yeah, it's raining, but it is supposed to all day, and the winds are still out of the West.", he said as he folded up his tent under the laundromat awning.  Realizing that I was standing next to a laundromat, I decided to throw my soggy tent in a dryer while packing up my other things, and join him.  We headed to a cafe in Circle for some breakfast.

Tim, a retired city administrator for a small town in central Illinois, was off to explore the U.S. while doing what he loved to do; ride a bicycle. The bicycle accident that almost cost him his leg a decade ago near his home didn't deter him a bit from his trip across the U.S.  The docs were able to save his leg, minus several inches. So, all of his left shoes are custom-built with risers to compensate, including his clip-in bike shoes he was wearing when I met him. 

On a day like this one, it was good to have a riding partner for encouragement. I'm not sure I would have started out as early as I did if it wasn't for Tim.  Later that day, he told me the same thing.  We set our sites on Glendive, a little over 50 miles away.

Despite the rain, the tail-winds were helping move us along. We were about 4 miles out of town, climbing up a hill when I seemed to lose some momentum. I looked down and noticed my back tire was very low.  With my attention now focused on it, I could hear a faint sound.  Pfffffsssstt. I had a flat!  I immediately pulled off the shoulder and into the grass, jumped off my bike, and flopped the bike onto it's side with two panniers inbetween the frame and the ground. I jumped to my knees, put my ear an inch from the tire, and slowly rotated it, listening for the "Pfffffsssstt". There it was. I found the leak, and the foreign object that prodruded through my tire. It was a small pebble, the size of your pinky finger nail, shaped like an arrowhead. By this time, Tim pulled up and jumped off his bike to help. We flipped the bike upside down with the seat and handlebars against the ground. He held the bike steady while I removed the rear tire, pulled out the punctured tube, and put in a new one. The whole ordeal probably took 10-15 minutes. I was glad to have help, especially with the weather conditions as they where.

We made great time to Glendive. Entering the town, our route took us to the old bridge, now a pedestrian-only crossing, over the Little Missouri River. 

The river did not appear to be so little. I heard in the news the night before that downstream of all these nearby tributaries, as they and others merge with the Missouri across other states, flooding was occurring. I could now imagine why, as ever since I crossed the continental divide East of Missoula, all the water I passed and more was combining. 

Tim and I had lunch in Glendive.  Then, with lots of time left in the day, and winds helping us to make good time, we decided to go 25 miles further to Wibaux, MT. The rain was persistent. My shoes were waterlogged and my socks were wet. We finally made it to Wibaux, agreeing to split a hotel room to dry out in. There was one hotel in town. The receptionist, in response to our inquiry for a room, said, "There's only one left, and it's $99."  In a town with a population of 589 people, we were a bit surprised at the price (relative to what I have paid in other small towns), and the fact that there was only one room left, with an empty hotel parking lot outside. As I figured out later, we had entered the land of the Bakken oil field, where a gold rush in oil was happening. It was the epicenter of fracking. We decided to confer.  

With not much in the way of dinner options in town, we reluctantly agreed to ride 11 miles further to a town with double the population. Beach, ND was the new destination.  I told Tim, "And you thought there wasn't a beach in North Dakota."  We forged ahead, wet and tired. Then, we crossed the state line a few miles outside of Beach. I was energized with my sense of accomplishment having completed a bicycle ride across the state of Montana, the long way. For some reason, it felt more significant than the entirety of my ride thus far. 

We celebrated our long, challenging day (Tim's longest ride of his trip), and our cheap hotel in Beach, with a beer and a satisfying warm meal. 

Even in the small town of Beach, ND, which is quite a bit South of the epicenter of the hydraulic fracturing oil boom of Williston, the effects were taking their toll on this and other small communities. A notice in the National Park Service newspaper(relative to the nearby Theodore Roosevelt National Park), entitled, "What's Going On Around Here", summed up the situation well:

Surprised by the amount of truck traffic in the area?  Unable to get a hotel reservation?  Can't find the sleepy cowboy towns you remember?  The reason for the incredible changes this area is experiencing lies 2 miles below the surface of Western North Dakota: a formation called the Bakken. The Bakken formation is a rock layer rich with oil reserves. Until recently, the oil was not extractable. A new and controversial technique - hydraulic fracturing, or "Fracking"- has allowed oil companies to more than quadruple their daily oil production in the last five years. The huge influx of activity has brought tens of thousands of new jobs to the area. In a national economy where jobs are scarce, North Dakota has become the land of opportunity for many. All three ND national parks are experiencing serious issues due to the oil boom. New wells are going in every month; many can be seen from inside park boundaries. Each new well means another drill rig, well pad, pumpjack, debris pit, flare pit, storage tanks, and access road on the landscape. Each new well requires 2000 "trucking events" to complete its setup and to begin pumping oil. Noise and dust from heavy truck traffic and pumping equipment is constant. Numerous flares can be seen in the formerly dark night sky as excess natural gas is burned off. Socioeconomic impacts are altering local communities. A multifaceted topic to be sure, the oil boom begs a difficult question: how can we develop our resources while still protecting our parks and communities?

Back to the hotel, I had to do everything I could to get my shoes and gear dried out for the next day. My bicycle became my drying rack. 

Day 24: 100 is the new 50 (Not!), Badlands and Dinosaurs

Day 24: Sunday June 29th, 2014.

Sand Springs, MT to Circle, MT.   100.2 miles. 

Overnight, I experienced first-hand the reference to the "wind-swept plains".  After pushing me all day yesterday, and continuing unrelentingly through the night, I awoke to the 40 mph gusts pushing the limits of my tent pole strength. 

Fortunately, those winds were still out of the West, or maybe slightly more West-Northwest.  Either way, it was going to be another day of great progress. I was eager to set sail, and to break down the tent before it broke itself down.  And, being in Sand Springs, there wasn't anyone to talk to, no shower, no coffee, no restaurant, and thus no reason to hang around any longer. 

My morning ride was surrounded by a mix of grassland, wildflowers, and sagebrush. A familiar friend, "Big Sagebrush", or "Great Basin Sage" (Artemesia tridentata), stood out on the landscape with it's silvery-colored leaves and great aroma. Legend has it that cowboys on the prairie would break a sprig off and use it to freshen up their bedding. 

Arriving at the town of Jordan, having made swift progress, I was hungry and stopped for lunch. Then as I headed out of town, badlands topography greeted me with beautifully contrasting layers. 

The road was straight for as far as the eye could see, stretched out over the rolling hills. 

In this region, dinosaurs were common in the past, and several towns, including Jordan and Circle, have museums displaying many fossils found in these hills. 

I came to the turn-off for the road northward toward Fort Peck dam and lake. The man-made reservoir, interrupting the flow of the Missouri River, boasts 1,600 miles of shoreline and was the largest earthen dam in the world for a long time until Russia built a bigger one.  I really wanted to go check it out. But, it was 60 miles North, and thus a 2-day detour.

So, I passed it up and set my sights on the town of Circle, MT. 

I arrived in Circle around sunset.  It seemed later though, as a big thunderstorm was between me and the setting sun, creating a spectacular sunset. 

Another hundred mile day, and I was feeling great.

Day 23: The Land of Judith, Seas of Color, Spitfire Sylvia, Inland Oceans

Day 23: Saturday June 28th, 2014

Lewistown, MT to Sand Springs, MT.  100.0 miles.

After a record day yesterday, my intention was to sleep in a bit. But, the morning sun blasting in my tent, and the commotion amongst my neighbors, a traveling high-school baseball team, had me up early. I went to a basic cafe in downtown Lewistown for breakfast. Sitting at the counter, I had an angled view of the action in the kitchen, and watched as the cook threw my sausage links into the deep fryer.  That's how they do it around here, apparently. Reluctant, I tried a bite. It was, of course, quite delicious. 

Formerly Camp Lewis, Lewistown is at the geographical center of Montana and was established in 1881. 

Today, with a population of 5,900, it feels more like a city relative to many of the small towns I have passed through.  It has a fair number of old brick buildings in the downtown core.   The "Mackey Building" has been more recently occupied by "Montana Tavern".

This one on Main Street was built in 1909. 

To get to Lewistown the day before, I had to cross the Judith River.  In Lewistown, I was in the Judith Basin, and my morning ride out of town would require a climb up and over the Judith Mountains.  

Checking the weather report before I left, high winds of 18-30 mph wth gusts to 40 mph were in the forecast for the next 3 days.  Winds at that velocity from the side would make it unsafe, not only for me being blown around, but also for the cars on the road that are passing me while fighting the winds. Head-on, those winds would rob me of virtually all of my momentum, requiring me to expend tremendous effort only to crawl forward at a snail's pace.  The winds in the forecast were Westerly!  This meant that, as I headed East, the winds would be at my back, pushing me forward, helping me reach my destination. With this good news, I eagerly set out to climb the Judith Mountains. 

The mountains really seemed more like a set of hills, like the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, compared to the mountains I had climbed in Idaho and Western Montana.  But, the increased elevation was enough to support the growth of conifer trees. From the crest of the Judith Mountains, the wind had kicked up and was pushing me along.  In addition, a gradual descent awaited me for many miles. I rode fast, sometimes struggling to pedal fast enough to keep resistance under my feet, which isn't really a problem, but a very good thing!

Along the way, blankets of flowers covered the landscape in pink. 

Then, a little further along, fields of bright yellow whizzed by me. 

In a little over 3 hours, I arrived at the town of Winnett (pop. 182). Wait a minute, could that be possible?  Winnett was 60 miles from Lewistown.  I had been sailing along, approaching an average of 20 mph, and made tremendous progress thanks to the wind and the descent. I decided to have lunch to celebrate. 

The best restaurant in the town of Winnett is the Kozy Korner, the only restaurant in town. I walked in and was warmly greeted by the owner, Sylvia St. Pierre.  She could tell by my attire that I was riding a bike, and we started up a conversation about my travels, her outdoor adventures, the town of Winnett, being American, and other interesting topics while I devoured my lunch. 

Sylvia, now 78, was born in Java, moved at an early age to Holland, went to school in Amsterdam, married a German against her parent's advice, immigrated to the USA, had 2 kids, became a registered nurse in East LA (it was rough, she said, often commenting to her patients, "Didn't I patch you up last week?"), mourned the loss of her husband of 10 years, remarried her deceased husband's best friend and his 6 kids, moved to Colorado to get away from the hectic city life, raised their kids, retired and moved with her husband away from the hectic city life that developed in Colorado to, of all places, Winnett.

All the while, she has and  continues to live a happy and active life, always grateful to be American, and live in Winnett. "Sure, it's a small town that's quiet", she remarked. Continuing, "But, if I want some action, I'll jump on a plane a fly to Las Vegas, or Colorado."  "I love Winnett, and I love the USA", she said with compassion. 

In fact, a month ago, she flew to Denver, met up with a few of her kids, and went on their annual backpacking trip. They climbed up to a 12,000 ft peak in the nearby Rockies, with 6,000 feet of ascent. This, the same climb that her, her husband (now deceased for 8 years) and her kids would do each year as a tradition.  "You know, this time, I had to take an extra day at about 8,000 feet to get acclimated. But, once I did, I was on my way to the top.", she said with a smile.  Not too shabby for a 78-year old!  

When she got to the summit, she sat down on the same rock that her and her husband would share each year, with a magnificent expansive view in front of them, relishing in their accomplishment. With a pause, she said softly, "You know, when I'm up there sitting on that rock, I feel my husband sitting there next to me."    "It's a special place."

I was touched by her story, and didn't want our conversation to end. So, I ordered the cherry pie a la mode for dessert and we chatted a bit more (not that I needed an excuse to order the cherry pie a la mode!). 

Leaving the Kozy Korner, I was gearing up when a heavy downpour made me question where I was going and how much further I was going to ride. The next place on the map with any services was another 40 miles away. But, the winds were strong, and there was still plenty of daylight. So, I decided to push on. 

Sand Springs was my new target destination. On the way, the landscape revealed exposed layers of the rock units underlaying the topography. Brilliant contrasting colors of white, red, grey, and black could be seen in a badlands-like topography. Shale and sandstone were the dominant layers.

 I pulled over at a rest stop that provided a bit of history of the area, both in terms of past inhabitants, as well as the geology. 

Kerchival City was developed nearby, and in direct competition with the already bustling Fort Benton. 

I crossed the Musselshell River, a tributary of the Missouri River, now about 35 miles North of my location. 

Finally, late in the day before sunset, I arrived at Sand Springs, having ridden 100 miles for a second day in a row. The wind was howling, and would create a challenge when setting up my tent. My map indicated that there was a post office, grocery store, restaurant, and market in town. But, unlike most towns on the map, there wasn't a number for the population of Sand Springs. It turns out that there's a church and one building in Sand Springs. The one building is the post office and market (probably with a few frozen options and a microwave that could allow it to count as a restaurant too). Everything was closed. As I peered through the window of the store, about 70% of the shelves were bare.

A sign on the door read, "Bikers can set up tent behind store."  Fortunately, there was a bathroom with hot and cold running water.  As long as I have that, I can prepare food that I carry with my own stove. So, it all worked out just fine. 

Day 22: Chokecherries, Badgers, Square Buttes, and Such

Day 22: Friday June 27th, 2014.
Fort Benton, MT to Lewistown, MT.  102.3 miles.

After packing up, I headed into town for breakfast at a great little coffee shop at the north end of town before departing. The town was buzzing, and people were arriving from near and far origins to partake in the annual Fort Benton weekend Summer Celebration. The pig roast was kicking off the festivities, starting at 10 am. At breakfast, I met folks from Calgary, from the San Fernando Valley (CA), from Oregon, and elsewhere. 

Determined to get ahead of the thunderstorms, I was on my bike by 9 am, headed for Denton, a small town (pop. 256) about 60 miles away.  Riding down Main Street in Fort Benton, making my way to the bridge, I was stopped by a woman crossing the street. "Hey, yer not leaving yet, are ya?"  "The pig roast is startin' up here in just a few."  I wasn't sure why she was singling me out, or how she knew I was leaving. Then, it hit me. She was the nice lady running the museum that I met and talked to the previous day about my travels.  The people I have met in these small towns are super nice, friendly, caring folks.  Running into her on my way out added yet another bit of specialness to my experience with Fort Benton, and gave me a lot to look back on as I crossed the Missouri River headed out of town. 

Starting out, I had to climb out of the Missouri River floodplain and back up on the prairie.  Clouds seemed to have a head-start in their development for the day, and I would occasionally get a few drops on my arms, none staying around long enough for the arrival of the next drop.

I was making good time, feeling stronger after taking a day off. The weather was looking more threatening, with a big thunderstorm nearby. I came upon Geraldine (pop. 261), and decided to turn off the main road to see if I could find something to eat while hoping the weather would settle.  Crossing the railroad tracks, I was in front of an old small-town, turn-of-the-century wooden train depot, the "Geraldine Milwaukee Depot", built in 1913. 

I then found the "Home Cafe". Entering, the owner, in her 60's, greeted me. Barbara was her name. "We're doing pizza today, she said.  On the counter, stacks of mason jars filled with homemade chokecherry jelly were for sale. Barbara, and the chef, Monica, picked the berries from their back yards in town. 

I couldn't resist buying a jar, but knew I couldn't transport it.  So, after lunch, I went around the corner to the post office to ship the jelly to Victoria. Of course, I paid twice the amount for the shipping than the jelly, but it would be a special surprise for Victoria of something foreign to Southern CA.  When I entered the post office, the lady behind the counter greeted me by saying, "Nice Shirt."  Confused by her odd, but friendly greeting, I looked down only to realize that I was wearing my "U.S. Postal Service" cycling jersey. 

Back on the road, the weather now improved, I continued on. The roadside wildflowers were intense, with varying shades of purple, yellow, and white.

I stopped to take some pictures several times. 

In some places, patches of color blotted the landscape for as far as the eye could see. 

The yellow-flowering plants were most common.  In the background, a flat-topped landform, a butte, could be seen. "Square Butte" was its name, and the small town situated in it's shadow shared the same name.  One of two geologic features in the area, it is a laccolith, or a convex lens-shaped accumulation of magma underground that bulged the landscape upward, forming around the end of the Mesozoic. The composition of the magma and the rate of cooling was responsible for the type of resultant rock, named after the nearby town of Shonkin, called "Shonkinite". 

 

These features dramatically interrupt the otherwise flat or gently-rolling landscape. Below, a photo of Square Butte squared. :)  The town in the foreground and the landform in the background. 

Forging ahead, I came upon Butte Creek.  As I rode over the creek, I saw something moving adjacent to me, on the other side of the guard rail. I slowed down as I passed the rail, looking over my shoulder to see what it was. It was a badger, looking over it's shoulder, stopped, probably wondering what I was. I've noticed that I startle animals, and they stop to look, as they are not immune to my size, sound, and speed as they are with the frequent travelers of the road, automobiles (cows almost always stop their grazing and track my passage, and on a few occasions, the herd has ran alongside me, the lounging ones expending tremendous effort to get up and run with the rest of them).  I stopped, wanting to take a picture of the badger. We had a brief stare-off, and he ran off into the creek before I could get the camera ready. 

The biggest climb of the day was approaching, as I got closer to Arrow Creek, with the Arrow Creek Bench in the background. A precursor to the challenge, the steepness of the impending climb would be told through the story of the stagecoach troubles of navigating this landform in a roadside historic plaque. The sign, quoting the stage coach drivers, warned, "We started at 6 am, but it took us an hour and a half to climb the fearful badland hill on the East side of Arrow Creek."  "The steep and rugged Arrow Creek hill has been a challenge to transportation since the late nineteenth century", the sign read. 

"Great", I thought to myself.  Well, it can't be that bad with the modern-day paved road infrastructure. As I crossed Arrow Creek, my view of the head-on climb, the same view that the stagecoach drivers of the past quivered about, was telling. It was steep. As I got closer, I notice bright-orange road construction signs on the side of the road. 

The more I pedaled, the more impending the hill became. As distant features crept closer, able to resolve my "trail" up the hill, I realized that my navigation up this landform will be more like the trails of the old stage coach routes than I could have ever imagined, as the road was gone. Active road construction had removed the road completely, preparing the route for a new road to be built. 

The only thing between me and the top of this bench was a dusty path of packed dirt, and big, noisy earthmovers. A flagger at the bottom stopped traffic. I navigated past the semi, the giant combine, and the other cars waiting in line to speak with the man behind the stop sign. He informed me that the contractor would not allow any cyclists to ride up the hill. I would have to either turn around, or load my bike in the back of the pilot truck for a lift to the top. 

While a ride to the top should have been a wonderful gift to any sane person, I found myself conflicted. "Well, it's my only choice", my sane conscience told me. But, something was powerfully convincing me otherwise.  That something, was the fact that I had ridden a bicycle unaided, without any support, pedaling every single inch, from the Pacific Ocean, now almost a thousand miles behind me, to the place where I stood still, my feet on the ground, with my bike between my legs, my hands on the handlebars, staring forward at what has become an even greater obstacle in front of me, bigger than the hill itself. 

I was frozen. I didn't have to decide what to do because the stop sign in front of me allowed me to remain undecided. That was, until the pilot truck arrived, and pulled sideways into the driveway in front of me to turn around, a cloud of dust enshrouding me. I scooted forward, peering into the cab, a young man behind the wheel, looked at me, expecting my dismount and surrendering of my bicycle. I said nervously, and not really knowing what I was going to say, "Hi, my name is Judd."  I told him that I was riding a bicycle across the continent, that I had pedaled every inch, unaided, with a GPS to track my progress, and that carrying me up the hill would change all of that. This of course, was ignoring the practicality of actually being able to ride up this dirt-packed steep hill.  He said hesitantly, and sympathetic to my cause, "Well, I'm not supposed to let any cyclists ride up the hill."  I stared at him, not saying a word. How could I respond?  What could I say?  Then, he broke the silence. "There really isn't a lot of heavy equipment out right now."   "Do you think you could make it?", he asked.  Then, the practical implications set in. But, I didn't hesitate. What could be the worst thing that could happen. If I can't make it, they will pick me up and taking me to the top. I said, "Yes, absolutely I will make it!"  "Well, ok then, follow the last car."

I was overjoyed, on top of the world. Probably not the feelings typically experienced by those attempting to climb up the Arrow Creek Bench. The pilot car started out, and I followed the last car as it started to pull forward, my legs spinning as fast as I could move them, keeping up with the pack. The cars slowly began to pull away from me, and I was left alone to tackle the challenge, pedaling vigorously.  Once I reached the dirt, it was well-packed, and I knew then that I could do this, no matter how steep the climb. I was grinning from ear to ear the entire way up. 

As I came upon a few work trucks about half way up, a group of workers with hard hats stopped, all of their attention focused on me. It reminded me of the scene in the movie Blazing Saddles, when the black sheriff rides his horse into the town he had been newly appointed to. I just continued smiling, waved, and proceeded to pedal vigorously all the way to the top. A few hundred feet before cresting the hill and reaching the old pavement, a lone construction worker seeing my approach got out of his truck and stared until I reached him. "You know, since we started construction here six months ago, you are the only bicyclist to ride up this hill."  Still grinning, I said, "Thank you!"  Now winded, sweat dripping down my forehead, I put my head down to hide the tears of joy that were welling up in my eyes. When I crested the hill, a line of cars was in wait, with a group of people at the front of the line, stretching their legs and conversating to pass the time. 

Presumably frequent travelers of these parts that were familiar with the hill I just conquered, they spotted me and started cheering. "Wow, man!" "Way to go!", one said. I was on top of the world. 

The good feelings and adrenaline carried on as I rode at a good pace all the way to Denton. I has dinner in Denton, was full of energy, and still had a good four hours of daylight. In the distance, probably another 40 miles, was the bigger town of Lewistown. Sure to have more services, I decided, feeling invincible, to go for it. If I make it, it will be my biggest day ever at around 100 miles. 

In the final stretch into Lewistown, forming a triangle, at three different points around me, big thunderstorms had developed.  The setting sun illuminated their tops, a rainbow at the base of the storm to the east, with a clear path to my destination. 

It was an incredible ending to an awesome day. I ended up riding 102.3 miles, and I felt tired, but energized!

Day 21: Fort Benton History: "The Chicago of the Plains"

Day 21:  Thursday, June 26th, 2014

Fort Benton, MT.  0 miles. 

I took a day off to wait for the weather system to pass through, and to explore the fascinating history of a town once referred to as "The Chicago of the Plains", once the most important river port west of St. Louis, called Fort Benton. 

The original fort, established by Major Alexander Culbertson of the American Fur Company in 1846, was developed as a trading post to secure trade with the Blackfoot Nation. The adobe fort was named in honor of U.S. Senator Thomas Hart Benton, an advocate of Western expansion, and the company's congressional ally. 

The Missouri River, is the dominant natural feature, always present and nearby no matter what part of town you are in.

Referred to as the "Mighty Mo", "Old Misery" (referring to the difficulty of navigating it's waters owing to changing sand bars and submerged logs and other obstacles), or the "Muddy Mo", or referring to its appearance, "to thick to drink", or "to thin to plow", the Missouri carved through layers of glacial till, shale, and sandstone in these parts, forming the river valley that became an ideal spot for the establishment of Fort Benton.  

The river also represented a conduit for transportation.  Upstream of Fort Benton, the river became impassable to steamboats. Thus, once a small trading post, as steam ships making their long journey from St. Louis and beyond would arrive at this westernmost stop, Fort Benton was transformed almost overnight into a bustling port.  Sometimes 50 steamboats per season would arrive here. 

Overland trails through mountains and valleys stretched out from Fort Benton in every direction. The town was a crucial intersection between water and land transportation. Incoming freight was unloaded from the boats and transferred onto wagons. Those wagons, pulled by oxen, horses, and mules, delivered goods to the gold fields around Helena and in Canada.  Many of the trails used were established by the Native Americans for transporting bison robes and other trade goods to trading posts.  A stage line left Fort Benton every other day for Helena (the soon-to-be capital city of Montana) and it took 2 days.  Below is an authentic set of rules for passengers riding the stage coach. 

The first major route out of Fort Benton, the "Mullan Road", was built in 1859 and extended to Fort Walla Walla. Immigrants followed this route to the Northwest, as well as miners headed to Idaho's gold fields. 

In 1869, the "Whoop-Up" trail was established, connecting Fort Benton to Fort Whoop-Up in Canada, an outlet for the illegal (but prosperous) whiskey trade.

Thus, Fort Benton was an epicenter of activity.  In 1865, the first rancher in the area, Winfield Stocking, described Fort Benton; "It was the door through which all the gold hunters, adventurers, speculators, traders, land-seekers, big game hunters, fugitives from justice, entered the Northwest."  Homesteaders arrived on steamboats to begin a new life of farming and ranching in the surrounding plains, the U.S. Government giving free land to those willing to make good use of it. 

The boom ended when the transcontinental railroad was completed in 1887, replacing traditional means of westward travel with the much faster train service. 

Today, Fort Benton is a quaint little town that is now an epicenter not of trade and transportation, but of the history of it's past as a key component of westward expansion. 

The town has many museums, including the Museum of the Upper Missouri, Old Fort Benton, the Museum of the Northern Great Plains, and the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument Interpretive Center (the "breaks", referring to the surrounding plains interrupted, as the land "breaks" away, as the eroded landscape descends down into the Missouri River floodplain).  In addition, interpretive signage all along the riverfront parkway will guide you through the rich history of Fort Benton. 

Probably the most touching story of Fort Benton's past was that of a local rancher and his sheep-herding dog, "Shep".  In 1936, the rancher fell ill while tending his flock. He was transported to the local St. Claire hospital in Fort Benton, and a sheep dog had followed the transport into town and sat waiting patiently outside the doors to the hospital. A nun working at the hospital kitchen noticed the dog and fed him for the several days leading up to the dog owner's death. Family requested that the herder's body be transported back East to the family's home cemetery.

On that August day, the undertaker loaded the deceased man on the eastbound train headed to the relative's home town.  The casket was rolled out onto the train station platform, and the dog appeared out of nowhere with watchful eyes as his owner was loaded into the baggage car. Attendants recalled the dog whining as the door slammed shut and the engine pulled away from the station. 

That day was the beginning of a five-and-a-half year faithful vigil as the dog, later named "Shep", returned day after day, greeting 4 arriving trains daily, anxiously waiting in anticipation of his owner's return.  A fixture on the platform, Shep eyed each passenger hopefully, often chased off as a mongrel, but never completely discouraged.

Neither the heat of Summer, nor the bitter Montana Winter days kept Shep from his faithful greetings of the incoming trains.  People began noticing his routine, and as his story was pieced together, he gained popularity. People came to see and photograph him. Attempts to adopt him failed.  All of the attention was somewhat unwelcomed.  After checking the train, Shep would retire quickly to hide from the attention. 

The railroad employees provided Shep with the essentials. The long nights under the platform in-wait, and the cold winters took their toll on Shep.  Stiff-legged and hard of hearing, Shep failed to hear old 235 as it rolled into the station at 10:17 am on a cold Winter morning. Noticing too late, he slipped on the cold icy rails and perished. 

Shep's story is memorialized in a large bronze statue prominently displayed in the center of town along the riverfront, the plaque inscription reading, "Forever Faithful". 

One of the most impressive museums in town is the Museum of the Northern Great Plains. The museum captures the story of the homesteader, of life on the prairie, and of the progression of farming through time, told by an unbelievably impressive collection of machinery, from the primitive beginnings to the advent of the steam engine to 1900's-modern mechanization. I can't possibly do it justice, but to say that you should add it and the town of Fort Benton to your bucket list, and to post a few photos from my all-too-short visit to the museum to tickle your interest. 

While it turned out to be a fantastic day in Fort Benton with no rain, nearby towns were hammered with thunderstorms that, in some cases, dropped inches of rain in a few hours. It was a good day to stay put!

Day 20: Portage, Patriotism, People

Day 20:  Wednesday June 25th, 2014
Great Falls, MT to Fort Benton, MT.  51.5 miles.

After a hot breakfast in an outdoor "Camp Kitchen" restaurant at the KOA, I headed out on the road just before 11 am.  I had my sights set on Fort Benton, a historic town on the upper Missouri River, a little over 50 miles away.  

Fort Benton was the furthest upstream site that steam ships could travel due to waterfalls and other obstacles further upstream of Fort Benton.  Thus, materials and goods arriving in Fort Benton would be offloaded and moved across land.  Lewis and Clark unloaded their goods and portaged their canoes with gear across land towards Fort Shaw (one of my stops yesterday). My ride today will roughly follow their portage route.

I was feeling a bit patriotic today, sporting my newly acquired TransAmerica jersey I picked up in Missoula.

For some inexplicable reason, throwing firecrackers over my shoulder added to that sense of patriotism.

And, I found a 2-for-a-$1 special on American flags that I couldn't pass up. They made a great addition to my "back end".

If you take a close look at today's map, you will see the Missouri River roughly paralleling my route to the North. And, you will see two drainage channels that my path crosses, these channels carved out by smaller tributary rivers that are flowing Northwest into the Missouri. As I travel across this section of high plains and navigate across these drainage channels, I will have a series of descents and challenging climbs that are abrupt and steep. From a distance, these channels cannot be seen, as the plateau on either side of the channel is the same elevation. So, it would appear that the landscape is otherwise flat, with the exception of the work of these rivers on the landscape.

The weather was off to a head-start this morning. This time, the cumulus clouds were developing to the East of me, in the direction I was heading, and the most organized development was a little bit South of my trajectory.

This could be ok, as yesterday's storms moved East as they developed.  Regardless, I was keeping my eye on them. 

I dropped down into the first drainage channel, crossed a river, then began the steep climb to return to my previous elevation. As I was climbing, a distant object on the road, barely visible, appeared to be moving towards me. It was small, but steadily moving. "Is it a motorcycle?", I thought to myself.  As it moved closer to me (and I barely moved closer to it in my lowest gear climbing uphill), I questioned whether it could be another bicyclist. Now larger, approaching me, I first recognized the bags hanging off of the sides, as they were the same as those I was carrying. It was another touring cyclist heading West.  He veered across the road to my side, a huge grin on his face met mine.

"Hallo" he said , with a French accent. "Are you American?", he asked. His name was Jean-Marie Courderot, from Avignon, France. He shipped his bike to St. Louis, and began the Lewis & Clark bike route.  "I am eding to ze Pa-zific Ozen", he said.  We chatted and laughed for a good ten minutes. He was on top of the world, so happy to be riding his bicycle across the United States of America. 

As he rode off, I finished off the rest of my climb energized, thinking about how happy he was, and sharing the same sentiment as I continued to make my way  closer to the Atlantic Ocean. 

A litte more than half way to my destination for the day, I came upon the quaint old homesteading community of Highwood. I was hungry for lunch, and my map indicated a market and bar were here. I wound my way through most of the town. The market had been converted into a church. I didn't see a bar. I was already planning for the alternative; picking a shady spot somewhere and making a lunch out of the food I was carrying with me. I passed a school (K-12) that likely served most of the small towns in the region.  Then, on my way out of town, there it was, the "Highwood Bar". 

One car out front, I wasn't sure if the place was open. I reluctantly opened the door, and there were 2 guys at the bar and one woman bartending. The blast of bright daylight entering the bar as I poked my head inside stopped everything. All three individuals looked at me. I anticipated that one of them would blurt out rhetorically at any moment, "What do you want?".  Not allowing that to happen, I quickly asked, "Are you open for business?"  The bartender replied, "Oh, a biker; sure, come on in".

The gentlemen at the bar were wearing jeans, overalls, and plaid shirts with dirty baseball caps. They looked like they were taking a break from driving their farm equipment they owned through their fields. Drinking their version of Gatorade:  Bud Light, they resumed their conversation.  I sat a few seats down from them at the bar. 

"What can I getcha to drink?", the bartender asked. Still wondering exactly what I was doing in this establishment, it was difficult for me to respond to her simple, and expected question. Delivered with a total lack of confidence, I replied, "Um, do you have Dr. Pepper...".  Her head cocks sideways in the same way a dog responds to obscure sounds, as I am still trying to get my tongue to cooperate with my mouth and vocal cords. "...er, um, Pepsi?",  "A soda?", stumbling all over myself as I'm seeing her reaction. Without correcting her head tilt or responding, she rotated 90 degrees and headed to a refrigerator at the end of the bar.  "I'm not sure what we have.", as she swung open the door and bent down to peer into the dark abyss of a place rarely visited in this bar. "What do ya know, I've got Pepsi and Dr. Pepper", she replied. I told her the Dr. Pepper would be great. She popped the top and served it on the rocks. 

I remembered why I was there; to eat lunch. I looked over my shoulder to the left and there was some sort of makeshift kitchen; not with real appliances, but the sort of thing you might see behind the scenes of a coffee shop. Reluctant to ask another question not related to the mostly empty bottles of booze behind her, I blurted out, "Are you serving food today?"  After a pause, she replied, "I could make you a chicken sandwich."  Now that response in most circumstances might warrant a follow up question inquiring as to what else was on the menu, or a request to see the menu. But, in this situation, without hesitation, I gleefully replied, "That sounds fantastic!"  

While enjoying my refreshing drink, I overheard the gentlemen, in their 60's, at the end of the bar. One of them was the mayor of Highwood. He was trying to pry the other one away from the bar to finish the day's work, spraying the fields. "Let's go, Bob."  Bob wasn't done drinking Bud Light. He was pretty much done drinking the one in front of him, but he was intent on having "just two more" before returning to the fields. Eventually the mayor won the battle of wills, but not before Bob helped himself to the upright cooler to grab 2 cans to go.

After they left, a husband and wife in their 40's entered. They were just stopping by to pick up a few things from out back, including a BBQ grill. The bartender served me a delicious sandwich, complete with condiments and potato chips on the side. Then, she stepped out with the husband to assist while the wife stayed in the bar to "keep an eye on things". 

I spoke to her for a few minutes while devouring my sandwich. She excitedly told me that the two of them were closing escrow and obtaining keys to the Highwood bar tomorrow. They had been living in Las Vegas for some time.  Both now retired from the military, they are in Highwood to start a new adventure. 

The couple left and the bartender returned to her post. Well, sort of. She poured a Bud Light into a clear plastic cup, then sat at the end of the bar, letting out a big sigh. It was now just the two of us. She looked up towards the ceiling, then began to speak as if she new I was intently ready to listen to anything she had to say. "I'm selling this place to those two", she said.  "They're getting the keys tomorrow."  I replied, "Oh, you are the owner?"  "For one more day.", she said as her voice wavered a bit.  Then, she began her story. It didn't matter that I was a complete stranger from out of town. She needed someone to listen.

She moved from Phoenix to Great Falls to live closer to her son. It was there that she would meet her latest husband, Mike, who also had two kids of his own.  Mike retired early in his life, and the two of them bought the bar in Highwood, where hey have been for the last 22 years. They made Highwood their home together, and embraced the small community that became their "regulars".

Experiencing shortness of breath, Mike went to the doctor in the beginning of last December. It was at that doctor visit that he would find out about the cancer in his spine, bronchial tubes, and shoulder. She told me about Mike's quick decline, with intimate details about his response to chemo, about the interactions and words exchanged between her and him, and between their kids and him, in the hours before he died in the end of December.  While telling this story, she carefully struggled to keep her composure. But, it was obvious that she was suffering from her great loss, and her last day in the bar she and Mike bought together was a blatant reminder of her reality.  Tears were dripping down my cheeks as I listened, reminded of the loss of my father-in-law, and the emotional blow it inflicted upon my wife and I in an all-to-familiar story. 

"So, I'm moving back to Phoenix", she said while struggling to sound confident. "I have some girlfriends there that I'm looking forward to seeing again."  "None of them know I am coming.", she added. Then, she corrected herself, "Except for my best friend; she knows."  She told me about how she used to organize and invite her girlfriends to all-day pajama parties. She plans to host one and get the girls together just like old times. We laughed about that.

Then, I stood up, walked over to her, and introduced myself with my arm outstretched, offering a handshake. "My name is Judd", I said. She shook my hand and replied with a big smile, "I'm Tammy."  I thanked her for sharing her story with me, and gave her some words of encouragement.  Then, before I turned to walk out the door, I said, "How much do I owe ya for lunch?"  "You don't owe me nothing.", she replied. "I made that sandwich wih my own food."  I left a tip on the bar big enough to cover the meal. She walked me out the door. Seeing my bike, she said, "Hey, I like your American flags."  I smiled, she thanked me, and I rode off. 

As I rode through the linear valley that Highwood is situated within, surrounded by fields of wheat and the occasional small farm house, I thought about Tammy's story, about the hard life that people in this small community endure, and about what it would be like in the harsh 8 months of winter in this remote place. 

About to crest the hill at the other end of the valley, I stopped to see Highwood in the distance once more, still emotional, before it disappeared from my horizon. 

Now back on the high prairie, the landscape mostly flat, I made good time for the rest of the day.  In its natural state, short grasses would blanket this landscape, underlaid by glacial till from the continental glacier that covered much of the northern part of North America in the past.  Now, however, I am riding through extensive fields of mostly wheat. 

Within a mile or so of reaching Fort Benton, the landscape abruptly "breaks away", dropping sharply down into the Missouri River floodplain.  Look close at the photo below. The car on the road has just climbed up out of the floodplain. 

To arrive in Fort Benton, I had to cross the Missouri River. 

The town has a tremendously colorful history. Lewis & Clark are a part of Fort Benton's past. This sculpture is along the River in town. 

One of several buildings on the National Historic Registry here is the Grand Union Hotel. A story posted in the lobby tells of a time when drunk cowboys would attempt to ride there horse into the lobby and straight up the grand staircase.  The proprietor would pull his rifle out from behind the reception desk and fire away, knocking the intruders off their horse. 

Main Street has one row of old buildings.  The other side of the street is a parkway along the river with historical information posted all along the way. 

The old bridge spanning the Missouri has been converted into a pedestrian boardwalk, complete with benches and picnic tables. 

At the end of this bridge and atop the levee protecting the town from high river flows, sits the USGS stream gage that monitors the flow.  On the gage house, a sign indicating the high water mark of the great flood of June 6th, 1908, when the water was clearly several feet over the top of the levee. 

I went to the "Clubhouse" bar for dinner. While there, I met Michael. He's on an adventure of a different kind.

Starting in Twin Bridges, MT, he made his way down several tributary rivers until he ran into the Missouri that led him here to Fort Benton.  His final destination, New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. Michael is traveling in a kayak, with a paddle, some provisions, and a set of detachable wheels that he can use to move his mode of transportation and gear around obstacles (dams mostly, and a few falls).  

I chatted with him for a while about his adventure, and we shared stories of our experiences.  You can read about his adventures on the web by doing a Google search of, "Wandering Currents, Missouri River Adventure 2014".

I left the Clubhouse just in time to catch the sun setting over the Missouri. 

The forecast for tomorrow (Thurs) includes 15-20 mph winds out of the East, with a 90% chance of heavy rain/thunderstorms. My plan is to stay put in Fort Benton Thursday and explore it's rich history. 

Forecast