Day 43

Epic day.

So I got up to a fine sunrise, it was quite cool still. And I ate breakfast in my fleeces.

On the road around 7:30. Back through Medora and then onto old highway 10, towards Sentinal Butte. The surroundings were much the same as the park, though less concentrated, and as I moved on, the buttes became farther apart and the grassland dominated once again. Views so expansive, even panoramas hardly do it justice.

Sentinal butte is a town of 59.

I stopped by the one gas station/ convenience store (apparently they all call them C-stores around here), not to buy, but for shade and water. As I sat, my old friend Mr. Tennesse, who I had met first in Gackle, pulled in (I don't remember his name but I know that's where he's from; you don't forget with an accent like that). He too had taken a rest day in Medora and was headed to Glendive, a larger town on the other side of the Montana border. I said great, probably would see him on the road.

After Sentinal Butte was Beach. I thought about stopping, but it was the last town before the border, and I had decided I'd had enough of North Dakota, so I went on.

Paved roads are so sparse around here that the best riding is actually on the interstate. Back to 94 I went.

I was on the interstate for some time. Had a strong southeasterly wind, and as I was going northwest, it was really pushing be along.

Stopped at a highway rest stop in Wilbaux, where I met a crazy indian lady (self-proclaimed). She ran over to talk to me afyer watching me pull in, saying "next time I go across the country, that's how I wanna go!" She and her husband (who was Dakota, I forget which tribe she was) had quit thier jobs is Massachusetts and were headed to a carnival in Montana to make some money, and then on to something else, she didn't know what. She was very excited to talk to me and even took a photo of us together. Is this what being famous is like?

Back on the interstate the wind was really howling. The shoulder was covered in tire blowout shrapnel and broken glass. The cleanest part was right next to the rumble strip, so it was a fine line that I rode. I stopped for a minute and who should pull up next to me but Mr Tennessee. I says, "man, you're like a bad check." We agreed the wind was fine, and that it should only be about 20 miles more to Glendive. I let him lead the way.

As the highway turned more to the North, we really begin to fly. I must have been doing 25 at least, and was in 3rd gear the whole time. It wasn't long before I took the exit to Glendive.

Town was hot. The high school football field informed me that this was Red Devil country.

Looking for groceries I somehow stumbled upon a farm-to-table store. Sometimes it causes me trouble, but buying organic and local food on this trip has been well worth it.

They had what I needed: bulk dried fruit, bulk grains, and bulk granola. I had all my own bags too.

I went over to the city park where I intended to camp, and who should I find pulling up just then but Mr Tennessee. We sat under the pavilion and he looked at the maps while I snacked. He was all business, which I liked, giving me a minute to forget about things. After looking at the weather and the route ahead, he determined that it would be a good idea to bust out the next 49 miles to Circle while the winds were still in our favor. We had done 65 miles before 1, which was pretty impressive. I thought it wasn't a bad idea, but considered that hefty number that it would mean. 114 miles in one day. I decided I would rather do 114 miles with a tailwind than 49 without. It would be a long one but it would be a waste not to make like the Youngbloods and ride the wind.

Tennessee went to run some errands while I laid in the shade and had a siesta. Just before 3 I got ready to go again, and filled my Dromedary with an extra 4 liters of emergency water. I then soaked my shirt and put my head under the sink.

It was still the heat of the day, mid-to-high 90s. My shirt was dry before I got out of town. Off the interstate now and onto a two-lane road that follow the railroad tracks. The next town was Lindsay, 27 miles down the road.

The landscape opened up wide.

Riding with the tailwind, and going about the same speed as it, it almost feels as though there is no wind at all. Unfortunate only because the wind was what kept me cool. Without it, the sweat drips down my eyebrows, leaking sunscreen into my eyes. My sunglasses fogged. But I was in the trance, the kind you hit after 80 miles. Your mind is somewhere else but you just keep pedaling.

Lindsay came out of the blue.

I stopped at the gas station general store. There were five trucks parked outside. I walked in and inside the five cowboys from the trucks sat in a circle talking. They all looked at me sternly as I interrupted them. I asked for water, and the young one pointed at the sink. I filled my bottle as they watch me, and then left.

It was just about 30 miles to circle. I hardly saw a soul. In the Dakotas there was actually stuff growing. Here, there was just dry dirt, and dry grass as far as the eye can see.

Cows here and there, huddling behind ramshackle fences. There's always one that gives you the look.

On and on and on it went until finally there was a long descent ahead, and I knew Circle must be at the bottom.

Finally I rounded the corner and came in upon Main Street. It was not the Oasis I had hoped for. It smelled of dirt and grease, and the wind was undeterred. I had the feeling of coming into the town that harbored the outlaws in a western movie.

Desolate.

The sheriff looked me over from his late 90s Jeep Cherokee. I rode past, took a left at the VFW, and rode to the city park. Hardly two scraggly trees there, the carousel squeaking in the wind, overgrown tennis courts surrounded by rusty fence. I was half expecting a truck to pull up  and some gnarly dude to tell me "we don't like your kind here..." and to get the hell outta town. Lastly, I saw a sign that said no overnight camping. Seeing as the Sheriff had watched me obviously come in on my bicycle, I figured I shouldn't try it. Back through town again I saw a hand-painted sign that said trailer court. I thought it was an empty lot at first, but no, this was the campground.

Found a man by a truck and asked him if he knew who ran the place. He said he did, lived right next to em. I says I'm looking to camp here the night. He said go right ahead. That was good enough for me, so I set up camp under the only tree. I thought that was nice of him just to let me go for it, until I realized neither the outlets nor the water spigots worked. Seeing as there was no one else here, they must have gone out of business. Oh well, still have my emergency water.

The wind blew fiercely, and I lay on my back in the tent after I pitched it, unable to move. Hard to comprehend the distance I had covered. Bone tired. Road weary. My eyes ached from glaring into the open space.

Somehow managed to cook a quick stew, and then collapsed on my bag. I have never known territory more deserving of the word God-forsaken.