North Dakota or Bust! Montana

 

What?  Is he back in the Pacific Northwest, you ask.  No, still in South Dakota, but the weather on this particular morning sure reminded me of the Oregon coast!  First fill-up was just a mile from the house, near the southwest edge of Rapid City.  It had stormed quite violently the night before, and the streets were still all wet by 6:30, when I headed out.  According to the forecast, the rain should be over for the day, but it sure didn't look that way.

My second fill-up was in the town of Belle Fourche (pronounced Bell Foosh).  It's famous - among other things, surely - for being at the geographic center of the United States (when you include Alaska and Hawaii).  It's a fairly pleasant little place, but all I'd be doing here today is filling my main tank and my extra jerrycan with pure (no corn) 91 octane dinosaur juice.  Actually, gasoline comes from mostly dead and long-buried plants, but that's a topic for another episode.

I'd called ahead to the next semi-real town I'd be passing through and asked a general store owner about gas there.  "No, not since we had to dig up the leaking storage tanks," was the reply.  So I had about 145 miles to the next gas station, and an average range of 150.  Too close for my comfort, hence the extra fuel!  Fortunately the Ural came stock with this 2.5 gallon steel can.

After cutting across the extreme northeast corner of Wyoming, I entered Montana - the Ural's first visit!  Well, Keith and I had trailered it through the state when Kim and I moved to the region about four months ago, but that doesn't count.

By the time I'd reached the border, the fog was so thick I was wiping it off my helmet's face shield with my glove, while I rode.  Something I had grown quite used to in Tillamook, but never thought I'd have to deal with here.

Just outside of Albion, I encountered another oddity - a stoplight... in the middle of nowhere, with no other structures and no one around, save the man in the pickup truck ahead of me.  I waited, primarily because he waited.  I got off the bike, took a drink of water, ate a granola bar.  And still, we waited.  Finally I approached his window, and after a cordial greeting I asked, "So, what exactly are we waiting for?"

As it turned out, it was not his first time.  He was a local oil field worker and knew that this was the start of a 10-mile stretch of road construction.  It also just happened that we were headed the same direction - towards Camp Crook, 32 miles northeast along a gravel road that turned off the pavement, just around that next corner, he said.  Nice fella, with a long, well-kept beard, he was.  Gotta respect that.

I walked back to my rig and there was still not a single car behind us - and by this time, it had probably been 15 minutes!  No, it was not a heavy traffic day.  About the time I'd put away my drink again, however, the pilot car appeared on the horizon.  It was go time!

Within a mile, we'd both pealed off, and left the pilot car alone to wonder where we'd gone!  Capitol was a ghost town of sorts, about 2/3 of the way to Camp Crook - according to my map.  After 100 miles of pavement, the true adventure was about to start.

But from what I could see of Albion, it was a ghost town too.  But perhaps there's more to this town on the other side of the highway.  I'll leave it for next time.

Guess I should tell you about the day's plan.  One objective had already been met - I'd ridden to Montana on the Ural!  But one objective was not enough for this trip.  I also wanted to make it to North Dakota - and back, preferably.  Yes, I could have met both objectives and remained on the pavement, but that would not be nearly as adventurous!  The route I had mapped out would involve about 70 miles of gravel - or so I thought.  Total miles should be around 370, and I hoped to complete the trip in 11 hours, including stops.

I didn't expect too much more than this from the scenery, but I was interested in the old towns and isolated structures along the route - and for the chance to see if I could still do nearly 400 miles in a day on the three-wheeled beast.  Since my MS diagnosis (now official after additional tests) I have experienced some worsening issues in my legs and feet primarily.  I hadn't put in a full day of riding in months, and honestly wasn't sure I could.

This was important, because I'd been planning another trip for the last couple of weeks.  One that would be significantly longer than this one - about six times longer!  In place of my original plan to return to the wilds of far northern Canada this year, I've been considering (OK, it's really all set) a Ural journey to Oklahoma.  It's been a tough year for the family, especially my siblings.  And now with my news too, I just want to go home for a bit.

These big trees were a welcome addition to the landscape, and if you look closely, you can see some highlands off to the left.  Might get more interesting than I thought!  Also note the puddles in the road.  Some were much larger than these, but there were none that I couldn't straddle between the bike and the sidecar.  Good thing about the recent rain was that the moisture had settled the dust, normally the bane of these kind of roads in the summer months.

I'd thought I must be getting close, and then I spotted it - hard to miss, as there is nothing else around.  It had come up in a quick internet search on the area.  Thought it would make a good break spot.

My route had thus far roughly paralleled the Little Missouri River - and would continue to do so for half the day.  Hence the name of this little white church, dating from 1889!  

Imagine living out here at the turn of the century, making, sustaining (against all odds) a life from the land.  Then driving your horse and buggy to this same church, parking in this same spot, meeting together each week with your distant neighbors to praise "The Lord who gives and takes away.  Blessed be the Name of The Lord!"  If you'll pardon my somewhat loose translation of Job 1:21.

This is a picture that would look much better if my father had taken it with his much better camera - and his much better skill!  But I had to try.

This was the perfect opportunity to do something I had neglected to do back at the Montana border.  Since my last trip, I'd applied an RV sticker to the sidecar which outlines all the U.S. states.  It also came with 50 tiny multi-colored stickers to fill in each space as you get there.  Here I hold the one for our 41st state.  Guess what year it was admitted to the union?  That's correct, 1889 - the very same year this church was built!

There - All done.  That makes seven states so far for the mighty Ural!  And I haven't even had it for three years yet.