North Dakota or Bust! Arrival

 

Just past the little white church where I left you last time, I entered the town of Capitol, MT.  It's hard to believe Capitol was ever the capital of anything, but who knows?  A scattering of buildings, both old and new, indicated that the place was not entirely abandoned.

The trees and distant mountains made it a pleasant place to visit - if only very briefly.  Somewhere near here I'd planned to turn right, cross the river, and head back into South Dakota.

There it is - and a nice new bridge, at that!  Continuing straight would have carried me deeper into Montana, but I was heading to the farther north of the two Dakotas today.

Can you have too many shots from the same bridge - I think not.  Especially when there's a beautiful motorcycle parked on it!  If I didn't want to get home for supper, I could easily have spent an hour under one of those massive cottonwoods.  The term "bucolic" comes to mind.  And yes, I looked it up - that's what I meant to say.

I think those green-topped highlands are an isolated section of the Custer National Forest.  I'd be passing closer by there on my way back south in the afternoon.

But now I'd turn north again, on South Camp Crook Road.  Seems a bit counterintuitive, but we're to the south of Camp Crook, so yes, it makes sense.  Side note: I'm so sorry this photo is not a video.  If you've never seen the way a stiff breeze makes ever-changing patterns in tall prairie grass, you're missing out on one of nature's most mesmerizingly beautiful phenomenons.

Lest you get the impression that all this morning's roads were straight, I've included this picture of a curve.  You know it's a curve because the sign says so!  Just a little northern plains humor.

The last 12 miles were supposed to be paved - according to my map.  They were not.  But the gravel was so nicely maintained that I probably would not have gone any faster if they were.  A cattle guard marked my arrival at Highway 20, after 34 miles off the pavement.  Just to the left should be the town of Camp Crook, SD.

"POP. 60," the sign reads - and I was about to meet around 10% of them!

Wolffy's Garage was the place to be that afternoon.  They're all around on the other side.  I didn't need gas, but figured a cold beverage and a snack were certainly in order!

Just in case I'd brought some food with me, this fella checked me out pretty good upon arrival.  Or maybe he was the security detail.  Either way, I was rapidly cleared to proceed.

Once inside, I selected a Mellow Yellow and a small bag of nuts, and began chatting with the proprietor.  He confirmed he was the one I had made contact with earlier in the week about whether or not fuel would be available.  They don't get many tourists in town, he admitted, but then recounted a story of a touring bicyclist who came in recently and bought so many groceries that he could barely fit it all in his bags!    

Upon my exit, I realized that guard duty had rotated since I'd gone in.  This one, however, seemed more interested in the motorcycle than me.  No doubt he wanted a ride.  Dogs just LOVE sidecars, it's true.  But I haven't had one in mine - yet.

The road I wanted was just past the store.  I turned north onto Main Street and made my way deftly through the crowd - Okay, not really.  Named for George Crook, an army officer, the town was founded in 1883, but I'm not sure if there was ever a military camp here or not.

Camp Crook probably deserves a bit more exploration, but I pressed on, my sights set on North Dakota, as the interesting little town receded to the south.

It should be about 25 miles to the border, but I realized it was highly unlikely there would be a sign.  I had searched for a landmark of some sort on the aerial photos that would clue me in when I was close, but couldn't find anything distinguishing.   When I got to the pavement again - at around mile 43, I'd know for certain I was there. 

Not far out of town, I encountered some freshly graded (and watered) gravel.  I'd been warned about this back at the store.

But what was always a bit disconcerting on two wheels is not a problem at all with three.  The Ural just plows right through - bring it on!

I passed the grader, waving at the operator, and then the surface became so smooth and solid that I upped my speed to 50 mph.  I was really flying now!  Those breaks in the grass ahead looked interesting, though.  I wondered what it was.

A mini badlands, like the National Park to the southeast, provided something worth stopping for.  That one on the right looks like a pile of road surfacing rock, but it's all naturally in place.

Stretching off behind was a canyon of sorts, where all the soil and softer rock had been washed away.  With the giant cottonwoods, the river, and now this, the trip was turning out to be more scenic than I had anticipated.

Well over the estimated 25 miles from Camp Crook now, I knew I was in North Dakota - the Ural's 8th U.S. State.  The gorge created by the Little Missouri was much deeper here.  You can see its rocky western wall not far from the road ahead.

I crossed it here for the last time - on the gravel portion of my journey anyway.  I had never been all that far from it for the last 90 miles or so.

Now I started seeing operating oil wells - another indication that I was in North Dakota.  And interestingly, also a common sight in Oklahoma, the state where I grew up.  Guess I can add oil wells to the list of things that have made me feel oddly at home here in a region where I had never lived before.

As expected, the pavement resumed about 12 miles south of North Dakota's portion of U.S. Highway 12 - at least that's where I assumed I was.  If you don't count the blacktop within the city limits of Camp Crook, I'd been on gravel for 77 miles - not a bad stretch.  From this point, I'd be on pavement for the rest of the day - or so I thought.