The ride to Dodson was short and sweet. Upon arrival, the wind blew cotton from the trees into our oncoming path. Yes it was pretty, but my allergies didn’t think so. Reaching the gas station/cafe, my nose just kept sneezing. It was unrelenting, and not to gross you out or anything, I just want to get the severity across, but I sneezed so much I wet myself. We walked in and realized that the gas station/cafe did not contain the latter. Between sneezes I asked the counter man where we could get food in town. He pointed to the Hostess pastries and gas station sandwiches in a lonely clear glass refrigerator. I rephrased my question as to where the closest restaurant was. Oh about 20 miles west in Harlem. I gave Britt a puzzling look, because from the map, I figured Harlem was just over 30 miles from here. Oh well.

We sit out on the curb, Britt studying the maps while I sneeze my brains out. She looks to me and says we should just camp here. I, on the other hand, disagree. I want to keep biking away from the cause of my consistent nasal release. She argued that we don’t know if the trees are lined the entire way up the highway, and that could be another 30 miles, which meant at least 3 hours of biking, especially if the wind picked up in the afternoon. As we civilly discussed the matter, a young couple approached us. Sensing our predicament, and probably over hearing us bicker, they offered us a ride in their pick up. A simultaneous “yes” came out of our mouths. The young gentleman pretty much lifted our fully loaded bikes into the truck bed, so all we had to do was climb up. We found out that they were driving across Montana to visit family for the weekend, and before I even thought of Havre, Britt asked if we could be dropped off there. They were more than happy to help, and we were more than happy that it was our last day on the road.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, we are somewhat disappointed that we did not make it to our intended destination on bike. We will come back to the Rockies once Britt’s knees are ready. And sometime in our life, we’d like to go on another semi-cross-country tour. We were happy because even though we cheated the last 70 miles, it felt good to be done. It’s like having senioritis your senior year, you know you can do it – you just don’t want to because you know you’ll be done in x amount of time. The end is so close, yet the time to get there seems to drag on even longer with each passing moment. I guess you can say it was elated relief mixed with a sense of “oh my god, I can’t believe I biked 1300 miles in less than 5 weeks” accomplishment. That’s why we were happy to the sudden end. But our journey is not over! We figured that the same price for a train ticket to LA (we are staying with Britt’s sister for a hot minute before train’n it back to Chicago), we could just buy rail passes and stop at all the cities we originally wanted to go to! The travelling will continue to Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, and LA.

Okay, for all you teachers reading this, the final statements of this blog are dedicated to what I learned on this trip. If this were a film, the genre would obviously fall under “road movie.” The elevator pitch would go something like: Two city girls in a pre-life crisis decide to hit the open road on their bikes. They discover their country’s core simpleton population, while discovering who they really are. Yeah, not my best, but I don’t really want to make this into a film…

First off, I want to discuss my observations on this country. Native Americans and other minorities in small towns are still regarded with contempt. From what I gathered, if you are of a different culture and do not fully immerse into the general “white normality” around you, you will not be respected for your differences, but ostracized for it. I know that this is probably not coming as a shock, but for someone who has never lived in a small town, witnessing the mentality of my racist grandfather’s generation in people my own age boggles my mind. Our government places minorities in projects with very little resources to get out, and we wonder why they are hostile, and crime is higher in those areas. Minorities are not dangerous as people and the media make them out to be. If we continue to segregate ourselves from different cultures, we’ll never get over these silly, aged perceptions of one another. And for those of you who think we do live in a better society without racism or segregation, get your head out of your ass and look around you. There is always room for improvement.

As for self discovery, I realized something I always knew about myself, it’s just that I never associated it with my behavior. Negativity is part of cynicism and the way I view the world. My pessimistic attitude has a direct effect on how I execute things I want to accomplish. I already have a preconceived notion that the outcome will suck, so I don’t really try. I’m not like this in every aspect of my life, but now I know why it takes me so long to start a project, and why I procrastinate. Another way my negative view affects me is that I tend to see the bad in situations more so than what’s good about it.

For instance, a couple paragraphs back where I bitch about racism and ignorance… Well small town people aren’t all that bad. Granted that we are two white girls and are the least bit threatening, people were generally very generous. We were invited to use strangers’ showers, watch their TVs, offered food, given water and granola bars, and not to mention the rides from those in pick up trucks. Actually, I think everyone in the west owns a pick up truck, but that’s besides the point.

There’s good and bad in everything, but I still think the bad aspects of my observations outweigh the good. And that’s where my negativity is a virtue. I see the bad in situations because I want to improve on it. Now some may think that is pretentious of me, and yes, it is…

The most significant thing I will take from this trip is perseverance and discipline. With all the montages my generation has witnessed, we’ve become a lazy bunch. Our eyes see the fast cuts of elapsed time with people training for a fight, losing weight, accomplishing some goal – and it’s all done within a 2-3 minute span. We see this and think we can do it. It looks easy enough, and months that are squished into 2 minutes does not seem long. Then it comes time to actually exert yourself. Most of us say fuck it, go back to the couch, watch another montage, get inspired, and continue the cycle. For me and my generation, we are stuck in that cycle and it’s difficult to actually accomplish anything. We see a new thing, and want to try it before we’ve finished mastering what we were previously attempting because it involves WORK. I wanted to quit this trip on the second day. But I kept going, and to my amazement, it got easier!  Applying myself (discipline + perseverance) is the best thing I’ve mastered on this journey. With a little bit of positivity and hard work, over time, challenges will become simple.

Britt on the other hand learned that she can put up with me at my worst. Oh, and that she prefers city life over the simple life. Britt simply likes to keep it complicated, that’s why we get along, I guess!

Days biking – 27

Days off – 11

Fasted Speed – 34 mph

Longest distance in a day – 85 (Cooperstown to Fessenden, ND)

Highest average speed for a day – 14.4 mph

Flats – Erica 2, Britt 0

Chain breaks – Erica 2, Britt 0

Bee stings – Erica 0, Britt 1

Lost items – Erica 0, Britt 1

Stinkyest State – road kill tie between Wisconsin and Minnesota

Best smelling State – Montana

Mosquito bites – Erica 3,000, Britt 300

Gnats Eaten – Erica 1,000,000, Britt 1,000

Alright, you know it’s gonna be a weird day when there’s a stray cow in the road. Neither of us wanted to dismount to snap a better shot of the hornless bull, Britt just did so on her bike as we passed by. We arrived at the midway point of our daily travels in Hinsdale, Montana before noon. Stoughie’s Bar and Grill was the best bar food we’ve had yet! I chatted with a local named Bruce who was just as curious about city life as I was about the wide open west. After hearing about our plans to end our cross country journey due to physical aches and pains, Bruce offered to drive us the rest of the way to the Hot Springs. Don’t worry, Britt texted her brother in law of the situation along with our whereabouts and Bruce’s license plate number… you know, just in case! We didn’t feel threatened by him, and I pride myself in being a good judge of character. The only off putting thing Bruce said was an ignorant remark about Native Americans. I asked if the Assiniboine and Sioux tribes get along. He explained that the two have been fighting long before the settlers came. Britt wittily chimed in, “How nice of our government to put them together on the same reservation.” Bruce – “Well, we gotta thin them out somehow!” Ugh.

Bruce gave us his number if we needed another ride. Britt and I thanked him and entered the Sleeping Buffalo Resort. What a disappointment! Never trust pictures on websites, especially if their website is on BLOGSPOT – I should’ve figured. This place was a dump! What a shame, too, the hot spring pool felt nice, but the natural hot tub was infested with mosquitoes and reeked of rotten eggs. Maybe it was natural sulfuric acid? I’m no geologist, but I was not feeling it. After our refreshing swim in warm mineral water, we showered – once again in rusty mineral water… Britt and I decided to have an early dinner at the Poolside Cafe. We sat in a booth next to dead mosquitoes and gnats. Mmm, that made me even more hungry! I remember my high school cafeteria serving better food than this place. The jumpy little woman serving us had a black eye, and the guy cooking had a temper. What a cute couple.

Returning to our room I exclaimed that I cannot stay here another night. The previous day, I made reservations to stay two nights because I thought the website/blog page was legit. Never again. Britt talked to manager, who refunded us for the second night. Her and Britt talked about sites to see in Havre, Swamp People, alligator meat, and then they got on the topic of how Britt and I wanted to try bison burgers. Lo and behold, the manager had two frozen patties of buffalo burgers – GTFO! Britt returned to our room with them, and said we could go to the cafe to have them cooked.

Well, the temperamental man had a conniption! He ranted about how the manager steals from him and that the fat bitch gives food to all of the tenants to keep them from eating here. Still, he grilled our burgers claiming they were beef and if we wanted a real good meal to come here, he uses whopper sized burger patties on his Philly Cheesesteak. I’m not from Philadelphia, so I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure Philly Cheesesteaks aren’t made with ground beef. I neglected to tell him that, as well as remind him that we already ate his shitty food because I couldn’t stop looking at his lady’s black eye. My smart ass remained silent, as he continued to rave like a lunatic. We went back to our room and had one bite of the bison (maybe not) beef, and threw the rest out. It may have been the ever present smell of rotten eggs, the slew of insects crawling around, the sticky carpet, and the overall gross factor of the dump we were staying in that made me lose my appetite for the day.

When Britt dropped off the key the next morning, she claimed that they were arguing about the burger incident. Perfect time to get the hell out! The ride to Malta was short and buggy. The past two days would have been ideal riding if not for all these little pests. I don’t know how Africans do it. Even if I did believe that they were good luck, I still couldn’t stand it. (It’s said that flies on your face mean good luck in parts of Africa).

Malta was less than 20 miles away, but the next town with a motel was about 88 miles from Sleeping Buffalo Resort. Britt and I have yet to camp in Montana. But once again, the weather forecast is calling for hail, and Britt is not one to take risks. Hey, even though I’m paying for it, I don’t mind wi-fi and bad television. I think a new Swamp People is on tonight, too! Cheers!

PS – We didn’t go to the famous Dinosaur museum in Malta, but let’s be serious, the Field Museum is practically in my backyard! And I’m not about to drop some green to see FAKE dinosaur bones. Here are some sculptures along Highway 2 (in a pasture of cows) that are supposed to get you amped up to go to the museum.

We got out a good start in the morning with a regular American breakfast.  I’m sick of American food.  It’s so unhealthy.  If I’m forced to eat another burger because the only other things they have to eat are hot dogs, French fries, fried chicken, I think I’ll create a permanent fried food baby in my stomach.  Highway 2 hugged the river valley and train tracks today so there weren’t too many hills.

Then the bugs started, mosquitoes, gnats.  I could barely stop to re-apply my sunscreen. Erica had to keep biking slowly to keeps the bugs off her. When we stopped for the night, I had to wash off the gnats in the shower.

We saw a yellow plane, crop dusting a huge field.  We saw it arrive and by the time we passed the field, it was flying away.  We left the Indian Reservation behind and stopped for an ice cream cone but it seemed like the establishment had just opened so they only had chocolate and vanilla. We of course had vanilla.  I can’t wait to get a shake from In N Out or better yet a malt from Portillo’s.  I know my cake-shake loving friends can appreciate that. (You know who you are, Cory, Jamie, Gretchen, Morgan, Mia, Katy, Lucas, Nick!) Not too much wind today so that was good but another stormy forecast landed us in another motel watching crappy TV.  I got the first shower and apparently used up all the hot water so Erica got a little bit cold, oops!

I do feel like my legs and arms are stronger and my butt has held up.  These Montana hills don’t feel as hard as the hills of southern Wisconsin but the length of the hills kill my knees.

Erica on the other hand (ha) has been having problems with her hand circulation almost the entire trip.  She says either she looses feeling in her fingers or she hurts her wrist everywhere she places her hands.  She constantly is shaking blood down to her fingers and has been wearing wrist guards whenever she is off the bike since Fargo.  She can’t wear them on the bike because that makes her fingers go numb even faster.

So to the next Amtrak station with baggage we go.  It is about 250 miles away. But don’t be fooled, we are not going home.  We are going to Portland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles!  We intended to visit those places all along.  We are still going to enjoy ourselves and get lots of Tylenol and ice.

I hope that one day we can come back toMontanaand bike Logan’s Pass on Going to the Sun Road through Glacier National Park.

After a big Montanan breakfast, we hit the road a little before 10am MT. Britt and I differed in our opinions on what would be better, riding uphill or against a strong headwind. Britt claims that riding uphill is better, and I chose the latter. After today, though, I prefer riding uphill. Our ride consisted of both, and after facing them back to back, riding uphill is favorable since the downhill is somewhat of a reward. When riding against a headwind, the only reward is stopping… These hills were a bitch, but I soon made them my bitch!

Upon entering badland terrain, we crossed into the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. Locals from Montana and North Dakota warned us of the big bad dangerous Indians (no one cares about being PC so the only people saying Native American were Britt and me), and told us to not stop in Brockton or Poplar, just to ride on to Wolf Point. When I first got my license, my father forbade me to drive to Detroit – not only did I venture there the first week I started driving,  I moved to there when I was 18. So I was inclined to stop in both Brockton and Poplar to meet some of these people whom only occupy 2.3% of the U.S. which was once THEIR LAND. The Sioux were nice in both towns, and although they weren’t as friendly and forthcoming as most westerners, I didn’t feel threatened for my life. The best way I can describe Poplar is to imagine a project or ghetto filled with Mexicans, but replace the mariachis with drums, and you got an Indian Reservation. But in all seriousness, Native Americans are a mistreated minority. Because their communities are not governed by our federal government and each society is so far and few between, it causes bureaucratic difficulties as well as creating more obstacles for an individual who wants to acclimate to “American” life. Visiting these towns didn’t scare me, it made me feel sad for the people who are stuck in that system, just like other minorities in this country. The only difference is, Native Americans didn’t migrate here!

We had to stop in Wolf Point for the night because it was past 6pm. The late start and wind prevented us from covering much ground. At this point, Britt was limping pretty badly because of her knees and I could barely use my right hand due to a weakened wrist. To the Sun Road, the route we want to take into the mountains, still has 10 feet of snow on it. We were told the snow probably won’t melt for another two weeks, and we’d still have to wait before they allow bicyclists to travel on this scenic road through the continental divide. With our physical ailments, and this major road closure, we may have to end our journey in Montana. But I am not disheartened, and I don’t feel as if we are quitting. I don’t want to have Britt button my pants for me every morning because I lost function in my hands. And I’m not ready to get her one of these to bike around the city – at least, not before she’s 30!

It was an easy ride out of Williston, North Dakota. The hills got bigger once we crossed the state line into Montana. Before dropping into the valley, we could almost make out the Rockies in the distance. Even though our destination was about 20 miles from the North Dakota border, we saw a handful of casinos, I guess Montana really likes to gamble!

We reached Culbertson by 1:30 and spent an hour or so in the interesting museum. We plan on taking the day off here and going to the rodeo tomorrow night. Here’s some pics from the museum. I’m relaxing in bed for the rest of this day, which is turning gloomy and rainy. I’m glad we’re in a motel! 

Initially, I thought this lady was getting electrocuted, but she’s just getting her hair did, reading a Good Housekeeping mag…

I don’t think this falls between first and second wave feminism…

A late start makes for a late day.  We did stop a lot, too!  Along the road from Stanley to Williston, we saw plenty of oil rigs… and the oil trucks that work at them. I stopped to use the bathroom at what I later realized was a “man camp,” a term the locals coined for out of town oil workers’ temporary living situation. The general consensus towards all the out of towners was a contemptuous regard for the overwhelming number of new neighbors, but every North Dakotan agrees that the oil boom has helped the state stay out of recession.

The highlight of the day was running into fellow bike tourers, Bruce and Dana, a retired couple from Olympia, Washington. They rode the southern tier last winter, and are making their way east on the northern tier this summer. It was refreshing as well as inspiring to finally meet other riders, I hope they are not the last we encounter on our journey.

Once arriving in Williston, we hit up the Chinese Buffet.  Britt and I agreed before embarking on our journey that we should attempt to eat at every Chinese Buffet we encounter. Finishing up our dinner, I called the city parks and recreation department to find out what city park we could camp at.  However, the city outlawed overnight camping in the parks as a result of a “tent city” of oil workers last year.  Not to worry, though, the woman at the parks and rec gave me the number to an organization that puts up cyclists with people who will allow them to pitch a tent in their yards.  We got hooked up with Craig and Dawn.  Craig is also a bike enthusiast, and Dawn is a warm lady with a hearty laugh. They let us shower and offered us food. A great way to end a very long day!

“I’m only happy when it rains.”  Maybe it’s because I’m an asshole, but rain makes most people miserable and I find solace in that… Actually using the raingear from REI added to the overall good mood for the day, too. Britt however, was not on the same positive wave length. She didn’t understand why I was all smiles today, either. Once again, it’s because Shirley Manson and I have the same train of thought.

Once we got into Stanley, North Dakota, I called all the motels in town. Because this area of North Dakota has been rich in oil for the past three years, oil workers from all over the country are living out of motels. We could see oil rigs from the road, and for some reason I got the hankering for a milkshake… Anyways, this affects our trip in two ways – 1. No vacancies in any motels or campgrounds and 2.  The back roads our bike maps direct us to go on are now heavy with truck traffic from the oil fields.

I won’t go into detail because the woman who helped us for the night could get in trouble with the city. The influx of out of towners has changed the laid back attitude of this small town, and its main objective (like oil companies) is to make a profit. The woman let us stay in her family’s vacationing RV – which is much nicer than the motels we’ve stayed in as of late. She even did a load of laundry for us!

The traffic situation has pushed us back onto the main highway. We rode safely on the wide shoulder today, so it should not be a problem tomorrow… hopefully!