The High Plains... Continued

July 3, 1981 to July 6, 1981

Custer's Last Stand and the Peace Pipe

Statistics:

July 3, 1981 - Ryegate to Pryor Creek (I-94, Pryor Creek Road Exit, Milepost 463) - 76 miles;

July 4, 1981 - Pryor Creek to Lame Deer - 90 miles;

July 5, 1981 - Lame Deer to Ashland - 21 miles;

July 6, 1981 - Ashland to Red Shale Campground - 6 miles.

Description of Events:

July 3, 1981: We left Ryegate at 8:00 AM and knocked off the 17 miles to Lavina without too much difficulty. There I was forced to address more (unspecified in my journal) mechanical issues with my bike. It would up taking me over an hour and allowed the heat of the day to manifest itself prominently.

At Lavina, we headed SE on SR-3. The end of another hour of riding brought us into Broadview. There we took a break at the only game in town, a bar. We did not consume any alcohol. We simply got out of the direct sun and the heat for a little while.

We spoke briefly with this couple while passing by their farm. They told us we were in Roundup, Montana, although the actual town of Roundup was several miles to the North of our location. Pretty cool name for a town, Roundup, Montana... back when roundup meant herding cattle and not killing weeds.

When we started again, the sun and heat were intense but we were undeterred, keeping up a pace of 16 miles per hour. Not bad for being on fully loaded bikes and in the heat. The terrain was fairly flat and on either side of us were marshlands, teeming with life. At Acton, we took a soda break and then headed for Billings. About 5 miles out, Paul broke a spoke but decided to take it slow and fix the problem there.

On the way, we got a good look at the city of 61,000 people from the approach above it. Billings seems to sit in a giant basin that was spreading out before us from our vantage point. There were trees down there too... something we had not seen much of during the past few days. Upon arriving, our first order of business was to get out of the heat and find food. The all you can eat salad bar at an air conditioned Wendy's fast food joint qualified. One of the waitresses, named Nadine, was very friendly to us. We talked and laughed with her during our time there, which lasted for 90 minutes. We must've put a big dent in the salad bar supplies during that time. Nadine was great!

Billings, Montana, from the western approach above town.

We headed out, looking for a bike shop in the 94 degree Fahrenheit heat. About 25 blocks away was the shop. By the time I reached it, I was actually soaked with perspiration. Paul got a spoke and I ended up getting a new chain. The "standard chain" (as explained by the shop mechanic) cost $4.95 while the Uniglide chain was $10.50. I opted for the standard product. Once again and like some of its neighbors, Montana had no sales tax. We stopped at a gasoline station where we cleaned our bikes and then did our own maintenance. Paul replaced his spoke and I put the new chain on. By doing so, we saved on labor costs, which would have been significant impacts to our budgets, had we needed to use them.

After the repairs, we did some shopping for supplies. By 8:00 PM, the temperature had cooled off a bit (88 degrees Fahrenheit, according to my journal), so we headed out down the road to make up for lost time. A short distance out of town, we had to get onto the interstate (I-90) highway because there were no other roads. We crossed the Yellowstone River, started climbing out of the valley, and got onto I-94. The climb lasted for around 2 miles and was followed by a descent of equal length. By then, it was becoming dark, so we took the Pryor Creek Road Exit and looked for a place to camp.

We found a field, where I set up the tent while being eaten alive by mosquitos. Once settled inside, I realized the ground was not smooth and it was difficult to get comfortable. However, I was not going back out there to let the bugs have at me again while trying to find a better spot. The bumpy ground and strong winds made for a poor night of sleep but I cannot complain. There have only been an unpleasant night or two on this trip. I'm sure the lost sleep will be made up soon.

July 4, 1981: We were up and moving again by 6:00 AM. It was already getting hot, so we knew it was imperative that we get some mileage in before the heat fully arrived. We got back onto I-90. While the first few miles involved some significant climbing, we still managed to cover 13 miles and get to a rest area in an hour. There we fixed ourselves something to eat and then took off for the next town, Hardin. The cruise to there was very enjoyable. Momentum was on our side and it seemed we were flying over the hills with minimal effort.

After another break, in Hardin, we managed an extremely quick 5 miles to Crow Agency. This was on Native American reservation lands. The site of the famous, or infamous Battle of the Little Bighorn was here. The memorial, located a short distance off highway US-212, is where General George Armstrong Custer and his men had their last stand. We spent some time walking the battlefield and reading the historical markers. It seems like too peaceful an area for something like this to have happened. But back on June 25 and 26, 1876, a bloody battle took place here. The Indians won this one.

Plaque at the Little Bighorn Battle Site.

A view of a portion of the battlefield at the Little Bighorn memorial site.

A postcard that I sent home from Little Bighorn Battle Site.

By 1:00 PM, it became very hot but we decided to take on the 25-mile ride to Busby, where we hoped to find a place to cool off and get some sustenance. The confidence we had, from our relatively easy riding during the first part of this day, quickly evaporated as the road climbed endlessly. The hills were steep and when we got near the top of a climb, we could see two and sometimes 3 more hills ahead. As the heat intensified, I became almost delirious, wondering if we were going to make it. The climbing and heat went on for 21 miles! I couldn't believe our "good fortune!" With my Catholic upbringing, I concluded that I must be paying for some past trangressions. The last 4 miles were a descent into Busby, which we could see shimmering ahead in the heat coming off the road surface. Arriving was anti-climactic.

When we finally got there, nothing was open and nobody was around. This was the 4th of July, a national holiday, and we were on the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation. We were able to prevail upon an adjacent homeowner to allow us to get some cold water from the outside faucet. That helped considerably. Then we rested in the shade and on the steps of a little market that was closed. In the shade, the heat was barely tolerable but it was better than being out in the direct sun.

An hour later, the store owner showed up. He opened the place for us, long enough for us to grab as much cold drink as we could carry and some ice cream. He allowed us to stay on the steps after he left. I must've fallen asleep after consuming all of that sugary cold stuff. Two (2) hours were completely lost to me. The time between 4:00 and 6:00 PM, literally passed by in the blink of an eye (or the closure of both eyes, as the case might've been).

The little store in Busby, Montana, where we spent part of a very warm afternoon on the 4th of July.

At 6:00 PM, we started out again and came upon a house along side the road. It was still very hot and any water we had was at ambient temperature, meaning bath water was colder. We knocked on the door to ask if we could use the hose to get water. The owner, Tim, not only allowed us to fill our bottles but to also to hose ourselves off with the very cold water coming out of the hose. He then invited us in for big glasses of ice cold Kool-Aid. What a great guy! We talked for a while as he showed off his coal stove. He told us he can get coal for $15.00 per ton and has no problem heating his house all during the bitter Montana winters. Sounds like a good way to go to me.

Including the stop at Tim's place, we had been off the bikes for a total of 5 hours today. At least now, after 6:00 PM, it had cooled off somewhat. So, we bade him goodbye and headed for Lame Deer, 16 miles further down the road. Thankfully, we covered that distance without too much difficulty, except for the swarms of insects, which required me to use a bandana, like an old west outlaw, completely covering my face with the exception of slits for my eyes so I could see where I was going. The bugs were thick out there and we were fresh meat.

Also along that last stretch, either a coyote or a ragged dog chased me for a long way. I'm not sure a coyote would do such a thing but it seemed unlikely that a dog would be out here all alone. Finally, I used my water bottle to direct a stream that landed right between his eyes. He slowed down long enough for me to get a bigger lead and he gave up the chase. I felt bad about it but, if it was a dog, it needed to get home and not follow me all the way to Lame Deer.

Before reaching town, there was a one mile climb followed by an equal descent. Lame Deer is also in a basin of sorts. People along the way had been telling us about the hill. On the other side of town was another climb, about which we had been briefed by the locals. They referred to it as "The Divide." We took note but we would not be tackling it today.

The other big news, of which we had been hearing, was a major Indian Pow Wow that was going on near town. At the town service center, it was strongly recommended to us that we should go to the Pow Wow. But after 90 miles, in this heat and hilly terrain, we weren't up for riding at least 5 miles out to it and then back afterwards. A lady, by the name of Emma-W, offered to drive us there. She allowed us to secure our bikes at the service center and then she took us out to the festival in her vehicle, a pick-up truck.

She dropped us off, assuring that we would find someone to ride us back to town. After Emma got us there, we got a taste of what it must be like to find oneself in a foreign country. Indian Reservations are actually somewhat sovereign nations that are part of the USA. A couple of young white dudes showing up at a huge Pow Wow were definitely out of place. We watched traditional dances, with performers in full regalia, moving about in a huge circular area with what seemed like thousands of Native Americans observing. Eventually, we got to conversing with attendees and learned there were Native Americans there from all over the west and even a few from back east. Represented tribes that we were advised of were, Sioux, Cheyenne, Crow, Arapahoe, Cherokee, and Blackfoot. They came from North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Wyoming, New Mexixo, Colorado, Arizona, Montana, Minnesota, and Oklahoma. There were also Cree in attendance from Alberta, Canada.

Emma reappeared and introduced us to her father, LeRoy-W. He was a very welcoming fellow who asked a lot of questions about our trip and then invited us to stay at his place, once we were done with the festivities. This would later prove to be a very interesting situation, to say the least. LeRoy and Emma had to return to town but we stayed around to take in more of this very interesting event. The excellent aromas of food, including buffalo meat, might have persuaded us to hang around.

We ended talking with and eventually sitting with a fellow named Joe-W and his extended family who were all in attendance. Joe was a Cherokee who had left the reservation to settle in Denver, Colorado. He was a skilled laborer who made a good buck with his talents and had managed to build a successful extended family unit. Joe was really nice to us, explaining what was going on with each dance and the intricacies of the Native American traditions that were being expressed. He told us to, "Challenge the world. The world is here and you are here. It doesn't care if you starve or if you make it big. You use the world to control your fate."

Forty-three years later and in consideration of the political climate we find ourselves in, that advice has sharp undertones but Joe was merely being practical. That's how it was and still is, to some degree. For most of us, nobody is going to do it for us. We have to make it on our own. The odds are great and the degree of difficulty can be high. You have to grind it out... much like the miles on a bike tour.

We liked Joe-W very much. He told me his address, which I had to memorize and record when I got back to my journal. I wrote it down and have it in the journal. If Joe is still alive, he's probably older than dirt and probably not living there anymore. However, in case he's still around and living there, I won't print out his address.

It was pretty late and dark when we left the Pow Wow and caught a ride back to town. There, we got our bikes and rode over to LeRoy's house. He had his own gathering going on with extended family, friends, food, and drink. We knocked on the door but nobody came. So, we started walking around the back of the house, from where all of the sounds were coming. As we headed around one side of the house, someone came up right behind us and asked what we were doing. That startled the heck out of me because I didn't hear anything until the fellow was right on top of us. It was LeRoy, and once he realized who we were, he rolled out the red carpet for us. We met his wife, extended family, friends, and partook of the tremendous food spread that was laid out. We (LeRoy, Paul, and I) stayed up talking until sunrise.

July 5, 1981: At sunrise, since we had been talking about Native American traditions, LeRoy asked us if we wanted to participate in a ritual that he does every morning. Of course, we eagerly accepted. He took out a long pipe and filled it with a mixture that came from a cedar tree. We all kneeled, facing the east. After a few words by LeRoy, in what I believe was native tongue, he lit the bowl and we each took 3 puffs. The smoke was surprisingly mellow and although a feeling of calm came over me, my consciousness was not altered. We each then expressed gratitude to our respective Gods and the ritual came to an end. Both Paul and I felt extremely honored to have been permitted to participate in this "exercise." LeRoy took us back to the house, gave us a place to lay down, and I crashed instantly.

We awoke a few hours later, feeling great, but noting that it was already becoming very warm outside. Since this was going top be a repeat of the past few days, we decided that we would lay low during the hottest part of the day and then head out in the early evening when it would begin to cool down. That would be a good time to tackle The Divide.

LeRoy's wife made us a great brunch and then we went back to the Pow Wow. There, we ate again at an all you could eat buffet table. Shameless, I tell you. Shameless! But it was all absolutely delicious.

With LeRoy, his wife, and grandson as we prepared to head out on July 5, 1981.

LeRoy told us about a softball tournament he was playing in, so we went back to town to catch the game. Besides being a very talented guy in many areas, he was an excellent softball player. His team played 9 innings on that very hot afternoon. They won the game, 8-6, and took the championship.

The more we were around LeRoy, learned about his life, and watched him in action, we felt very privileged to have met and spent time with him. Our time in Lame Deer came to an end in the early evening. At 6:30 PM, we said our goodbyes, expressed our thanks, and headed out to take on The Divide.

In reality, The Divide was a bit overhyped but I suppose not very many locals had ever tried to ride a bike up it. Even fewer had not come as far and as fully loaded as we had. It turned out to be a gradual upgrade of about 7 miles and not too much of a problem. On top, we had a fantastic view of very rugged Montana rangelands spreading out before us, as far as the eye could see. Simultaneously, I felt a sense of the peace and the power of the land that went into the very core of my being. I wished everyone could feel what I felt at that moment. It was all very special. I had the sense that if more people could have that experience, we might all be better off in our dealings with each other.

The rest of the ride into Ashland was relatively easy. When we crossed the Tongue River, we left the reservation and something very special behind. In town, we went to a tavern called The Club Buffet. In these small Montana towns, the local tavern is the gathering place for the locals. Outsiders like us are generally treated well. If we were respectful in our approach, the locals would warm up to us rather quickly and we would get a flavor of what went on and what life was like there. In this particular place, we ended up talking with 5 guys who were about our age. They were interested in our trip and bought us a couple of rounds of beers while we shared stories. Everyone in the place was super-friendly to us.

Along the way to Ashland, we had heard of a fellow named AF, who was supposed to be bad news. Apparently, we didn't want to run into him anywhere. We never did, but in the Club Buffet, there was a chalkboard with a few names of people who were "86th from the bar," meaning they were not allowed in there anymore. AF's name was on the board.

Where we ended up that evening is unknown to me. My journal does not specify where we slept but I have recollection of a camp by a stream because we got up very early to get going and beat the heat and I remember a tree lined stream bank with water rushing by. It was probably along the Tongue River.

July 6, 1981: We only covered around 6-7 miles today because Paul came down with some sort of illness. He had a rough night last night and had symptoms including fever, chills, and diarrhea today. We pulled into the Red Shale Campground that lies within Custer National Forest, a few miles east of Ashland. Although it was another very warm day, Paul stayed inside his sleeping bag, in the tent, and slept for most of the day. I hitched a ride back into town with a Native American named Dorian Gray. He was a nice fellow who told me where I could find a pharmacy and some medicine for Paul. He had also asked me to go to a local auto garage and give a message to someone there. When I arrived, the local white guys who worked at the shop were smart alecks. They made derogatory comments about Dorian and taunted me a bit, as well. I gave the message and left. They were assholes, to be sure. I got some anti-diarrheal medicine and got a ride back to the campground from a passing motorist. By evening, Paul was feeling a lot better but a bit weak. Thankfully, he slept well all night and felt much better by morning.

Today's ride: 193 miles (311 km)
Total: 2,715 miles (4,369 km)

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