It rained all night and it rained all morning and it rained while I broke camp and rode away.  It continued to rain as I struggled up a long, unexpected climb out of the touristy town of St. Mary.  At the top of the climb, as if St. Mary herself ordered it, the rain stopped and the sun appeared high in the sky.  I had a strong feeling that there was never any rain at all here on the east side of the mountain range.

The sun looked good and felt great, but what really caught my eye was the indescribable view of The Great Plains from that viewpoint.  The Great Plains will be my companion for the next few weeks.  True, the view was indescribable, but it is my duty to try.  Picture, if you will, greenish-brown hills that extend forever toward a blue sky, dotted here and there with specks of a thousand black cows and an occasional tree.  That's it.  That's the best description I can come up with, but it made quite an impression on me.

I descended into the endless hills and met some of the black cows.  While visiting with them, I remembered something from about ten years ago.  I was backpacking in the Little Missouri Grasslands of North Dakota with my friend, J.  We were camped on a small butte overlooking a herd of free-range cattle.

"I wonder what they're thinking," I posited, referring to the cows.

"Nothing.  They're the dumbest animals on the planet.  All they do is eat, shit, and sleep."

"Yeah, but I wonder what they're THINKING," I said in reply.

"Don't waste your time.  Cows don't think."

As I rode past this herd of about 40 cattle, I saw something that may or may not prove J.'s point.  Every single one of them stopped grazing, raised their huge heads, watched as I passed, and then went back to stuffing their faces with grass.

-

I am spending the night in the Blackfoot Indian Reservation town of Browning.  I had been warned at least four times recently to just ride on through "The Rez" if I wanted to avoid trouble.  "Just keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and keep riding," I was told.  I dismissed such advice as racist rantings.

Being the rebel that I am, I checked into a motel in Browning and took a walk around town.  Immediately I noticed the poverty, and the many dogs that run freely all over town.  Then something else happened.  Two times, as I was searching for the public library, I saw small groups of young men standing around in a circle and drinking from a whiskey bottle.  They yelled out what I interpreted to be war-whoops and they seemed to be directed toward me.  If those outbursts were intended to intimidate me, it worked.  I went back to my motel room and securely locked the door behind me.

Heart

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