Havre is the town where I was born and lived in until age 10. I got my first bike at age nine and learned to ride on gravel roads in our subdivision five  miles from town. Returning 50 years later brought back a lot of memories. With temps in the 30s and a biting east wind, we jumped on our bikes and rode to the housing development where I used to live. There was the little culvert where my brothers and I used to catch minnows and tadpoles. I still have a scar on my left palm from the time I reached into the water to retrieve a jar and cut my hand on broken glass. My dad drove me to town to get 12 stitches. The creek is now almost overgrown with gras and only a trickle of water was flowing through. There was the winding dirt road to the little country store where the owner’s German Shepherd bit me on the thigh. I was riding my bike with my brother to pick up bread for a picnic that afternoon at Fresno Reservoir. I needed four stitches to close up that wound. Afterward, my mom wouldn’t let me swim, a  disappointment that seeded a vivid memory.

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As a kid I paid no attention to Fort Assiniboine located just a half mile from my old neighborhood. I must have visited it on a school field trip, but have no memory of it. Too bad I was so focused on my petty injuries and not really interesting history. Turns out, the fort was built in the late 1870s to defend against anticipated Sioux attacks after Custer’s defeat at the Little Big Horn, a threat that never materialized. The fort also has connections to Teddy Roosevelt, then-Lieutenant John Pershing, and the African-American Buffalo Soldiers, so named by their Native American adversaries. Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry were stationed at this fort. Pershing requested a transfer from West Point to join the Buffalo Soldiers and Roosevelt on assignment to Cuba where all fought in the Battle of San Juan Hill during the Spanish American War. The fort is worth a visit for anyone who has time.

We did not feel the easterly wind when it was behind us on the way to the old homestead. The push against us on the ride back to town gave us a good workout, even without the panniers. We had lunch at Boxcars Restaurant and Bar next to the train tracks and grain elevators on the east side. I recommend the spinach salad with grilled salmon strips, dried cranberries, bacon, raspberry vinaigrette. 

With a free afternoon, we visited “Havre Beneath the Streets,” an underground museum that preserves examples of Havre’s wild past - gambling den, bordello, opium den, etc. We logged a decent 19 miles for our off day jaunt. We learned that Havre used to be called Bullhook Bottoms, a name that did not resonate with the James J Hill, who built the Great Northern Railroad from Minneapolis to Seattle, and all the little towns that we are passing through in Montana. (A biography of Hill is now on my reading list. The railroad and Hill’s commitment to bring industries to the fledgling towns connected by rail determined the history of the area). He let the town decide on a new name, so an influential French rancher/banker decided to name it after La Havre in France.

Game Three of the Golden State-Rockets contest came on at 18:30. We watched the first half at the Gallery Lounge across the highway from the motel. Other barflies were gambling or watching hockey, so we couldn’t hear much. At half time we came back to the room and saw the Rockets fight on to victory after being down by two games. We were torn about which team to root for: one son lives in Houston and the other in Berkeley. 

We made a last check of the weather report before hitting the sack at 22:00. Wet snow overnight, diminishing by 10:00, winds blowing against us coming from the east. Oh boy.