Day 15 - To Steele, ND
The Road is shut:
Leaving Jamestown in the morning seemed to be frought with all the sorts of issues that could leave you with the sense that this is going to be a shit day. But I resolved with every new thing in my way I was going to do the thing. I chose this after all, and cursing my circumstances wasn’t the way to gain any sense of peace. I had, and still have a “it is what it is” attitude. I’m not here to show off. I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself — and only as much as I care to prove to myself.
The path I chose out of Jamestown was intentional in that it was meant to avoid large roads and quickly get me onto highway 10 westbound. Yeah.
The connector road across the tracks had been shut by the railroad. Why? Reasons. Who cares. It meant about a mile of extra riding to get to the other side.
As I scooted down the first hill my front brake felt like mush. So I pulled off to the side and inspected. I even texted Jeffrey to see if he had advice other than centering the rotor better, as It was off to one side. Other than bleeding the brakes or replacing the pads — nah, not much. There is a temporary hack you can do overnight where you put rubber bands around the handles and compress the levers down all night which causes the air in the lines to be forced into the fluid itself, and that firms up the handles, but it fades after a day or two.
The Asphalt quickly gave way to crushed, hard packed, rutted gravel. With fat tires it is no issue other than increasing the rate of energy expenditure. I had talked to my mother the night before and said that I actually found the gravel tracks enjoyable — you tend to see more stuff. It's the difference between taking the interstate (foreshadowing?) and the rural roads. You get so much better of a sense of the disposition of life of all sorts when you take the road less travelled.
And I would be on this ribbon of dirt and rock for the better part of 60 miles.
Look. I’m in North Dakota, so at some point I knew I was in for some gnarly winds. Collin jokingly taunted me that I was going the wrong way, and that prevailing winds would be against me. Well I finally felt them. Occasionally it was like someone was taking the trailer and the bike and just literally shoving it backwards against my forward progress. Looking at the forecast I was getting a slightly oblique 17mph wind all day, with gusts up to 33mph.
I remembered a couple from my first tour in 2011 Kate and Stuart Murr. They had talked about going across the northern tier and one day was so wretched with headwinds they made an average pace of 2mph! Granted they were likely facing 20+mph winds…
I don’t know how to explain what I was feeling at the moment, but it was anything but defeated. The best I can describe it is “Madlad energy”. It was more like a deep and resounding OK. Let’s do this. I could turn around and wait it out, but why? It’s just more hours on the bike, more hours charging. It’s what the tour is bringing to me today and the thing to overcome. So in my best Bear Grylls spirit I adapted:
I folded down the crossbar holding the two uprights apart and folded them in to make a more streamlined shape for the trailer. It’s not perfect but the effect was absolutely immediate and noticable. I didn’t feel like I was being pushed backwards nearly as hard. I may have only been making 13mph against the driving winds, but I found myself laughing. I had convinced myself that I would not let this day get me and my morale was probably the highest it’s ever been. I filmed goofy videos for my own amusement. I put on James Taylor and jammed out to the top of my lungs—well, at least what I could spare of them.
Trees and cover became increasingly rare as the day ground on. Even with the lack of shade it was nearly uncomfortably cool with a temperature around 74, but a wind chill far lower.
In this section of North Dakota the landscape is dominated by the sorts of rolling hills you’ve likely seen in movies like Dances With Wolves or Tombstone. The population consists of innumerable birds, cows, and horses, and about 20 humans. I’m joking, but the actual population density is around 3.8 people per square mile — and more like those people are concentrated in tiny towns and widely separated farms. Its easy to go four or five miles and not even see a habitable structure. The population density is similar to that of Siberia.
For hours the only human encounter I had was some NDDOT worker grading the road. For the sake of our shared humanity in this desolate space, we waved and smiled as he passed by.
Later I saw a big rig and like a child did the horn pull signal. He obliged and I laughed with the joy of a five year old while pumping my fist in the air.
Windy and lonesome doesn’t mean it wasn’t filled with life. Just not human life as I said before. There were many Waterfowl Production Areas, whichh are just marshy areas where ducks, geese, and all sorts of birds habitate.
Still yet there were groupings of horses and cows that dotted the landscape, ranging freely across monumentally wide spaces. This again drilled home my feelings about the herd of buffalo I saw back in Jamestown — we have turned so much of their territory into privately held lands used for private purposes for better or worse.
I resolved that this would not be a struggle. I held a constant and comfortable pace with no intention of burning out my muscles to make better time. So it took me three hours to make the 22 miles to Cleveland, and with 30% of my battery charge remaining. So I rode around the tiny town looking for an opportunity to charge. The community center had outlets on the exterior but none were powered. The park had none. Then I rolled by a Methodist Church and spotted one on the side of the building. So for an hour and a half I sat in the shade on the side of the building while my bike took on charge.
I very much wanted to find something to eat but frequently these small towns have restaurants that are closed on the days I blow through, or have none whatsoever. The latter was true of Cleveland. It consisted of homes, two churches and a grain mill. That’s it.
They used to have stores, and what I assume was a schoolhouse or courthouse but even that was long defunct, being used for heigh equipment storage.
With nowhere to eat, I just worked my way through the dry snacks I still had from Bob and Robin, hundreds of miles back.
Eventually the charge on my battery reached 70% and so I rationalized that was enough to comfortably make it the next 8 miles to Medina (Meh-DYE-nah to you and me).
I was set to take hwy 10 out of town, but now it was asphalt. And that road closed sign? Ignore that, because I had gone over a similarly closed road before. All it amounted to was some rocks in the road. No. Big. Deal.
Ladies and gentlemen that is what they call in literature foreshadowing…
Amazing. Asphalt, after miles of gravel! Wait… I was lied to. After perhaps five hundred feet the highway reverted to gravel. THATS OK. EVERYTHING IS STILL FINE. No, but really, morale was still super high…
Heeeeeyyyyy friend… You remember that road closed sign? The one I told you to ignore? The sign that clearly indicated that the road would be closed? That sign?
Let me just zoom in on that for a second…
That one.
Yeah… They actually meant it.
Two miles up the road there simply wasn't one anymore. It had been swallowed in some freak lake related activity. It was there and then it was just underwater. I get the feeling the NDDOT takes its job extremely seriously.
So, what do you do when the road disappears? You make your own.
MORALE IS CRITICALLY HIGH:
I posted some videos of this portage to Facebook, but unfortunately the mobile version of squarespace doesn’t let me upload videos. Trust me, they were hi-larious.
Part of me was absolutely ready to go ass over tea kettle in the wheat field I traversed. It had like foot deep ruts and the plowing through the wheat took every ounce of fatlete energy I could muster. But it got done, and then it got flipped off. Scratched, panting, and giggling is how I found myself after the whole affair. This day has been the quintescence of touring. Everything goes wrong but if morale is high, it’s just fuel for a good laugh. Remember I chose this.
More laughter came as I passed by a wide eyed mailman in a jeep as he pulled into the last house right before the drowned road. I can only assume he had a clear understanding of the absolute bullshit that had just occurred, and I found that deeply hilarious.
Not more than three more miles and I was officially in Medina (emphasis on Meh, Die, and Nah simultaneously).
One of the two “restaurants” in town was open. Granted it was a bar, and yes it had a nudie calendar over the register, but they did indeed serve food. At this point I wasn’t arguing with any source of calories. I had basically expended my snacks and I was 5,000 calories in the hole. Oh man was I gonna eat like a king. What’s that you say? You only take cash and the ATM is broken? Ok well… I guess I have a hard cap of $10, which is the only cash I have. So I ordered a Philly cheesesteak, and asked the barmaid if I could charge my bike. She graciously allowed me to pull it into a disused section of the building because the outside outlets weren’t powered.
It was 3pm and I was now getting concerned about making the final 24 miles to Steele, where Pastor Don Dinger and his wife Stessa had promised a bed and a shower in their camper. I was doubting my ability to get there given the travails of the day thus far.
BUT MORALE WAS STILL HIGH
So after finding a source of some dry snacks and eating like five chocolate chip cookies I took the road out of town. But under the circumstances it was no time to labor over the gravel road that was highway 10. Time for some interstate.
I’m going to be real honest — The interstate suuuuuuucks. Sure the shoulders are wide, but I always feel like I’m being baked, observed with hostility, and not the most safe. But miles must be made!
And miles were made. Exactly 8 of them, at an astounding pace of 11mph.
MORALE WAS STILL HIGH.
But I knew if I ground this out, it was going to falter faster than my battery was draining. So when the opportunity to pull over into a highway rest area presented itself, I pulled over at least to charge a bit. Honestly though it presented an opportunity for begging for a ride.
As I said before, I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. What do I need to prove to myself by grinding out miserable miles just to get to a planned destination angry, burnt out, and ready to punch something. Who does that serve other than my own ego? And I’m over that nonsense…
So I sat while the bike charged waiting for someone with an empty bed in their truck. It didnt’t take long for one such person to appear — ND is probably 75% trucks as transportation. So I planned my approach so as not to come off like some tweaker.
Scott walked out of the rest stop and I did my thing. “Hey I apologize for this weird request…” and quickly he decided a sweaty weirdo in biking clothes probably wouldn’t murder him. So we threw my bike and trailer into his truck and took off towards Steele. I texted Pastor Don and let him know of the developments — Which he expressed he was getting concerned and thought about offering to pick me up. So honestly either way a ride was in my future I think. It just so happened Scott was that ride today.
Scott told me about his familial connections to the area, his work as a long haul trucker, and his linkages to the UMC we were headed towards. It was a pleasant 17 mile drive into Steele.
When we arrived Don and his wife Stessa greeted us and helped me get baggage off of the truck.
We talked a bit with Scott and he set off into the sunset. Don and Stessa got me situated in the Camper and then individually went off to a meeting and to pick up their son respectively, leaving me to shower and relax until we rejoined eachother for dinner.
Don invited me to his porch which in no ways is shaped exactly like an outdoor bar. He offered me a completely Methodist approved beverage and we shot the breeze as he grilled some burgers Stessa had prepared.
It was pretty quickly that like recognized like, and we got along famously. What dutiful pastors wife like myself doesn’t talk church, but quickly that just turned into talking about life — how they met — how me and Beka met. His connection to Mary Lee and Steven from Valley city in that he served in the national guard with their son Matt.
Don and I joked about how my ask was definitely strange, but in the time since that ask I think he read through parts of the blog and both he and Stessa were overwhelmingly hospitable. When I first asked if I could stay in the Church fellowship hall he declined, which his understandable, and I asked if anyone could host me from the church. He was a bit slow in saying that he could host me in his camper. That hesitancy was entirely gone.
Our time was short, but will definitely be a blessed memory for me, and I hope for them as well.
There are times when you wish you could dwell with some people, and the road doesn’t allow it. This was definitely the case. I hope some day to pass through again and give a firm handshake (or maybe a hug) to both of them.
What’s next?
Well, I’ve already lived it, I just need time to write it up. My travels to Bismark and the church here hosting me. But you’ll have to wait.
Are you interested in supporting my journey?
As I’ve described on previous days there are always unexpected expenses, and while I feel like I’ve hit a stride where equipment is finally working I would still be open to any financial help you might be willing to give. Mainly this is to offset the costs of future equipment I may need, or occasional hotel stays (like tonight) which are necessary from time to time. At the end of the trip I will try to donate any unused excess funds to charities like UMCOR to be used for disaster relief.
Here’s the link to my PayPal donation page: