|Russ Meads and his new pizzeria in Williston, ND|
|This place is going to rock|
|Another transplanted Cape Codder|
|All new, booths now almost completed!|
|Can see for so many miles ahead|
|The mix of agro silos and oil wells and tanks|
|There's oil in them there fields|
|vintage permanent wave machine, yikes! electrifying!|
|A bar and a lady of the evening|
|No bar? make your own hootch|
|Prarie fashion through the ages|
|The way we used to shop for groceries|
And before that, the pioneer days. So much stuff in here. A very nice woman following me around and telling me things, showing me how the old washing machines worked, and telling me about the people who wore some of the vintage clothing. My odemeter reads 2276. I’ve only gone 40 miles today. I better get moving. I get into the Sioux Reservation, there are several towns along the High Line that are reservation towns, and I feel sorry for the people living along the highway because starting here it is totally ripped up on the right shoulder for miles. It looks like they are going to put in another lane, but that will be miraculous, because the terrain is very hilly and will require so much fill. Millions of dollars of yellow construction vehicles are parked along the side of the road, all crews gone for the weekend. One front yard is cut right in half. They’ve lost most of their front yard. There are lots of white crosses along the side of the road at every intersection. I start counting crosses, but give up after awhile. I had gotten to 24. There is a large housing project at Fort Pick. The Poplar Hospital has a sign out front that says, “Walk in Balance.” Good advice. I stop soon and take a picture of an abandoned church. It seems very lonely, and it is not the first lonely church I have passed. The fields around it seem to go on forever. There is only one house in sight. The railroad tracks run along parallel to the road, so every now and then I see a train come towards me. They are slow moving today, without many freight cars. The land becomes very flat, and I can see the badlands over to my left, the south. Here’s a sign. . . “Chose the Right Path, Don’t Drink and Drive.” Very good advice.
The tribes still mourn that catastrophic loss of life. I see alfalfa but no grain on the sides of the road. But here is a huge silo going up, a construction project. I wonder what will go into it. There are yellow flowers growing on each side of the road, and I have to try my point and shoot technique. Cruise control is on at 65. I can see for miles ahead sometimes. I come to the Fort Peck exit. The river is overflowing here, flat and lazy. But too full. I fill up twenty miles later just for the fun of it in Glasgow, I only need 6 gallons because I really am having a hard time making time today. Ah, in Glasgow the tell-tale signs of the Missouri up in people’s yards. .. a gray covering of silt. So it is receding here. It has been worse.
|Yes, I turned off the highway.|
|A sea of grasses|
|someone mows but nobody goes|
|My buddy, the choo choo.|
|Thank you, tree|
|I am buzzed by seagull|
I am not kidding. I am a Cape Codder, and I know seagulls. There has to be a large body of water south of me. Seagulls always find large lakes, don’t ask me how. But this one is definitely cruising me for potato chips. Smart, but I don’t have any. Now a new river, the Milk River, runs through the little town of Hinsdale. By the way, the Canadian border is not far to the north. Every now and then I come to a road with a sign that says “Canada” pointing to the right. North.
|Yoko, are you a god or a dog?|
|The road coming in to Havre|
|Good thing I have all-wheel drive|
OMG! A chance to go four-wheeling. The road surface is gone here, and so is the road crew. Free for all! Dust everywhere. Lots of ruts in the road, and sand wallows. I am following a camper trailer now, and he almost gets stuck. My little all-wheel-drive 4-cylinder Highlander just plows right through. I watch the Harleys in my rear view mirror, because I am only doing 25 mph, and have plenty of time to watch them. The car is driving itself through the sand wallows. Good little tractor, this car. The Harleys don’t dump. That’s good. They have dropped waaaaay back, though. Their arms will be sore. I know. I do have a motorcycle license in my wallet. Do not tempt me, or dare me. I will use it. I will. Those people on Harleys took off their helmets some time ago (I got jealous) to let the wind blow through their hair, and also smell the sweet white blossoms on these trees. . . oh, do they smell sweet. I will have to find out what they are. And here I am. In Havre. I made it. There is a buffalo jump here. I will visit it tomorrow. Time for a nap. Trip almost done. Glacier National Park tomorrow. And then I am almost to Bigfork.