Mile 1914: BISMARCK, SD
Getting to Circle was one of those pleasures that grows
tiresome by repetition. By about the 20th
hill climb and ride down, the thrill was gone.
After our visit with Lynette, the up and down continued and
continued. At about mile 45, we finally
got to the end of the pass between the Missouri and Yellowstone Valleys. All we had to do is turn west and go into the
little town of Circle. Easier said than
done. We faced a ferocious wind,
thinking, “Well, at least tomorrow we’ll have a tail wind…” It takes us almost an hour to go that last
five miles.
There is only one motel in this little town and because the
weather is still very hot, we don’t want to tent camp in the swelter. We pull up to the Traveller’s Inn, and our
hearts sink. Not only are there junk
cars all around the building, the lounge and café is in a state of complete
disarray. When I pull up to the
bedraggled office sign, a passel of pigeons fly out of the long-closed lounge
building. Wes is giving me the
fish-eye. We open the door to the office
and our worst fears are confirmed. It’s
a mess. There is no one at the
desk. It smells of stale
cigarettes. The desk is a pile of
papers, with a hand-written journal on top.
We look around at the dusty collection of old advertising signs and
wait.
At last the proprietor appears. He peers at us with goggle eyes, surprised it
seems to have guests, although Lynette had called from the post office from
Vida, and we told him we were on the way.
Wes says brightly, “Give us your best room!” Our host says, “Well, I have been doing some
renovations, but they aren’t done yet….but I think I can get you a pretty good
room.” He gives us a key and tells us it
is around back. When we cross to the
back of this ramshackle motel and see a whole bank of rooms open to the elements,
our apprehension only increases. We are
already considering whether we should try to find a place to camp, even if the
temperature is over 95 degrees. The room
has a new door, which we open, gingerly…and are pleasantly surprised. The paint is new, if garish. The bedspreads and the carpet are new and
look clean. There is a nice little desk,
as well as a microwave and fridge. The
bathroom is not very complete and the water faucets are erratic. It is ok.
We breathe a sigh of relief because this is mediocre trying to be better
and not horrible.
As part of the registration, the proprietor tells us that he
also works at the VFW and if we buy the first drink, the motel will buy us the
second. In fact, why doesn’t he give us
a ride down there? We are surprised, but
agree after we get cleaned up. When the
time comes, his wife, after hearing the plan and apparently wanting to short
circuit her husband’s trip to the bar, takes us to the VFW in a beat up Toyota
with only 2 gears. She barely speaks to
us as Wes crams into the tool filled back seat.
At the VFW, we could not have felt more foreign or out of place. The regulars barely look up and we hover at
the end of the bar, drink our canned beer as quickly as possible and leave.
Later, we conk out in our ok room and look forward to a day
with a tailwind to push us over the Big Sheep Mountains and into the lovely
little river town of Glendive. We were
wrong on every count. The next morning,
we are up early and try to find a café for bite to eat before the ride. No such luck.
We go out to the highway and sure enough, the wind has turned around and
is blowing in our face. There is a ton
of heavy equipment and big trucks on the road.
So we push on.
It’s climb, climb,
climb all morning over these desert-y sedimentary mountains. We drop into a little settlement of Raymond
where we want to have lunch and it is the first indication that the culture has
changed. At the farm
implement/convenience store, the store owner could barely muster a hello to our
bright greeting. When we asked where we
could eat our lunch, his “I dunno” was almost surly. Luckily the postmistress pointed out a little
picnic spot across the river in the trees (!) next to a large pond. The picnic area was bedraggled and the metal
shelter moaned in the wind, but it was out of the sun and by some water, so we
were satisfied. At one point, Wes
wanders to see the pond and reports, “There’s muskrats here.” Curious, I go look. It is not muskrats, but big swirls of fish in
low water, heaving and dancing around each other in tight coils of mating, I
presume. I watch from a few feet
away. Normally, fish would see me or my
shadow and dart away. These fish have
something else on their mind.
We make our way to Glendive.
About 10 miles outside of town, there begins to be giant lines of empty
coal cars just sitting on the tracks, mile after mile. This is an indication of the change in the
energy economy. Years ago, before the
oil and natural gas boom, train after train of coal from Gillette, WY would
have come down these tracks. Now they
sit rusting in the scalding wind.
About three miles outside of Glendive, my back tire loses
air. We have been aware of the
increasing baldness of my back tire, but there has been no bike shops or stores
that carry my size tire for hundreds of miles.
I have a tube and a changing kit, but with a worn out tire, using either
would be a lost cause. We limp into
Glendive, and turn into the John Deere supplier and ask if they can direct us
to the bike shop in town. It is
gone. Check K-mart and the hardware
stores. Nothing at the K-mart. I call the stores in town. (For the first
time in weeks, because I-94 passes through Glendive, I have phone service!) No luck.
Now what? No tire, no move.
I move into Major Problem Solving Mode; Wes moves into Major
Distress Mode. I offer a bunch of
different solutions; Wes tells me why they are All Wrong. This is typical. I find out the closest bike shop is 60 miles
away, in the little tourist town of Medora, ND, adjacent to the Teddy Roosevelt
National Park and on the Maah-Daah-Hey Mountain Bike route. A call to the Dakota Cyclery confirms that
they have one tire that will work. Now
how to get it from there to us?
This is where one of the most amazing moments of the entire
trip begins.
While Wes and I think about UPS or renting a car, Jennifer
Morlock, a founder, along with the
husband Loren, of Dakota Cyclery, says, “Let me make a few calls to see if
anyone is driving over to Glendive and can bring you the tire.” We decide we better get a place from which
to solve this problem. I call 5 or six
motels in town. All are booked. The last one, the lowest rated, I finally
call. It has a room. It will have to do.
We walk my bike from the industrial outskirts, over the
Yellowstone River, to the discombobulating and dusty downtown. Far from the green oasis we had envisioned,
this is a town cut into sections by the freeway, the river, and the
railroad. It feels beat-up and
hard-used. On the way to the motel, we
get a call from Jennifer. She has found
someone who will deliver the tire to us:
Andrew Gilchrist, a Briton who now lives in Red Lodge, MT and is driving
through Glendive on his way home after participating in a mountain bike
race. He would be able to bring it to us
the next afternoon.
The Glendive Inn used to be nice, but is now probably a few
weeks from closing. There is just one
young man on staff and he is reception, and housekeeping, and everything. There are a few customers, but there are
dirty towels in the hallway and doors open to unmade rooms. The flustered young man explains that the day
shift of housekeepers didn’t come in today, but if we can wait a few moments,
he will make a room up for us. He
disappears, leaving the front desk without staff, much to the chagrin of a
customer who is angry about his remote.
When I ask the desk clerk what’s happening, he tells me that the
sprinkling system failed a while ago, and did hundreds of thousands of dollars
of damage. The owners can’t operate without
a sprinkler system and have been told by the health department they have 90
days to repair. The owner can’t get a
loan to refurbish this older facility downtown (even though two new big motels
are being built on the outskirts.) The
inn is limping by until….probable closing and even more damage to fabric of
downtown.
We walk out to the café on the freeway where we will meet
Andrew. It is full of oil field workers
and construction workers. Even though
Glendive is more than 100 miles from Williston and Sidney, it is full of young
and old men, often in clumps of crews, hurriedly eating and not talking to
anyone else. I came of age in a boomtown
and recognize the vibe.
We have a nice visit with Andrew Gilchrist, originally of
Manchester, England, now of Marietta, Georgia and Red Lodge, MT. He runs an eco-tourism business in Central
and South America and is an avid cyclist.
We are agog to hear his story of organizing a yearly ride from Red Lodge
to Jackson, WY—in ONE DAY. This is a
ride over the Bear Tooth and Sylvan Passes, through Yellowstone—a distance of
250 miles. It takes them about 18
hours. I ask if he is a masochist. He just laughs.
We thank him hardily for the delivery of the tire and make
our way back to our sad motel. With a
certain amount of trouble we get the tire on, then use the remaining time in
Glendive to re-supply. (Wes gets new
underwear and socks. Woot! I get new
support knee socks. Yay!)
The kindness of Jennifer and Andrew are just the beginning
of this amazing tale….. To Be Continued…
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