I saw the Arizona Rim Country, the
high deserts of New Mexico, the Oklahoma Indian nation, the American Great
Plains, the Missouri River country, Custer country, Lewis and Clark country,
the Oregon Trail, the Pony Express trail, the Rocky Mountains and the Great
Basin.
I rented a Chevy HHR for the run,
wanting to keep the miles off my own new vehicle. I believe this was a good
decision and was not as expensive as you might think. I encountered fairly
consistent gasoline prices over the whole of the journey -- mostly around $3.70
to $3.90 per gallon. $3.99 was the most I paid, and once or twice I found fuel
in the $3.60's. The car got an average of about 29-30 mpg. Motels and hotels
were generally about $50 - $60 per night for a decent room. Keep in mind this
wasn't "high" summer vacation season.
The "loop" entailed over
4,100 miles -- in 10 days.
Trip Mileage Log
Day 01: 170 miles Phoenix to Show Low, AZ
Day 02: 564 miles Show Low to Amarillo, TX
Day 03: 224 miles Amarillo to Weatherford, OK
Day 04: 496 miles Weatherford to Dodge City,
KS
Day 05: 411 miles Dodge City to Valentine, NE
Day 06: 384 miles Valentine to Mandan, ND
Day 07: 484 miles Mandan to Billings, MT
Day 08: 606 miles Billings to Twin Falls, ID
Day 09: 504 miles Twin Falls to Las Vegas, NV
Day 10: 291 miles Las Vegas to Phoenix
Total: approximately 4,134 miles
I will see:
·
John Wayne's
26-Bar Ranch.
·
The Very Large
Array (the VLA radio telescope facility in NM)
·
The Washita
Battlefield Park, where Black Kettle and his people were attacked by troops led
by George Custer.
·
The National
Cowboy Museum in Oklahoma City.
·
The Chisholm
Trail and the Great Western Trail.
·
Some Pony Express
and Overland Trail sites
·
Cows
·
Windmills
·
Lutheran Churches
·
Nicodemus, KS --
an exoduster emigrant near-ghost town on the Plains
·
The 100th
Parallel -- the "water line." West of it, only irrigation-agriculture
is feasible. It separates wet America from desert America
·
Sitting Bull's
(two) graves
·
Fort Abraham
Lincoln (ND)
·
The Busby Bend of
Rosebud Creek (Custer's last campsite before you-know-what)
·
Little Bighorn
Battlefield – the Greasy Grass - where the natives would say what went around came around...
·
US93 down through
desolate, inconsolable Nevada
These places have cultural,
geographical or historical significance for me.
I will have some nice roadside picnics
along the way. I’ll eat from my ice chest and food box whenever possible,
sampling restaurant fare in the evenings. You know, the usual… soup, salad,
STEAK.
Why?
 |
| The Great Plains |
When I was 13 years old, I stood in
the rear window of a Route 66 motel at Glenrio, Texas, looking out onto the
Plains. I couldn't see a single tree, anywhere, as far as the horizon. I come
from a somewhat treeless place (the Sonoran Desert) -- but I had never, in my conscious memory, seen anything
like that particular desolate view.
I will teach a class first thing in
the morning and then I will take to the road for about nine days. I am going
back to that place; I shall really see that place where few trees grow. I will
experience it the way our forebears did -- immersed in its limitless horizons,
its shimmering mirages and its interminable grass. For most people passing through the Plains, it is an impediment; they view it as an obstacle between "here" and "there." Not me, not this time. I will see the overland trail as the pioneers saw it -- in that part of the country the early ones each year would have seen the plains pretty much the way I will -- before the grass was beaten down and eaten and before summer's sun parched the land. I will be a pioneer for a day or two, trying to see it through their eyes. I'll be going the wrong direction of course... south to north along the Chisholm and the Great Western cattle-drive trails. But I am going to see the Great Plains in a way I never have before, a way few people ever do (unless they live there). I will see their magnificence and their beauty.
If a crow flew the 100th parallel from east of Amarillo to Bismarck, he would cover about 800 miles. I will log a few more than that -- my route will meander quite a bit in Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas before flying directly north toward the Dakotas like a crow would. I have my GPS programmed to take me all the different places I want to go -- from Texas to North Dakota, from Montana through Nevada and home, and I will be moseying along -- this will be no speed run, except maybe right at the end in Nevada. I may not speed much that day -- but I will likely not stop for much.
Normally I would wait until Sunday
morning to leave (tomorrow is Saturday). It is the civilized thing to do after
all, you know, get a good night’s sleep and all. But I cannot wait. I will finish
working by early afternoon and I have so many things planned for this
adventure, so I shall get myself a head start of about 200 miles on Sunday's
itinerary.
 |
| Camping in Oklahoma |
My evenings will be spent camping if weather
permits. I am traveling very light -- but I am taking enough gear that
I can manage to keep myself going for a couple of days at a time; a chair, a
cot, a small tent in case it rains, an electric lantern and a wash basin. I
think about every 2nd or 3rd night I might give in to the desire for a
hot shower and a hot shave -- but we'll see. Where I am going, it may still be
too cold -- this early in the season it is even possible to still see winter
weather and I am not into freezing to death for the sake of fun. I may
"motel" more often than I think. [Afterwards, I can say that I did,
in fact. Except for one night in Oklahoma, I didn’t camp at all. It was too
cold and too wet.]
Daily Journal
Day One: Get outta town!
 |
| Road Trip Companion |
I am on my way. I worked this morning
and afterwards picked up a ruby-red Chevy HHR and left town on SR87 – through
Payson and Heber to Show Low. I was sleepy so I stopped in Show Low for the
night – this is about what I had planned. I will rise with the dawn and head
over to Eagar to the John Wayne 26-Bar Ranch – it used to be Duke’s anyway.
After that, it is east into New
Mexico and the Very Large Array telescope site, then through Carrizozo to
Vaughn, Santa Rosa and Tucumcari. I’ll probably stay somewhere around Amarillo
tomorrow night.
I had dinner in Payson at the Mazatzal
Casino (Arizonans say mah-tah-ZAL). My evening was spent cruising along the
7,000 foot high Mogollon Rim – an escarpment that stretches across Arizona from
one side to the other, is covered with old Ponderosa pines and divides
Arizona’s high pine country from the lower desert mountains and valleys.
 |
| Memorial for Two Sisters |
The crosses [see photo] are at the
junction of SR87 and SR188 – the north entrance to the Roosevelt Lake area.
Three teen girls pulled out across the highway to either head south toward
Phoenix or straight across to the Deer Creek Trailhead – and forgot to look
RIGHT at the second roadway of a divided highway. All three perished when
t-boned by a pick-up. The two crosses were put up by the father of two of them.
I got a room at the very clean Kiva Motel in Show Low -- and it is time for
bed. ~Road Bob
Day Two: The Land of Enchantment
My alarm went off at 0500 -- I snoozed
until 0515 and still got on the road by 0545. It was sunny and about 45
degrees. It took about 45 minutes to drive across the way to Eagar, AZ and
my GPS took me straight to John Wayne's 26-Bar ranch.
The 26-Bar sits on the side of the
hill just west of Eagar, off SR260. You take School Bus Road south off
the highway -- I've been there before and didn't know it - Don Lester used to
live right around there somewhere; he was a traffic school owner I used to
know. Anyway...
 |
| 26 Bar Ranch |
The ranch is remarkably inelegant
considering its illustrious prior owner. The buildings are plain and
functional. It looks like any other working ranch and it is somewhat
dilapidated. It could use some fixin' up -- note to the Hopi Tribe which owns
it these days.
If Duke loved this place and I suspect
he did, he was plainly a man with simple tastes. That fits everything I have
read about him. The ranch is located in cow heaven -- the land around it is
golden rolling beautiful -- with a fringe of White Mountain pines around the
edges. Not far from there is the mountainside where one story says the last
free-ranging grizzly bear was killed in Arizona on Escudilla Mountain, back
around 1935 if I remember correctly. They had been common here at one time. The
land there is still very remote and sparsely populated. Don't tell any
Californians though, or the buggers will come over here and fill it up.
I sat in the Safire Restaurant for
breakfast -- Duke used to eat there and his portrait still hangs on the wall by
the register. Old ranchers from the area still eat there too -- from the looks
of them some of them probably knew Duke. The place is old country Arizona -- a
place that has almost disappeared. I didn't see any Herefords -- Duke raised
champion Herefords -- but I saw lots of other kinds I think. I also saw a
couple of tired-looking old horses.
I reached the New Mexico line at 0825,
and arrived at the NRAO Very Large Array at 1030. I checked out the visitor's
center, watched the film and bought a t-shirt and some postcards!
 |
| VLA - Magdalena NM |
Seeing the vastness and golden beauty
of the New Mexico high plains, hills and mountains, it caused me to reflect on
what a singular treat it is to be alive on the earth and particularly in this part of it. We have such a short span
in this timeless land -- but I am fortunate to live in such a beautiful place and to
be able to drive around and look at it often. Made me want to get out and kiss
the ground, but I didn't.
I stopped at Socorro for a few
minutes' break, then cut across US380 to Carrizozo. I passed very near the
Trinity Site where the USA exploded into the Nuclear Age in 1945. The ground
isn't blackened anymore -- but a rock shop nearby sells rocks that were created
by the blast -- like glass I think. I stopped to see but the shop was closed
and the gates locked. On this stretch I also took a photo of El Capitan --
where Smokey the Bear was found clinging to a smoldering tree after a forest fire when he was
a cub.
I passed by a place where Billy the
Kid robbed the store -- it was along US54 somewhere in the vicinity of Gallinas
or Tecolote, NM.
 |
| The Golden Beauty of NM |
The worst meal of the trip -- at a
"diner" in Vaughn, New Mexico. A cheese enchilada that didn't even
have melted cheese; a bowl of "beef" soup (hamburger, I think). The
soup wasn't bad, really. I can't say it was a bad place to eat -- the food was
just uninspired and the cook wasn't a person who knows much about food
preparation, that's all. I could eat it and the staff was friendly. If that's
the worst I did on the whole drive, I reckon it was a pretty good trip.
Early evening -- I saw a speeder get
nailed -- and more power to the Texas State Police. The jerk had flown up
behind me while I was passing a semi -- and probably was doing about 90 mph
(with his family in the car). He tailgated me until I was able to clear the
truck and get out of his way. This was the same stretch where someone else I
know got a speeding ticket a couple of years back, so I was hoping for more of
the same... and SURE ENOUGH. I laughed out loud as I drove by. After he got his
ticket, he apparently didn't learn much -- he went flying past me again just
west of Amarillo. Not quite 90, that time.
I stopped for the night at Amarillo --
no camping yet -- the weather is threatening. The camp ground (a state park)
was 40 miles off my path and I didn't have change for the fees. Avoid
disappointment, I always say.
I logged 580 total miles today at an
average speed of 52 mph. Yay! The rental car is averaging about 34 mpg so far.
It should be even better the next day or two, until I hit the Montana
mountains. I'm on the Plains. ~Road Bob
Day Three: Cheyenne Country
I slept in a little later today – got
on the road from Amarillo about 9:30 AM – but that was about two hours earlier
AZ time (like you should be impressed). Today’s highlight will be the Washita
battlefield, but I did see a couple of strange things along the way.
How about this little guy? You know,
sometimes you just got to get up high and see stuff. I mean, why else would
they put this "dirt" in the middle of a cow-pen, right?
Another strange thing was a wind farm
inhabiting the same field as new oil well drilling… kind of the old and the new
in terms of energy all “co-existing” in western Oklahoma.
I had a quick lunch in a roadside rest
area along Texas Route 152, just west of Mobeetie. You wonder how that place
got its name (?)… Let’s name our town Mobeetie. Yeah, why not; New York and
Pittsburgh are already taken so Mobeetie is the third best name. The rest area
where I ate had a nice setting, but the trash dumpsters were overflowing and
there was litter all over the ground. I didn't sit down and I didn't stay long.
Highway crew maintenance funds must have been non-existent in the Panhandle
in 2011.
I ate totally out of my own food box
today – I was going to eat supper in a café, but the nearest one to where I am
camping (Crowder Lake State Park, OK) is in Weatherford – probably about 25
miles or so up the road. So I had a little sandwich, two Fig Newtons, a handful
of Fritos and that’s it. I wasn’t that hungry anyway.
I got into a nasty hail storm today –
and it did some damage to the rental car. It should be covered by insurance and
CDW but it’s a bummer just the same. Now the sky is finally lightening up so
maybe the rain is done for today. I have my little tent set up and here’s
hoping (1) I don’t need it to be, or (2) it is waterproof. Those are the
two best possibilities. Don’t want to think of any others. But right now the
sun is shining as it goes down to the west beyond the little lake.
The Battle of the Washita River and Black
Kettle, Peace Chief of the Southern Cheyenne
I arrived at the Washita battlefield a
bit after 1:00 PM. I stopped first at what was supposed to be the Black Kettle
Museum in Cheyenne (OK), but it had closed and the collection was in storage in
Oklahoma City, according to an NPS staff person. So I went on to the Washita
battlefield visitor center and looked through that and the gift shop, watched
the NPS film on the battle and then drove out to the overlook.
 |
| Washita River |
Two trails wind down along the river
and the river bottom where Black Kettle’s village was located – the overlook is
the starting point for the walk through the battleground. It is up on the high
ground above the river and near where the 7th Cavalry’s command post was during
the battle. I took a slow walk along both trails.
Until today I wouldn’t have called it
a “battle.” But in a sense, it was, at least later on in the day. The Army
snuck up on the village from behind a ridge or two and waited in the dark for
the first light of dawn, then charged into the sleeping village at a gallop,
shooting and slashing as they went.
Custer split his forces here – as he
did 7½ years later in Montana, his idea being to surround the village and
prevent an escape -- also like he did later at the Greasy Grass. The only
reason I changed my mind about calling it a "battle" was that a few
Cheyenne soldiers did counter-attack late in the fight – and the Army chose
discretion over valor and organized a retreat while feinting an attack. Custer
may have tried the same tactic at Little Bighorn in June of 1876, for the benefit
of Marcus Reno and his command, when he sent Captain Yates and E Company down
to attack that village at the Medicine Tail Coulee ford. The tactic worked on
the Washita -- but at the Greasy Grass, it didn't -- in spectacular, catastrophic
fashion. But Lt Col Custer was in fact and in hindsight, a very predictable creature of habit.
This is a place of beauty and peace in
the spring time – I imagine it was stark and desolate in the late fall
when Custer rode in. But today there was a gentle wind from the
northwest and the short grasses were starting to green up – but the tall
prairie grasses were still winter brown. In 1868 it was a place of great
natural beauty – today, that natural beauty is mixed with man-made pastoral
charm, the result of a century and a half of Caucasian agriculture. The setting
is framed by red “cimarron”ridges and knolls, with the river winding
down the low valley in between. Cattle graze here now. The day Custer attacked
Black Kettle’s village the wind was blowing snow and it was bitterly cold.
I was thinking about how pride and
shame can go hand in hand; this place saw a bit of both that day. On the shame
side, this was a fight that need not have been fought. The Indians Custer
attacked and killed were not the Indians the Army was trying to find. Those
were younger men, from the Cheyenne warrior societies and they were
camped several hundred yards away. Custer didn’t even know they were there
until later in the day when they counter-attacked.
These younger “hot-heads” had been out
raiding and taking revenge on white travelers and settlers and the Army was
looking to find them and punish them – and destroy their will and
means to fight. Black Kettle’s job as“peace chief” was looking out for the very young, some of the women, the elderly and the disabled. He was in disfavor with
the warrior groups because his peace philosophy was thought to have resulted
in the tragedy at Sand Creek (Colorado) four years earlier. Custer never
bothered to figure out which group of people he was attacking. Chances are
pretty good he didn't care.
Shame can be assigned to the Cheyenne
side as well – Black Kettle was not permitted to camp with the warrior groups away to the east because of that disfavor. They were the only real protection
he and those with him might have had.
On the pride side, during the
fighting, Custer was informed that his soldiers were killing women and children
and he quickly sent orders for them to stop – ordering the non-combatants to be
taken captive instead. Shame goes along with that same thing – the soldiers
shouldn’t have been killing women and children to begin with.
The United States’ justification for
this battle and its conduct was “total war,” the same concept used by General
Sherman a few years before during the Civil War. The accentuated brutality of
the soldiers’ actions was intended to bring a swift conclusion to the need for
fighting Plains Indians. We cannot rightfully attach ideas of 21st Century
morality to those actions by the soldiers and their commanders – despite how we
hate what they did. It was a different time, a different circumstance. One
wishes there had been some other course of action available – some
accommodation that would have preserved the right of the American Indian to
live in their way alongside white settlers. But the American government didn’t
choose any other possibility right after the Civil War; given white-American
public sensibilities (and world-view) of that time it is simply wishful
thinking to consider it could have.
The irony of course is that the Indian
leader attacked and killed, along with several dozen of his people was a most
prominent example of a Native American who tried to accommodate the whites and
live in peace with them. He and his wife, Medicine Woman Later, were killed in
the waters of the Washita River while trying to escape on November 27, 1868; they had both
survived a similar massacre at Sand Creek four years before. At this place,
though, their luck had run out. A white flag was flying over their village when
the 7th Cavalry rode in, just like at Wounded Knee many years later. It was the same old story, time and again. I think of Big Foot, of Eskiminzin, and of others, who found themselves in the way at the wrong time.
The Washita isn't visited much, at
least it wasn't today. Maybe part of the reason was it was early in the season
and there weren't that many tourists out there; I encountered only two other
visitors during my entire three hours in the park. In a broader sense, unless
you are a western history enthusiast like me, perhaps a Cheyenne peace chief and his
people attacked while they were sleeping isn't worthy of too many Americans‘ interest
– after all, it was only a few women, children and infirm old men and their
caretakers who perished there. Americans
all.
Day Four: Cowboy Stuff
Next morning, I got things packed up,
washed up real quick and got on the road about 9:45. I stopped in Weatherford,
OK for breakfast and then drove the short distance to Oklahoma City and the
cowboy museum. There was lots of beautiful western art and memorabilia from
different parts of western life, including the movies. There were
"artifacts" from western stars A to Z! Also many exhibits from the
native side of frontier life -- the clothing was the best part -- deerskin
dresses and leggings, head-dresses, etc. They even had a pipe that they said
was once Sitting Bull's. The quality of this museum and its collection was a
huge surprise -- the presentation rivals that of any facility of its type
anywhere. Oklahoma rocks! The biggest disappointment there was that the statue
of John Wayne didn't look a thing like him -- the face didn't anyway. The face
looked more like Gary Cooper. The body and the "stance," or posture,
though, was all Duke.
 |
| True Grit Saddle |
I spent an extra hour there -- more
than I figured -- and then headed up to Pawhuska, before turning west toward
Alva. Having done so, I am now on the 100th Parallel -- the center and heart of
the Great Plains.
I was amazed at how beautiful the
countryside around Pawhuska was -- greened up for spring and cattle ranches,
creeks, rolling hills. No wonder the actor Ben Johnson loved it. It was his
home, and he's buried there. I looked for his headstone but couldn't find it --
and I had to outrun a thunderstorm right about then. I had
an Oklahoma-sized burger and some tater tots before leaving town (tater tots
are an Oklahoma thing, I think). I also had a sack of corn-nuts, a Payday bar
and a root beer at various times of the day. Yes, I always eat only healthy things.
When I got to Alva (heading west
again) -- there were no rooms at the Inn -- any of them. I drove to the next
town, none there either... I drove on, town after town, no rooms. The area is
experiencing an oil boom and all the roughnecks working the rigs are staying in
the motels. I ended up driving all the way to Dodge City, KS to find a room --
about 175 miles farther than I'd planned. I arrived there after midnight -- so I
won't get up too early in the morning tomorrow either. But at least they have
Internet so I can update the blog. I really didn't want to do any night driving --
I want to see the plains. But I guess I have another 800 miles of them over the
next two days so I will probably be sated by the time I am through with them.
The extra (unplanned) miles put me on the road in the dark. I hit a big
jackrabbit. It is still raining, but I am still on schedule, so it must be a
pretty good trip plan. ~Road Bob
Day Five: The "Meaning" of the
Plains
 |
| The Great Plains - Kansas |
I came to see the Great Plains, the
great crucible of the American psyche and character. Today is my big day – I
really wasn’t sure what the point would be once I got here – but some things
are clearer now, partly because what I’ve seen caused me to ponder that
question while driving interminable miles on long straight roads. I really
had time to think.
Today, I drove from Dodge City, Kansas
to Valentine, Nebraska. The terrain slowly changed along the way – and it is
surprisingly different from latitude to latitude. Where I started, it was all
featureless flatness and devoid of trees – other than what we humans have
planted – the Great Plains of the Llano Estacado, of Amarillo and of Dalhart
(Texas). Farther north though, the terrain gets hillier and there are trees
along the frequent watercourses. I should have thought of this, I mean, I have
seen the Plains at different latitudes, but from east to west or vice versa
while traveling the USA’s main Interstates (I-70, I-80, I-90).
There were other changes visible as
well – having nothing to do with latitude or longitude. I could see the ancient
landscape underneath, glimpses of it anyway, and I could see the changes that
civilization and agriculture brought to these lands. While driving along, it
occurred to me that I had never seriously considered why the Plains meant so
much to us as a people, as a nation. I absorbed the conventional teaching, but
I had never given it much critical thought. I did
think about that today.
It was the hardship…
People are strengthened and tempered
by hardship and struggle – and they often get weaker, less resolute, degenerate
and dissipated when times are too good for long. I think we are seeing those problems in our country today. Perhaps America needs some hard times to rebuild its character, its backbone. The Plains had to be won and
even once they were it didn’t get easy.
The environment here is harsh -- and scraping out a living is toilsome and by
no means is success a certain thing, especially as it was years ago without the
benefit of modern transport and support means. There is little visible water
over much of the land. The wind blows constantly and it blows in bitter cold.
If it isn’t raining, or hailing, or blowing up cyclones, it is hot, dry,
parched and full of drought for years on end; this land was ground zero for the Dust Bowl. No wonder these Plains people eat
nails for breakfast. In addition to all of that, the Plains were and are a vast
expanse of sparse population. For many, that meant excruciating loneliness;
loneliness that resulted in hardness of character and hardness of attitude --
and in the end, sometimes insanity.
Americans won the plains – they fought
and struggled for them and once they had them, they went about subduing them -
to the extent they can be considered subdued. I think those who live here would
argue against any suggestion that the Plains have been tamed to any great degree. All of this was no easy
feat – but the people of the Great Plains have succeeded beyond anything imaginable
two centuries ago.
Everywhere you look you see the hands
of modern humans upon the land – ranches, farms, windmills, oil derricks,
fields cultivating food not only for our nation, but for the world. These lands
are covered with beef and wheat. The American work ethic and our trademark
pragmatism were engendered here, or not too far from here. If we are stoic, it
is because of our amplified experience with tragedy and terror here. People here are as little jaded by
“life in the big city” as it is possible to be – drivers of passing farm trucks
almost universally wave to the vehicles passing them – even strangers. These
people remember when knowing your neighbor could mean survival and in some ways at least, that is still true today.
Random thoughts on the Great Plains and my
journey today…
The majority of the day was filled
with dark skies and rain. The sun finally came out about 4:00 PM.
The Arapaho people were living in this
area when other Americans first met them – Arapaho means “Blue Cloud People.” I
saw those clouds today; now I know.
Windmills are everywhere. I took
photos of them. There had to be some way of pulling that deep Ogallala Aquifer
water up out of the ground to make things grow and water the cattle. The sign
of man on this land is the windmill and the grain elevator. The sign of woman
is that every town has a school -- and a church – and some churches stand even where there isn’t
a town anymore. Lutheranism seems to be a dominant force around here. Eventually, the water will run out - current estimates are the Ogallala aquifer will be pumped dry in about 50 years. Then we'll probably have another dust bowl.
I ate lunch at the “Cactus Club” in
Ness City. They had a
buffet lunch of American-style dishes. It was like eating at a pot-luck “back
home.” There was one big round table in the middle and it hosted a continual
procession of big men who ate lunch together – one would finish, get up and leave
and another would come in and take his place. While I sat there and ate at my
table, their table changed its muddy-booted customers probably three times. They
all knew each other and ate together, but they didn’t talk much. It
wasn’t at all unfriendly – just quiet. Perhaps there wasn’t anything new to
discuss.
 |
| Nebraska |
Northwest-central Nebraska is rife
with hills and streams – it is so green and lush that it could just as easily
be Indiana in some ways. This was especially so around Arnold, and Gothenburg was
also a beautiful little town. I might move there.
The National Cow of Nebraska is the
Black Angus. But the thought occurs to me, why the black? Why not the White Angus,
or the red one? Black doesn’t taste any different to me than any other cow –
beef is beef. Why does the black one get all the glory? There is a rusty brown
cow that is really common also -- I don't know what kind it is. When I get home
I shall look it up. Maybe it is the Rusty Angus? “Hey, Garçon… forget the
black, I’d like to have a Rusty Angus T-Bone, please!”
Kansans and Nebraskans are not litter
bugs; later I found that South and North Dakotans are not much for littering
either. None of them would win any prizes for prodigious littering. I drove for
miles and miles today without seeing any trash beside the road; almost literally
none; one or two pieces, maybe. The
land was totally devoid of, barren of, garbage. At first I thought maybe this
is because the wind blows it all away – but not so – if it was, then the
garbage would all be stuck to the fences. But it isn’t; there just isn’t any. There weren’t even any “no
littering”signs. I suppose this is
because these are farmers around here – and a farmer lives on and is tied to the
land. These people are self-reliant and they have a smattering of the pride
that comes with that trait – so I suppose they don’t litter like some others
might; for them, perhaps it would be sacrilege. I think it is a pity we can’t “can”
that virtue somehow and loose it in some other parts of the country that come quickly
to mind.
I put on about 500 miles today with
stops at Nicodemus, Kansas and a few
minutes to take photographs other places along the way. Nicodemus is a town
that was and is unique on the Kansas plains – it was founded and built by black folks (called "exodusters") escaping the repressive and
hostile south after the Civil War. They wanted to be some place where they could
make their own way, build their own community, and Nicodemus became "Canaan" for a few of them.
 |
| Nicodemus Mailbox Humor |
It is still a special place – and I
hoped to meet some of its residents. Alas, they all seemed to be at lunch. You
can’t fault them for wanting to eat lunch – but I feel like I might have missed
something. Nicodemus pretty much stopped growing when the railroad bypassed it over
one hundred years ago, but today the local residents are trying to restore
their town to some of its prior prosperity and save it from the extinction
suffered by so many other small plains towns. I hope they win that battle because their town is the very representation of human hope.
Near Nicodemus, I saw an early section
of the highway I was traveling, now abandoned; US24 I think. It reminded me
that we are not the original road-trippers -- moving around isn't new at all.
Road-tripping in the USA started with the Conestoga wagon, after all, at least
if we are thinking in terms of vehicular travel. And for sure, those mountain-men fur trappers were road-trip vagabonds supreme. And here was evidence of 20th Century road-tripping
history right beside the present-day blacktop -- even the center-line striping was
still visible in some places. It was probably the original US24 alignment from
the 1930's, back when Americans were just beginning their romance with the
automobile.
 |
| Pony Express Station |
The Pony Express: In Gothenburg, Nebraska, you can see a bona-fide
Pony Express relay station. The cabin was built prior to that use, and it was also used for
some other purposes at different times, but it may be the only
remaining building that was actually used by that swashbuckling enterprise as
far as the relay stations anyway. They have moved it from its original
foundation not too far away and it is now placed in a pretty little city park.
They said it was "open, come in and look around." But of course it
wasn't. I did get an exterior picture... You might be able to tell by the size of
the building that Pony Express riders were very small people - that doorway is a short five feet from dirt-foundation to the top of the door frame.
This is the part of my country that I
love most. This is the heart and soul of America. I think I could spend the
rest of my life among these people who live on the Plains. If the jihadist terrorists
were smart, they would come here to see the stuff of which Americans were made.
It might scare them just a little.
At the end of the day I set my alarm
for 0700. I had stuff to do on Thursday. ~ Road Bob
Day Six: Missouri River Country
I got out of Valentine, Nebraska at
0830 today. I wanted to drive as far as Dickinson, ND but I have learned to call ahead -- it is a
good thing too because there didn't seem to be any rooms there and those that
were available were well over $100 per night. Oil
industry workers, again.
So I practiced flexibility and stayed in Mandan, ND
after seeing Fort Abraham Lincoln after-hours. I walked around the square of
the parade ground -- there are few buildings left. I have been in these types
of Army frontier posts and their structures before, so I could simply imagine
my memories of Fort Larned, or Fort Laramie, and there you have it. I have read Elizabeth Custer’s description of
the post as it was when she first saw it (in her book Boots and Saddles) – and I recalled her words as I wandered
about the very places she described, walking the same ground she walked.
I did take quite a few shots of the
post commander's house, since Autie Custer lived there. But what moved me most
was seeing the parade ground and thinking about how it was the last sight of
"home" about half the troops of Custer's command would ever get. I
looked at the commissary where the non-coms drew the supplies for
that march to Montana -- and I wondered which direction the troops marched (or
rode) as they left for the last time in May of 1876, to the bouncing measures of "Garry Owen." Those ordinary, hard-luck men, as they assembled on that dusty parade ground that morning, were poised on the brink of near-immortality, unaware of their impending, illustrious forever future. That said, it is of critical importance that we realize that glorious shine is only in our minds. In reality, fleeting fame is nothing but coal because there is no glory in war or death. It is only those men and the grief of their families that we should think about.
But the day didn't start there...
 |
| The C.o.M |
The Cows of Morning: The C.o.M. is a fraternal herd known the
world over for their bulldogged, determined pursuit of the greener grass on the
other side of the fence. They are exclusive much like any country club and not
just every young buck gets into the "club." Their normal devotions
are undertaken each dawn, before the ranch hands are up and watching.
Murdo, SD: Just
south of Murdo, I saw a "string" of what I took to be wild horses,
running almost single-file along a ridge line. They were silhouetted by the
morning sun and all golden and glowing in outline as they ran. These were the “California
beach god” kind of horses -- the equine-version of Ken and Barbie, if you
would; manes flying, long legs stretching, perfect conformation, loose and running
in South Dakota. The sight was something John Ford would have filmed in
Panavision on his most perfect day and toasted himself afterward. I had no
place to stop -- many of these roads have no shoulder at all. And ten seconds
later the moment was gone, the light changed, the angle changed and they had
ALL stopped to look at ME. They were very wary – even though they were at least
¼ mile away.
Too many times that happens -- the
shot is there, you see it, but by the time you can get stopped, get the camera
out, get the right lens on it, everything changes. Yesterday I stopped to get a
shot of the sun's golden rays on some cliffs and within 30 seconds the chance
(along with the sun) was g-o-n-e and I had missed it altogether.
I had a picnic lunch in a little
riverside park at the corner of Two Rivers and Ash streets in Fort Pierre. I
sat there and ate and watched fishermen launching (and trailering) their
boats at the public landing across the Bad River. The park was right at the
mouth of the Bad River at the Missouri River. It didn’t look so “bad” to me.
After lunch, I stopped in Pierre and
reset all the tires' air -- then headed north toward Mobridge and Sitting
Bull's graves. The ride between the two (on the Standing Rock Reserve) was very
nice -- very picturesque.
 |
| Tatanka Iotake lies here - maybe |
Why two graves? I’m glad you asked…
Sitting Bull’s body was taken to Fort Yates and buried there after he was shot
by Indian policemen. His family lived farther south though – in the vicinity of
what is now Mobridge, South Dakota. They resented his being taken from them –
heck, they probably resented the fact that he was murdered by his own people.
Anyway, quite a few years ago they got together one night and went up to Fort
Yates, dug him up and re-buried him on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River
near Mobridge.
The problem is, the folks at Fort
Yates say they didn’t get the real Sitting Bull at all – that they dug up the
wrong Indian. Those that did the digging say “nonsense, we got the right guy.”
After all, he was their kin. So Sitting Bull has two graves. Who knows which
one is the right one – maybe he’s a little bit in both. Either way, I have
visited him and paid my respects; of course, he would have quickly cut my throat just like any other puny, interloping wasichu. I have no illusions... But Sitting Bull was a great American. He was, to his people in his time, as great as any of our great statesmen and spiritual leaders; I can appreciate his spirit and his integrity. He was a constant, a rock, in the life of many Lakota. Personally, I hope that the actual resting place is the Mobridge grave -- it is
a magnificent place, with an expansive view overlooking that great river.
 |
| Commanding Officer's Porch - Ft Lincoln |
From there it was 90 minutes into
Bismarck, Mandan and Fort Lincoln. I had a relaxed evening -- I ate at a
restaurant next door to the motel, then drove across the river to Bismarck to a
car wash (didn't do any lasting good, rained all the next day). Then on the way
back saw a car wash that was NOT listed on the GPS that was maybe only 4 blocks
away -- instead of the 9 miles to Bismarck. That's not the first time the GPS
has lied to me.
But anyway, the car is somewhat
cleaner now. I had a Dairy Queen sundae when I got back.
Oh... I met one of South Dakota's
NICEST state troopers today. No further comment.
The only disappointing thing all day –
I stopped to see the Missouri River at the exact spot I first saw that river –
in 1965 with my Dad – but it has changed so much I couldn’t even figure out
where we had stopped back then. About the only thing that had not changed was
the bridge itself – just judging by the apparent age of the one I saw today, I
think it was the same one.
Day Seven: In Custer's Footsteps
George Custer left Fort Lincoln on May
17, 1876, to join a campaign to "round up" the remaining free Lakota
and Cheyenne and force them onto federal reservations.
His wasn't the only command involved
in the pursuit, but it is the one most remembered today. It took the 7th
Cavalry about thirty-nine days to reach the end of their trail near what we
know today as the Little Bighorn Valley -- which means they covered an average
of 10 miles each day; I covered the same route almost exactly today in less
than 8 hours. So much for the old cavalry adage "forty miles a day on beans and hay." The Army apparently didn't normally move that quickly, even the horse army.
I saw several of their campsites and
spent quite a number of minutes staring at the landscapes and wondering how they saw it. That was certainly one
highlight of this entire road trip for me.
I left Bismarck at roughly 0800 and
drove west on I-90 until I got hungry -- I stopped at the "Wrangler
Cafe" in Richardton, ND for some eggs and (some extremely good) sausage.
Nearby was a historical marker noting that the 7th Cavalry had camped there -- near
a smallish prominence called Young Man's Butte about two miles east of the town
and plainly visible. The 7th Cavalry was six days out from Fort Lincoln at that
point. They then continued west and crossed into present-day Montana near the
present-day town of Beach. I did the same.
I suspect they made a bee-line for the
Yellowstone River at that point -- but I do not know their exact route -- it
wouldn't surprise me to find they followed the same route as does the highway
today. I took a small detour near the ND border -- and paid a short visit to
the Roosevelt-Grasslands National Park.
 |
| Yellowstone River - Montana |
South Dakota has its famous
"badlands" -- and North Dakota has this similar place -- and a national
park encompasses them. Teddy Roosevelt's ranches were nearby and one of his
cabins is near the present-day park headquarters in Medora. He believed his
experiences there shaped his entire life afterward. As I arrived, it was very
cold, beginning to snow and I was beginning to feel some time pressure -
Little Bighorn Battlefield before 5:00 PM (which I believed was closing time). I really wanted a couple of photos
there, so I skipped most of Grasslands NP. Today, I wish I hadn't.
One of my "wants" for this
trip was to hike to the middle of Custer's June 23/24th bivouac site on the
Busby bend of Rosebud Creek. I was unable to get there because of
time constraints and a certain amount of very cold mud and private property
fences. But I could have hit it with a rock from where I was -- so I took a
couple of photos and settled for that. I saw it, I just didn't get to walk on it. Then I raced across the Wolf
Mountains to the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. I got some great
photos there -- the late afternoon light was gorgeous. I also found that closing time was actually 6:00 pm... I
guess that really didn't make much difference for the other things but at least
I had an extra hour in the park before they closed the gates. As it was, I
pushed my luck with some very accommodating rangers.
 |
| Last Stand Hill |
I searched for Private Frank Braun's
grave but couldn't find it. Pvt. Braun was the last known Army fatality of the
battle -- he was wounded and taken back to Fort Lincoln to recover. He died
there in the fall of 1876, and when the frontier posts were abandoned his body
was brought back to the battlefield for reburial at the national cemetery there.
The new Indian memorial is in place
now -- and since I was there last in 2003, some new individual Indian memorial markers
are in place on the field and the informative plaques have been improved
everywhere I went. I came home burning with desire to learn more about the
battle (it's always something) --
this time I want to focus on the days immediately prior to the fight -- the
time spent by the commanders where they made the decisions what to do and how
to do it (when they were encamped at the mouth of Rosebud Creek); also on some
of the other participants -- Reno, Benteen and Sgt. John Ryan, particularly.
 |
| A homeland defender fell here |
After the park closed, I drove the
short distance to Billings for the night -- had a great meal at the Montana
Brewing Company -- and relaxed in my room until it was time to sleep. I stayed at the "Dude
Rancher" Motel. It and the restaurant are both downtown; great place to stay,
great place to eat, if you find yourself in Billings. The staff at the motel
was very friendly as was the restaurant's -- the eatery had a young crowd on a Friday
night and was very noisy and fun. It was a perfect end to the day.
Day Eight: Crazy Woman, Chief Joseph,
Sacajawea and Lewis and Clark
Yesterday it was the 7th Cavalry,
today it was all of the above... plus a little bit of the Oregon Trail.
This was the road trip's longest
mileage day -- over 600 from Billings, Montana to Twin Falls, Idaho. The day
was very wintry -- snow and cold all day -- mostly in the 30's and later in the
afternoon in Idaho, the (toasty) 40's. Scenery-wise, it was probably the
prettiest day of the trip -- lots of snow-capped mountains and river valleys.
I drove north from Billings to US12 and took that west. Near Ryegate, I found a historical marker that commemorated the
passing of Chief Joseph and his people as they were running away from General
Howard in 1877 -- little knowing that their real worry was no longer Howard, but Col. Nelson Miles who was
waiting to ambush them from another direction. The fleeing Nez Perce had
crossed the Musselshell River near that spot while pushing hard for Canada and
what they hoped would be freedom. What they got instead was a long exile to
Oklahoma.
 |
| Montana |
I crossed the Crazy Woman Mountains
toward White Sulphur Springs and then headed south on US287. The mountains were
named for a woman whose true story was recounted in the film "Jeremiah
Johnson" (and the book it was based on, called Liver-Eating Johnson).
Later in the day, while driving
southward near Dillon, MT, I came across the place where Sacajawea was reunited
with her brother -- and Lewis and Clark got the horses they so desperately needed
to cross the mountains and get to the Pacific. The location was where her
Shoshoni people spent the summer each year – and when she saw familiar
landmarks -- like Beaverhead Point -- she knew they were going in the right
direction and were close. Lewis and Clark were pretty much lost at that point
-- so Sacajawea saved the day once again. I doubt she was even 20 years old at
the time. Amazing, huh? In my opinion, one of the greatest injustices in history was that Sacajawea didn't get to live a long and happy life.
I picked up I-15 South at Dillon, and
high-balled it for Twin Falls for the night. Along the way, I stopped at a rest
area west of Pocatello near Massacre Rocks State Park -- a place where
resentful Indians attacked westward-bound emigrants on the trail to Oregon and killed some. Revenge
was then taken by other whites in the area, if my memory serves me correctly.
Much of the day in Montana and the
first part in Idaho was cold and the land was snow-covered. It was still winter
up there and as always, it was very beautiful. The roads were clear.
Day Nine: Nevada and the Great Basin
Leaving Twin Falls, I drove US93
toward Jackpot, Nevada. I stopped for breakfast at a casino in Jackpot -- ate
quickly and hit the road for points south. My destination for the day was Las
Vegas and a steak dinner at Billy-Bob’s!
 |
| US93 - Nevada |
US93 from Idaho to Ely is stunningly
beautiful -- you drive valleys rimmed by snow-capped peaks on both sides,
and ahead and behind. There wasn't much traffic. I set my cruise control,
turned up the music and simply enjoyed myself. On a cruise ship, this would
have been the "at sea" day... I stopped for lunch at Schellbourne --
the site of a Pony Express Station and trail route; the trail came down from a
pass to the east and then headed north up the valley.
After lunch I actually got to drive on
a road that overlay a portion of the trail, as it descended from
the mountain pass to the east -- US93 was closed for about three hours just
south of the rest area where I ate -- a watermelon truck had gone off the
highway and turned over and it was going to take a while to clean up the
resulting mess. Many hundreds of watermelons had perished in the wreck. We were turned off-road onto dirt roads to get around the scene
-- including a short stretch on the actual Pony Express trail.
I stopped in Ely for some ice cream,
then headed south down US6 and SR318. SR318 is the course for the Silver State
Classic Challenge -- a road race that traverses about 100 miles at breakneck
speeds. The entrance fees are enormous -- I am not sure who gets the money. But
the race gives the "amateur" race drivers of the world an
opportunity, for a price, to drive about 100 miles as fast as their car class
will allow.
Near Alamo, I picked up US93 again and motored stately into Las Vegas. I got a Motel 6 room right next to
"Boulder Station," had my steak dinner at Sam's Town (at Billy-Bob's
Steakhouse; good food, excellent service, if a bit pretentiously dramatic) and went to bed early.
Day Ten: Back home again in Arizona
Today, I have a short jaunt from Las
Vegas to Phoenix. It is like vacation is now over -- since I have driven this
road so many times. I took the new bridge across the Colorado River south of the Dam
-- they have erected concrete on the side of each lane so there is no view
whatsoever of that spectacular chasm. It is sad that many drivers have such
little common sense that such a thing is required -- you would have idiots
stopping their vehicles in traffic, on the bridge, to see the "pretty
view." I regret that they didn't build a little rest area into the project
so there would be a place we could pull out and get a photo or two, but they
didn't. Crossing the bridge, I reentered Arizona.
I stopped in Kingman for breakfast at
a great little place called "The Roadrunner." I think it was right on
the corner of Beale and 1st St, on the west end of town -- the food was great,
the staff and customers full of it; my
kind of place. After eating, I headed on down US93 toward Phoenix -- stopped
briefly at Wickieup and was home by 1:00 PM -- as far as Dave's anyway. I
stopped for a quick visit.
Day Eleven: Nothing left but the crying...
Nothing left to do now but clean
Montana off the rental car, take it back, and put my road gear away. I am
already thinking of the next road trip adventure; it may very well be a run
from Colorado to California on US50, with a side trip to Chief Joseph’s Wallowa
Valley to cap it off.
I am ROAD BOB. Keep the shiny side up!
Note to the reader: If this post was helpful to you, you found it interesting, or even if you find an error you want to tell me about, won't you please leave a comment...
I owe a certain amount of inspiration for this trip, for its idea, to author Ian Frazier, who chronicled his own quest to discover the Plains in his book Great Plains. Some of the places I visited I wouldn't even have known about had I not read his book, several times. Thanks, Mr. Frazier!
Wild animals I saw along the way… (other than
the C.o.M… and the road kill.)
 |
| Wapiti at the 26 Bar Ranch |
