Post 5- Wolf Point, MT to Grand Forks, ND

August 2, 2009
I saw that there was a Pow-Wow going on behind the Sherman Hotel in a vacant lot. There were a large variety of tents and teepees being set up and I thought that I could camp there. As I was about to enter the premises from the adjacent street, a blue Subaru slowed down and a man leaned out of the window and pointed down the road. I thought he was indicating the direction for camping or something, but as I headed in that direction, I realized that he was pointing me out of town. I wasn’t very happy about my situation as I had pushed myself the whole day a distance of 120 miles to get to this town. On the corner there was a casino, so I figured that they would know where to camp. I went in and the first person that I asked about camping was the cash handler standing within the safety of a metal mesh cage. She told me that I should camp at the Pow-Wow. Everyone was welcomed, in fact that was part of the point of the event. So I told her, “I could go, but a man pointed me out of town as I was entering”. She wasn’t very happy about what had happened to me, in fact she was pissed off, so she called her boyfriend to come and pick me up. I was to camp in their backyard.
We pulled up to a house about ten blocks away from the center of town and I was shown the backyard area where I could set up my tent. The yard was infested with green and brown grasshoppers. There were so many of them that as I took each step, hundreds of them would hop away trying not to get splattered. We went inside and he told me to make myself at home, so I got my shower, plugged in my electronics and relaxed. He told me that his girlfriends' brother wanted to talk to me. The fifty something man was wheeled into the house; he introduced himself as an elder of the Bear Cub Tribe, a people placed on the reservation in Eastern Montana. His grandfather was the last Native American to be born in a teepee in this area. He told me that he was deeply dishonored by what had happened to me. The purpose of the Pow-Wow was to celebrate, and to come together and be welcoming. I was given two gifts, and I accepted them. He told me that keep it with me and it will protect me. I have never felt so touched by a person’s actions, as I did with the words that were uttered by him.
That night I was told many stories, with the help of several pints of whiskey and cigarettes; many of them had to do with the proximity of the Missouri river to Wolf Point; about 2000 yards away. They showed me pictures of the log cabins that they grew up in, and older pictures of their grandparents. They had been cooking moose ribs earlier in the day, and I was given a well marinated section. I don’t know if I have ever eaten anything in my life that melted in my mouth as this moose did; the tender meat fell off the bones as I picked up each piece, and each bite was savory and juicy. The one benefit of being native is that you are allowed to hunt year round. One of the cousins was the big hunter in the family and the meat I was eating came from a three year old moose that he spotted at a friends’ ranch. He had to borrow someone else's gun, and he was able to kill it. They asked me to stay for a couple of days, the family wanted me to go and see the Pow-Wow, so I obliged. By the end of the evening, we were all drunk and unfortunately, tempers were starting to flare towards the cousins and family members,so the elder was wheeled home about four blocks away and I retired to my grasshopper haven. I just don’t know why people have to be proud to the point of putting someone down because of blood line or purity. We are all here on this planet together, we are all one, there is no need for senseless hurt.
The following morning, I was up early and they fed me grits; I had two heaping bowls. I was feeling the pain in my legs from the day before and I basically didn’t want to do anything but sleep, eat and write. Throughout the day there were more cousins (such as Gene who lives two blocks away, is paralyzed on his left side and was at the house constantly);more brothers who wanted to meet me, and they brought Black Velvet and Coke. Cigarettes make me sick, so being surrounded by three to six people with a fag in the mouth at all times makes for a stuffed up Gary. There was a big feed the next day at George’s, so I had to stay in town.
I had a late morning because I slept inside; I can’t tell when the sun is coming up when I am in a catatonic state in a house. We went down to the river in the pickup and they told me about how the river runs through this particular section of Montanca. The Missouri is a shallow, dangerous river; there are whirlpools and swift current that can suck you down before you know it and you have to avoid sandbars while floating down the big muddy stream. We later went to the BBQ and I helped carry out the twenty or so pounds of meat. Unfortunately, Gene got to the BV before the food was done and his drunken self was driven home because there were kids there. The food was delicious, from the home made potato salad to the pork loin, moose, and scratch apple pie. I don’t know what happened then, but the couple I was staying with started to get into it and he was cursing. He was told to leave, and it took him a long time. I had to forcibly take my bottle away from him and then I left with one of the cousins to go to the Pow Wow. It was amazing to see all of the beautifully, and colorfully dressed people dancing. I was even pulled out there and learned the basic dance step. This was a traditional Pow Wow, where you come out in full costume for a reason such as honoring a soldier; sometimes there are dance competitions where you can win thousands of dollars, but they don’t do that at a traditional event such as this one. There was too much drama to mention what happened later that night, so I will not write about it out of respect. I left at 4 am that morning in the dark without sleeping much.
The only thing that I focused on that morning was not thinking about what had transpired earlier that day (nothing bad happened to me personally). There was a serious lightning storm rolling in and I took shelter at the Town Pump gas station where I had some stale coffee and a moldy doughnut that I had to exchange for a less moldy one. I talked to a police officer who passed me by earlier and he radioed in my inquiry about when the Sherman Hotel started to serve breakfast. So I hung out in the empty hotel restaurant for about forty five minutes until about six when all the white old men in town came in to get their normal breakfast buffet of fake eggs and sausage, I had three plates.
My bike ride to Williston, North Dakota that day started out great. I made it to the town of Poplar quickly, and then the wild dogs in the neighborhood started chasing me. I don’t like when dogs chase me, so I usually tell them to go away in a deep voice while pedaling away as fast as I can. Most of the rest of the way to the border was flat except for an area called “the Cuts”. This area is sort of a badlands consisting of hills that have been eroded away by nature over eons leaving the underlying sediment exposed. All of the clay, silt and peat from ancient times are visible. It is quite beautiful, but I was nonetheless glad to be out of the hills and into more flat land.
I knew that there was road construction at the border, so I just pedaled as far as I could and when I got to Bainville, I had to get off my bike and stick out my thumb. No luck initially, but then I pulled out Duke, the rubber duck that I started carrying since Cut Bank and held him up as trucks passed me by. Five minutes later, I had a ride and they were willing to take me all the way to Williston. I made the mother and daughter drop me off ten miles out of town and rode the rest of the way in. It wasn’t long before I found the internet café in town and waited for my host, Micah to call. He was a very unique guy, religious for sure, but he had books from about every religion in his apartment. I always enjoy fellow artists, we tend to think alike. He gave me a book entitled Siddhartha, we made up songs on the guitar and drank beer. I slept well that night on his couch.
The next morning, I left around nine and the wind was blowing extremely hard out of the north. It was hard to even go ten miles per hour. My maps showed that there was nothing along the north shore of Lake Sakakawea for seventy miles, so that was as far as I had to ride. I didn’t know that Western North Dakota was so hilly, and the grade was more like eight to ten percent. A storm hit at about mile forty and I had to take shelter under some trees. When it passed, I continued my struggle onward and finally made it into Newtown, on another Indian Reservation. These people were placed here away from their traditional farmlands, and I saw that there was a fort of some sort nearby. I bought a fish sandwich at a local grease hole and overheard a lady talking about a group of bicyclists coming through the area in a week. I asked her about camping in town and she told me that I could camp behind the Lutheran Church in the nice grass. It was the best place I could have possibly have camped, especially since it was free. However, I was awakened by the sprinklers watering my tent at four in the morning, but I just went back to sleep.
That morning I got up early, ate a huge breakfast in town, and finished the rest of the small bottle of tequila that I bought the night before. This area of North Dakota is littered with what the locals call “Potholes” and it was very beautiful to ride through. The hills were rolling and I started to see large fields of volunteer sunflowers. I made it to Minot around three and as I was pulling up to the visitors center, I couldn’t get out of my clipless pedals and gashed me knee. I had placed my first aid kit in an easy to reach place a few days ago, so my wound was bandaged up quickly. Minot had a great Stave church and other beautiful monuments at the heritage park. I ended up checking out the town for a few hours looking for a good place to camp and couldn’t find one so I just left town. I ended up riding in to Surrey, about ten miles East of Minot. I camped at the local high school in the baseball dugout because it was sheltered and at this point I didn’t know what kind of storm would hit next. Some kids kept driving around in a four wheeler close to the baseball field but finally when home when the moon started rising.
As I woke up, I knew that the day would be good as the wind was blowing out of the West. I rode in to a town called Rugby, which is known as the geographical center of the United States. I met another biker, named Francis and he took me picture at the ridiculous monument that the coffee shop had erected. We rode in to town together looking for a bike shop, but it was only open by appointment and when I called the number I got the typical “the number has been disconnected” recording. Oh well, I thought, so I left town after eating some summer sausage and hummus. I made it to Devils Lake at dinner time and considered staying there the night, but I didn’t get the right feeling. Instead, I left town and I decided to just go as far as I could, tailwind still blowing strong. I made it 144 miles that day and found a city park in a town called Lakota. There was a pavilion to set up under and in the morning I found that the lock on the gate to the pool had already been cut, so I took that as I sign that I should go in and take a shower. I hadn’t had a shower for three solid days, so I was extremely pleased. I had about 60 miles to go to get to Great Falls, but I had a strong headwind the next day. It took me until about 4pm to get into town and my host hadn’t called me back for a couple of days. I decided to just go downtown and hook up to the internet to find a new host. As I finished my coffee, my original host finally called me (she was sick for several days) and I went over to her apartment. Linnea and Phil were extremely nice to me, and fed me curry and wine. They even had tons of musical instruments and all of the types of board games that I like to play. I enjoyed meeting people so similar to my best friends from Seattle, it was meant to happen. In fact, my attitude about life had already become so very positive. I only meet people that am supposed to meet, and they always impart some special wisdom upon me.