Day 21 - Bowman to Mott, ND

DAY 21 - BOWMAN TO MOTT, ND
81.1 mi
st-5.12.04 st-saddle time)
15.5 avg
TTD-1238.17

Don made breakfast for us then informed us that he thinks we’re some of the craziest people he knows. ;o)

We left town on hwy 12 going east with the wind at our backs again. Again, gentle ups and downs, but with the wind, not bad at all. We rode through (by) Scranton and Reeder, then turned north on hwy 22, This is where it got a little ugly. Don said there were ‘some’ hills, he just didn’t tell us that it is hills all the way to our turnoff at hwy 21. What made it ugly was that the wonderful tailwind now became a dreaded and dastardly crosswind. That 21 miles felt like 40.

As we ground away, it was interesting to watch our shadow and the rhythmic pumping of our legs up and down, up and down. Occasionally another shadow would join ours as they would draft us for several yards – a butterfly, a dragonfly, a bee. Speaking of bees, a couple of times we passed by bee hives, which made Gerry a little nervous after yesterday’s experience.

When we finally turned east onto hwy 22, it was pure relief. Instead of the wind fighting us, now it pushed us along, much like yesterday. We rolled by farm after farm, each of them with at least three miles between homes. Field after field, different crops, different greens. It was all very pretty.

Don had told us that this part of the state has a huge pheasant population; many times we would startle a pheasant right alongside the road. When they would take off with a squawk and flapping, it would, in turn, cause our hearts to jump.

We got to Mott about 2:00 and set up camp at the city park. No showers, but the bathrooms have water and are clean. After cleaning up and eating, we went for a short walk (even though I was ready for bed - it was 6:00).

Finally, Gerry let me crawl into the tent (at 7:00). About 8:00 is when the park came alive with lots of traffic and hootin' and hollerin' at the two trailers that were parked there. Sigh.

It wasn’t quite dark when I finally dozed off, even with the partying going on. Then I heard footsteps between the tent and the bike. I sat up immediately and looked out to see a man walking toward our bike. “Hello!” I called out.

“Oh, hi”, he answered as he pulled out his earbuds. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was just out for my evening walk and was admiring the set up you have here. Where are you traveling from?”

“Bozeman, MT”
“I own the shoe repair store here, I hope Mott is treating you well.”
“Yes, even though the noise next door is making it hard to sleep.”
“Oh, their mother died and they’re in town painting the house. They’ve been working all day, so it won’t last long.”
(Well, let that be a lesson in assumptions based on appearances. What we assumed to be a bunch of partiers is merely a couple families come together to accomplish a task.)

He reminded us that we have to go up to Mandan to cross Lake Oahe because there’s no bridge. “Yeah, they were going to build a bridge, but you have Germans on one side and Indians on the other. The Germans didn’t want the Indians crossing over into “their territory". Then later, when they changed their minds, the Indians wouldn’t cooperate because they didn’t want the white man coming over. That was foolish because they weren’t thinking of all the people who would come over to their casino.”

He talked a little more, repeating that he hoped Mott was treating us well and that he was sorry for disturbing us, then he said goodnight and left. The two trailers quieted down about 11:00 and we were able to go to sleep.

That is, until some bird decided it was time to serenade us in the middle of the night. All I could picture was a tipsy bird weaving his way home after an evening at the tavern, just singing his little heart out to anyone who might be awake to listen. He must’ve made it home okay, because he finally quieted down.

Gerry and Pat