We began at the Reva Gap campground in the Custer National Forest. We had settled out tent up the road, nestled in soft lush grass and overlooking the sand hue buttes and silvery green grass hills spread below. It was about a 20 mile ride or so to the small town of Buffalo. The ride from the campground started with a long downward slope into the valley, or whatever you might call what we descended into. Perhaps the bed of an old sea, is what I guessed. Or a very vast, old river plain. From there, the road, was pleasant. Some ups but many gentle downs, mostly smooth and swift. The wind was not to be found, and the air was calm. We made our way quickly to Buffalo.
There, we stopped at the gas station, and though it was not cold it was cool and so it felt right for a hot chocolate (for me) and a coffee (for Laurel). From Reva we had been on highway 20 going west, but from Buffalo we were now on highway 85. We had been forewarned, at the shop that is Reva, that 85 is heavily trafficked by oil trucks. We wished to take this north to Bowman ND, perhaps 46 miles away. Our other open was to back track to 79, which though calmer apparently had no shoulder and 85 would. So we stuck with 85. Also, in my opinion, as we are following the pipeline I felt we were on its trail, and that I wished to see some of the traffic that has so greatly increases since the Bakken fields boom.
This highway was decent at first. And the landscape around it! I can hardly put to words, for it is so very different from the forests and plains of my home. It is more vast--as are many of the landscapes we have passed through as we come northwest and through South Dakota -- with more cone like formations up from the grass and dispersed here and there as they would. And tabletop hills, cut from stone, with pillar like sigils lined tall and close along its walls. Some were like fortresses, with pines pointing upwards along their silhouettes. It had a very prehistoric feel, a very old feel to me. I felt excitement, at such sights and such different beauty.
I have noticed, as well, the reappearance of oil rigs off the sides of the roads. These we had not seen for a little while, at least through southern SD and northern Nebraska.
Soon, the shoulder degraded to a pot holed and bumpy half paved mess. This made things difficult -- it was impossible to ride on, and threw us all over, jostling violently should we seek to ride on it. But because it was there, we were nervous that cars would be frustrated if we were not on it. Next to the white line of the road, there were divets to alert drivers if they veer. This are a good safety precaution, but a bane to us, for the reduce the shoulder even more and shake your brain and vision should you cross them. Thus, we clung as on a tight rope or balance beam to the narrow six or so inches between the potholed, gravely shoulder and the divets. This was a balancing act to be sure and took close attention. The traffic had indeed picked up. Not constant, but sudden waves and trains of big semis, cars and trucks. Worse was when there were hills. I bet there are few who can pedal their way up a tough hill balanced so precariously! Going down was equally challenging, especially when we tried to veer to the shoulder when we could hear especially large trucks approaching. This was not our worst road on our trip so far, but it ranks in the top 3 at least. We stopped briefly in the "town" of Ludlow, where there was a roadside bar. We sat outside at the lone picnic table along the highway and ate some snacks.
Luckily, once we reached North Dakota, precisely with the border the shoulder widened and was smooth, good surface. A trucker, paused at the border pull out, yelled from his truck to warn us emphatically that 85 was a terror to drive and that drivers here were reckless, and that we must be extremely careful. We thanked him kindly--for his concern was very strong--but both of us knew this already! We had just covered the very worst of it, and entering North Dakota now seemed a breeze. We had only about 16 miles to Bowman, which went smoothly enough. I will miss South Dakota, a place of absolutely incredible and unique beauty and vastness. Especially our route through the more remote northwest. It also challenged me greatly, at least until taking a rest in Faith. But while it challenged in the afternoons, I did often wear a subtle smile in the mornings, with birdsong and gold light and cool fresh air. Now we had only a very short section of North Dakota before we reach Montana.
We reached Bowman ND by about 2:30, where we had been planning to spend the night at the campground. I was glad to have arrived, not so much for fatigue in my legs, but the the pain in my tailbone, which I fear I have bruised. In fact, it is so painful at times that by the end of a ride it that combined with fatigue it makes me almost feverish and nauseous. Neither Laurel nor I can sit still for long on our bike seats and are constantly shifting. (Laurel even has permanent welts from her underwear lines!) Today it was particularly bad for me, such that when I stood up from my bike it kept stealing the breath from me. I actually took some ibuprofen! If you know me and my aversion to taking medicine at all, then this should be a hint that I am quite uncomfortable!
We went in to the travel center gas station to eat a belated lunch. While eating, Laurel noted that we would have an awkward distance tomorrow, only 45 miles to Baker MT. Otherwise, it was 110 miles to Makoshika State Park in MT. To be frank, I wouldn't mind a 45 mile day at all. I also knew that trying to do 110 miles was absolutely unrealistic. The next town from Bowman was a teeny place called Rhame about 13 miles away, with no place to stay. Beyond that along highway 12 going west towards Theodore Roosevelt Nathonal Park was the small town of Marmarth, 27 miles away, where there was apparently an old train bunkhouse and the town campground. Ah, I was downtrodden. I had been so relieved to finish the distance for the day. So relieved. And yet I had guessed this predicament would arise, both because I know our route well and because Laurel is exceedingly ambitious.
So, to sort out some of the distances for the next day, Laurel convinced me into adding another 27 miles to get to Marmarth instead of ending in Bowman that day. Though I was not happy to continue onwards yet that day, I knew that as the wind and weather was in our favor, it was better that than attempting an impossibly long distance instead. I knew it would be a challenge still to get my legs and backside to reach Marmarth though. Before getting on our bikes, I actually took another ibuprofen. I almost never take such things for pain, as I feel that it can cause greater harm to cover up pain in order to continue. I knew that, though the ibuprofen might get me to Marmarth, I risked making things worse for days to come. But so it is. And it did help. As did the beauty of the scenery to come.
And thankfully the land and wind was kind to us as we descended into the beautiful lands of the Theodore Roosevelt National park. As we began westwards towards Marmarth, the sky was big. I was in somewhat of a stubborn sour mood to keep going, but as I thought of good friends at home and the favorable conditions helped us along, and the wide open sky and hills, things improved and at times I was smiling in thought as I rode. Not being able to feel my backside likely aided as well! We passed some windmills, seemingly high in the sky as we were. Ten the road began subtly to continue downwards. This was when we were on the cusp of the national park. My excitement grew and my strength with it. I felt like a small child, excited and awed.
Below us were cone like hills like miniature volcanoes and buttes and shapes of all form, tables and mounds, red lines of rock layers. Rock forms as if they were carven monuments, molded with years. Puckered dry soil, like carpet, along mounded hills like the feet of elephants. This is a place of timelessness, and age, and a beauty that is in the air itself, a dry and strange and curious place. Where one might become lost in thought and forget the present. How long I could have lingered here. How long my eyes might have roamed and my feet with them, if I had such a chance. Prairies dogs off in the grass among their burrows ran and yipped in warning of our passing.
We came to what seemed to be the very bottom of the valley, and here was a bridge crossing into Marmarth. A refuge of cottonwoods. This is a beautiful town, though there is a strange feel to it, as a spell. Perhaps the same spell as the lands that encase it. There is a timelessness about it. Though many buildings are derelict, many are old, and some are the pleasant small worn homes that have stood the years.
We had a bit of trouble locating the bunkhouse, though it is a very smal town with but a few streets. When we found it, the door was locked but a man opened it for us from inside. He was not the owner, but a guest and a student. He asked if we were with MRF, and we said no (not knowing what this may be). He wore a dinosaur shirt, though, and I had a hunch. We asked him if the management was around, and he did not have much of a clue, and said the keys and reservation had been given to him by his group. He said he had to get to dinner and wished us luck. We stood puzzled for a time, wondering if we should call the handwritten numbers on the wall. Then a woman came in, also a guest and a student. She was equally clueless to help, but said that her professor outside made the reservations and may know. We went out, and there was a youngish bearded man in his car. He came out to open the trunk and we asked him if he knew where the bunkhouse management may be. He was indeed a paleontologist. They all were, he and presumably many students and others though they were not back at the bunkhouse yet. He too was wearing a shirt with t Rexs on it. Ah, so I had guessed correctly. Laurel and I were both very interested and jealous. We both have a strong interest in paleontology, and if the stars might have it, perhaps someday I will pursue more with it down the line. We wanted a chance to talk with them. He told us the owner of the bunkhouse owned the smoke shop down the street. We went there, and the lady in the shop addressed us as though we were a nuisance, and foolish nuisances at that. She said that her boss owned the bunkhouse, and that as her daughter cleaned there, she would know: it's full. Full of paleontologists. We've met almost entirely nice people on this trip, but she was a crab apple and we both felt perplexed by her rudeness. She told us that if we had a tent there is the town park and we could camp there. She pointed down the road (more as if to shoo us out than to direct us, if I had to guess!) I think that, had the bunkhouse truly been full, the professor would have said as much. But oh well. Although, we were both disappointed that we would not get to speak with the paleontologists. These parts are full of T. rex fossils and duckbills and likely numerous other things. Ah, we were jealous of them and their students.
We headed down the gravel road towards the park and picnic area. Some of the playground equipment was very antiquated and lonesome looking -- almost out of a movie -- such as the rocking horse and even metal teeter totters. It did have a shower, though, as a rather nice one for a small town park! There was no one around (except for a strange white lapdog that wandered through at some point and then on its way) and so it was quiet. There were fluttering cottonwoods, and swing sets. (And small hiding cactuses coating the ground near the swings, so watch out!)
The air was fresh and as mid summer. There was decent grass for our tent ad beds, and the air that night was cool and pleasant. We slept well, in the valley of dinosaurs.