Chuck's Big Ride

Day 37: New Salem, ND, to Rural Mandan, ND - Miles 17.6 Miles (1480.4 total)

The morning started well, but slowly.  I had a number of chores to take care of before heading out—answering some emails, airing up my tires, cleaning & then lubing my chain (and myself), and filling the water tank on the Rialta.  Then at 9:10 I headed out on route 139 toward Bismarck.  It was overcast and cool this morning, with rain predicted, and possible thunder storms throughout the area around noon.

Just five miles into the ride I encountered another rider heading west:

 

This is Fred Underwood, and as the lower flag would indicate, he's from New Zealand.  He's following, as hundreds will this summer, the Northern Tier Route from Bar Harbor, Maine, to Anacortes, Washington.  He had been looking west and was anticipating getting wet from the black clouds he could see on the horizon. We chatted for a few minutes and were both on our way.

I haven't seen many new critters in the past few days.  This morning, shortly out of New Salem, I flushed a covey of quail, and a bit later a male and female pheasant.  The latest members of the animal kingdom I've encountered en mass are insects.  I began seeing grasshoppers a ways back as well as many other insects, and as this photo of the drivers's mirror on the Rialta shows, we've become mass murderers:

The big news today came at 17.6 miles, just barely over an hour into the ride, with everything going fine.  At a farm, set back a ways from the north side of the road, two dogs began barking loudly, and running toward the road.  I kept riding.  The next thing I knew they were between me and the right side of the road, and one was snarling as if it was about ready to lunge and bite.  I kicked out with my right foot to fend off the dog.  Everything after that happened very quickly.  I went down in the right lane—luckily without a car close.  I was stunned, but wasn't knocked out.  I haven't looked at my helmet, but I'll bet I'll never wear that one again.

There was a car a ways back and the good Samaritan driver, pulled to the side and helped me as I struggled to get my bike and the spilled contents of my handlebar bag off of the road. Dee was already in Mandan, about 10 miles up the road.  Sandra, the good Samaritan, offered to get me and the bike into Mandan, so I called Dee and figured out a meeting point.

Two years ago I went down while riding in a pace line, and cracked three ribs.  Once you've had broken ribs, you know the feeling.  I self-diagnosed broken ribs, which the doctor at the Sanford Clinic confirmed.  He showed me the X-rays with clear signs of three broken ribs—numbers 2, 3, and 4 on the left side toward the back.  He also indicated that numbers 5 and 6 might be cracked as well (I got a call later after he'd had a chance to carefully review the X-rays, confirming his suspicion).

When I fell two years ago, the only road rash I had was about the size of a half dollar.  Not so this time.  For the squeamish, I'd suggest you fast forward.  Here are some photos:

 

I was, of course, wearing a helmet.  Which is why I'm not drooling and talking nonsense (well, I'll let others judge the later statement).  In spite of that, I'll likely have a shiner for the next few days.  You can see some road rash on the shoulder.  That's through a bike jersey.

In addition to the abrasive damage the chip seal did, there's a pretty good sized hematoma there, from where I crashed against the road.

In addition to the strawberries here, there's another hematoma at the knee cap.  Fortunately, nothing besides the ribs is broken.  Ribs, as I know from experience, do heal.  They take a while, and the sad news is that I won't be able to continue the ride from here.  However, the doctor insists that a broken rib is worth 300 miles, so technically, that completes the ride—just counting the fully broken ones, with the cracked ones for extra measure.

I'll be in touch with all of you who pledged to let you know how to make your donations directly to the organizations.  I hope you'll consider donating the full amount, as if I'd ridden the total 2400 miles.  After all, this wasn't about me, it's about the great work that these three organizations do.  It's also not too late to pledge.  You can still go to the Village Books website and click through to the pledge page.

Oh, and a bit of serendipitous synchronicity.  We''re in a motel here in Mandan for the night.  I needed more than a campground shower, and we thought this might be a bit more comfortable for the night. When Dee checked us in, the guy at the desk told her that the biker from New Zealand had stayed in this same room last night.  And, the desk clerk's sister-in-law has just moved to Bellingham.  Small world, huh?

We'll continue our journey to Dee's reunion in Hastings, Nebraska, then to mine in Galva, Illinois, though now it will be via Rialta, not by bike.  Thanks again to those of you who pledged, and who followed and commented on the blog.

Now that I've gotten in the habit of writing about this journey, I may still post some photos and comments, so stay tuned.

 

Day 36: Dickinson, ND, to New Salem, ND - 74.2 Miles (1462.8 total)

I mounted by steed (excuse the Montana/North Dakota influence here) at 8:20 this morning, right where I left off the ride late last Wednesday morning.  The temperature was hovering around 60, and the wind was out of the NW ranging from about 7 mph when I began, to a roaring 14 mph or so by the time I ended my ride.  Because I was traveling almost straight east, except for a stretch of about 3 miles of beating into the wind in the afternoon, it was a mostly helpful breeze.

Most of the ride was on old highway 10.  The road has virtually no shoulder, but is relatively wide, has fairly low traffic, and great visibility.  Today was a flatter ride than many, though there were some climbs, including that 3 miles into the wind, of course.

About 24 miles into the ride is a little town of Richardton.  Our friend from Bellingham, Duane Jager, spent his years between 13 and 20 at a monastery here.  Here's a photo in front of the Abbey:

 

Just east of the little town of Hebron I came upon this sign:

 

It says that the Yellowstone Expedition was sent from Fort Abraham Lincoln (near Mandan) to "quell the hostile Sioux."  Hard to imagine why they were hostile.  We'd only invaded and confiscated their homeland.  Man, what an overreaction.  Custer tracked them to a spot where he likely wished he hadn't—the Little Big Horn—where he, and many others, were killed about six weeks later.

Tonight we're camped below the watchful eye of bossy:

 

It's hard to tell from this photo, but this cow effigy must be 40 feet high.  I spotted it from several miles west of here.  I guess we must be in dairy country from the looks of this.

If you've been following my blog, and especially if you've paid attention to my proposed schedule, you'll likely realize that today was a deviation.  I looked at the plan, saw a 102-mile ride right after a 4-day hiatus, and said "are you kidding?"  So, rather than ride to Bismarck, we've settled here in New Salem.  Tomorrow's ride will take me to the Hazleton Recreation Area, along the banks of the Missouri.  

Our original plan continued along the banks of the Missouri far into southern South Dakota.  However, we'll likely change that and head east toward Aberdeen, and work our way down to Sioux Falls. Dee and I spent four years there as undergrads, marrying during Christmas break our junior year.  We want to spend a day there for old time's sake.

The riding prospects for the next couple of days are sort of mixed.  The temperature is not going to be outrageous, and it will be sunny to partly cloudy.  But, the wind is supposed to shift to come out of the southeast—opposite of what it was today.  I'll be riding mostly south the next couple of days, so I'll likely have some slower speeds and a bit more work.  I guess it is what I signed on for, huh?

Days 34 & 35: Seattle, WA & Seattle to Dickinson, ND: 1240 Miles (none by bike)

Our second full day in Seattle was great.  My meeting didn't begin until 10am so we had a later, casual breakfast at the hotel, read the paper, and I worked a couple of newspaper crosswords. 

The meeting was incredibly stimulating.  It's amazing to see what this organization has done in 10 years, and exciting to imagine where it may go in the next 10.  When the meeting ended at 2pm, I headed back to the hotel to read and rest until time to go to the Shelf Awareness 10th Anniversary Party. Here's a photo from the party of Jenn Risko, publisher, and John Mutter, editor-in-chief, the partners of Shelf Awareness:

 

And here's a photo of Jenn with her husband, and co-host of the party, Braden Vinroe (yes, that's me in the background):

 

 

I wasn't going to say anything about the ride in this post, but then my friend D.J., the CFO of Shelf Awareness, handed me a sheet of paper.  Seems he's been following my blog intently, and like me has been fascinated by the bungees and packing straps I've observed and my developing theory.  Here's the paper he handed me (I hope you can read it all):

 

After all of the work that D.J. has done around this, he is now being included as an author of the Unified Theory of Chaos.  Just as we all know Watson and Crick for DNA, everyone will soon know of Robinson and Jobes for UTC, known popularly as the "lost strap" theory. Here's my co-author of the greatest theory of the 21st century:

Coffee and newspaper in the hotel lobby began our Sunday morning.  Our flight wasn't until 12:30, so we skipped breakfast and grabbled lunch at the airport before boarding for Billings.  The trip was deja vu in reverse (if there is such a thing).  We traced our air route back to Billings and drove those 323 miles back to Dickinson.

Just before entering North Dakota Dee took this shot of the sunset light:

 

And, this is looking east.  It was truly an amazing "Big Sky" moment (even if it included some North Dakota sky).

Tomorrow it's back on the bike.

 

Day 32 & 33: Dickinson, ND, to Seattle, Wa - 1240 (none by bike)

Yesterday was an unusual day.  We woke up in Dickinson, ND, broke camp and drove back west to Theodore Roosevelt National Park.  Our first stop was at the Painted Canyon Visitor Center.  Here a couple of photos from the overlook:

We drove on to Medora (I think we might qualify for residency there by now), where we had missed seeing the main visitor center at the park.  We watched a great orientation film there, and attended a ranger talk and visit to the Maltese Cross Cabin, the first place TR stayed in the Badlands.  Here's a photo of the cabin:

The cabin was originally 7 miles away from this spot, but it was moved many times.  It was taken to the St. Louis World Fair in 1904, while TR was president; to Portland, OR, for the Lewis & Clark Centennial Exposition in 1905; to the State Fairgrounds in Fargo for a couple of years; and then resided at the State Capitol grounds in Bismarck for 50 years, until coming to the park in 1959.

As with most ranger talks we've attended in National Parks, this one was both entertaining and educational.  We were really happy we came back for this.  We think Theodore Roosevelt National Park is one of the best kept secrets in our National Park System.  We would encourage anyone to go spend some time there.

After re-entering Montana, which now holds the record for entrees on this trip, we stopped at the Rosebud rest stop, where I took this photo:

The sign tells a bit about the Rosebud valley, but also commemorates an important battle that took place here just 8 days before the much better known Battle of Little Big Horn.

I'll be in meetings the next couple of days, and won't be riding again until Monday.  I've made a little change-up in the proposed schedule.  On Monday I'll ride to New Salem, ND and on Tuesday to Hazleton, ND.  I'm still figuring out some routing changes after that.  I'll let you know, just in case you were planning to join me en route.  

I've mentioned a couple of times what great support Dee has been on this trip, and several folks have enquired about how she's spending her time, so I asked Dee if she would guest-blog here and tell you about her days.

Dee's Days:

I'm sitting in the lap of luxury as I write this, having taken a "vacation from our vacation" to fly back to Seattle while Chuck "works" for a couple days.  On Thursday we drove from Dickinson, ND, where the last leg of his ride ended, to Billings, MT, to fly to Seattle.  On Sunday we fly back to Billings, drive to Dickinson, and on Monday the ride continues.  It almost feels like a bit of culture shock to be in the big city after a month of small towns and quiet countryside!  But the coffee here is great!  And the food is way better than what I manage to put together with our mini refrigerator, 2 burners, no oven but a microwave.  

The support driver (moi) gets up with the rider.  The time is dependent on his plan for how many miles that day entails, what the weather forecast is, if he's having any bike issues, etc.  We have breakfast of some sort.  He takes off, I putter around for a while having coffee and reading email, then disconnecting the camper connections, then driving off to our first rendezvous point.  Sometimes it's a number of miles, maybe 15 or 20--fewer if there are thunderstorms forecast.  Sometimes it's a place--like a park in a town the right number of miles away.  I usually pass him on the road, then try to find a shady spot to stop, roll down the windows, and pull out my book.  It's hurry up and wait.  He arrives, comes into the camper for a brief rest and to replenish his cold water supply. Then he lets me know how many miles away he wants to meet again. And so the day goes until we're within 15 or 20 miles from the stopping point. Then I go ahead to "set up camp". So I'm only driving an average of 60 miles a day, in 15-20 mile segments.  Since we forgot to bring cd's, and radio stations that I want to listen to are few and far between, I enjoy a lot of quiet time.  And that's ok.  Every once in a while I find a good station and enjoy it while it lasts.

Because of the size of our refrigerator, I need to stop for groceries every couple days.  He must have chocolate milk at the end of the ride--apparently it's the best restorative drink after miles of riding!  Or so he says.  He showers; we have lunch. I expected he would be starved after all the riding, but his appetite doesn't seem to have increased!  Odd.  Then depending on where we are and if there's anything we want to do or see there, we take off and explore or we just chill.  He rests, works on his blog, reads, etc., until it's dinner time.  I may do laundry--also something that happens frequently. Don't want those smelly bike clothes sitting around too long in our little space!

So there's quite a lot of time for reading!  If you know me, you know that's something I like to do.  I've kept a log, but of course it's in Billings in the camper, and I'm in Seattle.  But here are a few of the books I've read so far on the trip:  (Some are galleys of books that aren't out yet.)

Vanishing Games by Roger Hobbs (fast-paced thriller by young Seattle author. Sequel to his debut book, Ghostman)  Loved it!  Just out.

Language Arts by Stephanie Kallos. Just out.  Slower-paced, beautiful writing, character-driven. The story centers around both the childhood and current life of a divorced teacher and his autistic son. Loved it!

Pretty Baby by Mary Kubica. Haven't read her highly rated debut, Good Girl.  It's a bit of a mystery/psychologal thriller, with some twists.  I sped through this one!  Young mother sees a homeless teen with a young baby on the streets of Chicago, and is determined to help them.  Much to the dismay of her husband and daughter.

Let Me Explain You by Annie Liontas.  Reading this right now, and really liking it so far.  Debut novel about a Greek-American immigrant family. Both hilarious and heart-warming.

Man Called Ove by Frederik Backman. Triple loved!  Widowed curmudgeon misses his wife so much, he wants to die to be with her, but finds many reasons to live.

Trust No One by Paul Cleave.  Another psychological thriller. (you can tell what I like, huh?)  A famous crime writer has early-onset alzheimer's and can't differentiate between his past writing and reality. Is he a murderer or did he only write about murder?

Next up:  Last Bus to Wisdom by Ivan Doig.  A favorite author's final book, publishing mid-August.  I've been waiting til Chuck finished it, and now he has.  Can't wait!

 

Thanks, Dee.  It's been a great 24 hours in Seattle.  We had breakfast at one of our favorite places, Lola, one of Tom Douglas's myriad of restaurants.  I had a great meeting with the wonderful owners, staff, and board of Shelf Awareness—a board that I'm privileged and proud to be part of.  And, we took in another Tom Douglas restaurant tonight, celebrating D.J.'s birthday at the Mexican-themed restaurant Cantina Leña.

I'm looking forward to another great meeting tomorrow, and the 10th Anniversary Party of Shelf Awareness tomorrow night. It's been a great break from the ride, but I am looking forward to continuing on Monday.

 

 

 

Day 31: Medora, North Dakota, to Dickinson, ND - 37.4 Miles (1388.6 total)

Today's ride was only slightly longer than my shortest day's ride from Whitefish to West Glacier, Montana.  I left the Medora Campground around 7:15, and about 1/2 mile later stopped to take this photo:

This is where we entered the park last evening for the 36-mile loop drive, hoping to see wildlife.  We did.  Here are some photos:

In Native American tradition, I bowed to the bison and thanked them for my lunch on Monday.

This antelope was in the midst of a prairie dog town, stomping around the tops of the burrows, while the prairie dogs ran around madly, chattering wildly.  Just across the road was a whole group of antelope, also in the middle of a prairie dog town. We didn't think that prairie dogs would be prey for antelope, but we certainly couldn't figure out what they were doing. We saw hundreds of prairie dogs in a few locations around the loop, and estimated that tens of thousands must live here.  Here are a couple more photos in which you can see how close the burrows are to each other.  The critters are a little harder to spot in these shots.

It's very difficult to see in the photo below, but the brown spot among the prairie dog burrows is NOT a prairie dog. It is a badger, definitely seeking prey, and the prairie dogs were going even more crazy than they were around the antelope:

Around one bend we came upon this group of wild horses:

Our wishes fulfilled, we headed back to Boots Bar & Grill and had dinner.

The ride today was uneventful. Outside of Medora it began on I-94, with conditions similar to those I described in yesterday's ride.  I decided to get off on the recommended Old Highway 10, rather than continue to ride on I-94.  There were several advantages—very little traffic, relatively smooth road, and a relief from the constant noise of the interstate.  The greatest disadvantage was that the hills were steeper grades than those on I-94, but getting my heart pumping occasionally is supposed to be good for it.

I came upon the only riders I saw today about 9 miles outside of Dickinson.  Debra and Camilla were heading west on a tandem, pulling a small trailer with gear.  They had come from Washington, D.C., and were heading for Seattle.  Today they were riding to Medora and planned to stay an extra day to ride the loop. Here's a photo of them:

I had some gusty crosswinds today, but it sure beats a head-on wind.  Or, as my Mom would say, "it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick."  My Grandfather—Mom's Dad—might have added his commentary about never being satisfied by saying, "if the good lord gave you the world, you'd want 40 acres outside for pasture."  So, I convinced myself that having a sidewind wasn't so bad after all.

When we checked in at the campground in Dickinson, the proprietor recommended that we take a drive on the "Enchanted Highway."  It begins about 11 miles east of Dickinson and runs for 32 miles to Regent.  Along that stretch are seven of the world's largest metal sculptures, conceived by Gary Greff, and built from scrap metal from farm equipment, oil pipes, and oil tanks.  Here are photos:

According to the Guinness Book of World Records, this is the largest scrap metal sculpture in the world.  It stands 110 feet tall, is 130 feet long, and the largest goose has a wingspan of 30 feet.

Though not quite as large, the buck is 75 feet tall and 60 feet long.

Thank goodness real grasshoppers don't grow this large.  To give you a sense of scale, here's a photo of me standing, less than "knee high to a grasshopper" with our Rialta nearby:

The following are "Fisherman's Dream,"Pheasants on the Prairie," "Teddy Rides Again," and "Tin Family.":

"Tin Family" was the first sculpture grouping erected in 1991.  Tin Pa stands 45 feet high and is held up by 16 telephone poles.  Ma is 44 feet tall, and Son is 23 feet tall.  No where else in the world could we have seen this.  It really was a hoot.

This evening we got our first real rain, accompanied by lots of thunder and lightning.  This is something we both grew up with and there's a bit of nostalgia attached to a summer storm.  Though I'm certainly happy that it came long after the ride.

Tomorrow morning we head for Billings, 300+ miles away (don't ask why Billings?) to fly back to Seattle for some meetings.  I've loved the biking so far, but in truth I'm looking forward to four days out of the saddle.

 

Day 30: Glendive, Montana, to Medora, North Dakota - 62.2 Miles (1356.2 Total)

Having come into Glendive in the evening, having dinner late, and deciding to wait until morning to post the day's ride, I got out of the gate a bit later this morning, just about ten 'til 9 am.  The temperature was 67 and overcast when I left the campground.

You might think it strange that a biker would ride along an interstate highway.  I did.  But, some portion of the Northern Tier route in Montana and North Dakota runs on I-94. In fact, yesterday evening, with a choice of riding on Business 94 through Glendive, and taking the more direct I-94, I chose the latter.  The shoulder is wide (maybe 12 feet) and pretty smooth.  There are two wide lanes to one's left, and many drivers move into the left lane to pass a biker, and there's a rumble strip.  I've felt much safer on I-94 than in many places I've ridden to date.

So, this morning, as the ride began at the I-94 exit right across the road from our campground, I was feeling good about interstate riding.

About a mile into the ride I spotted something on the road that made me ask, "are they publishing my Unified Theory of Chaos in textbooks yet."  What I had spotted was a broken bungee cord, then at mile 8, I spotted this:

Altogether today I spotted nine (yes, really, nine) of these rubber packing straps, some broken, some not. Yesterday I spotted one on route 200S.  I also found a couple of longer fabric straps on the roadside today.  Which all goes to solidify my premise that these are everywhere.  So, get hopping text book writers.  This theory is soon to be all the rage.

Speaking of theories, I got further confirmation of my observations of large RV's, trailers, and fifth wheels today.  Small cars and big trucks, including the triple-trailer rigs of Con-Way and FedEX, continued to swing into the far left lane, though presenting no real danger to me with the wide shoulder.  Large RV's and trailers, with a couple of exceptions, failed to yield any space.  In fact, one trailer was running its wheels on the white line, in spite of having an entirely unobstructed left lane at its disposal.  I've concluded that it's not a real safety issue, at least on these wide roads, but it is definitely a matter of attitude.

Not long after spotting the original bungee, I saw in the distance what I believed was my first biker of the day.  As I closed the gap I realized it was a woman, walking a dog, with a bedroll and backpack, and pulling a roller bag.  I hollered, "on your left," and passed her.  At 30 miles I came up behind her again. This time I had to stop.  "You're either a very fast walker or you got a ride," I offered.  "I got a ride to Wibaux," she said.  We had a bit of a chat.  She was Dee (I told her my connection with another Dee) and her dog was Bella.  Like the "poor little robin" in the 1952 Sammy Kaye hit, she was "walkin, walkin, walkin, to Missouri. And here I thought I'd taken on a challenge.  She was, however, accepting rides.

At about 2 1/2 miles I felt a drop of water on my leg.  I immediately looked down because a few days ago a similar thing had happened and I noticed that one of my water bottles had nearly fallen out of its holder.  My bottles were fine and I soon noticed similar drops on my arms.  I was being sprinkled on for the first time in the trip.  It was very light and only lasted a few minutes.  I should own up to the fact that in spite of being from a place with a rainy reputation (except this year), I'm really a fair weather rider.  Any sprinkles or threat of same and I stay away from the bike.  However, if I'm out riding and get rained on it doesn't seem to bother me.  I know, maybe this is an issue for a psychotherapist.  Sprinkles resumed at about 12 miles,  just before I met up with Dee, but they were done by the time I resumed the ride a few minutes later.

At 9 miles the route left I-94 for route 106.  At first the road ran almost as a frontage road to the freeway, but after a while wandered south, slipped behind a ridge, and mostly obliterated any sound or sight of the interstate.  I realized very quickly that I had traded a very smooth, wide shoulder for a rough and bumpy road.  What I gained was some quiet—no roar of trucks and cars—and absolutely no traffic for 12 miles.  The road had apparently quite recently been used to drive cattle, as there was both cattle and horse manure along much of the length of the road.  I'm glad it wasn't happening today.  The first interesting spotting of wildlife was when I flushed a pheasant from the roadside brush.  He flew off over a field, luckily not toward I-94, now less than 1/4 mile away.

The next wildlife I spotted this morning seemed determined to become roadkill.  It was a crippled bird, a Black-billed Magpie, if I'm not mistaken, right Joe?  Here's a photo:

 

Unless it was trying to end it all, it was making a very stupid decision as it half-hopped its way onto the middle of the road.  As I looked back, after taking the photo, it had made it to the middle.  Let's hope it stayed there, but if I were a betting man…

This is a photo I took simply because Dee and I have a running joke about the many weigh stations we've seen, all across Montana:

 

 

They all seem to have signs with stern warnings about every commercial vehicle stopping to be weighed.  Trouble is that they've, all but one, been closed.

 Among the most welcome signs I've seen are these two:

 

 Don't get me wrong, I've loved Montana, but as I mentioned before, more than 1/2 of the ride so far, and nearly 1/3 of the total difference is in the state.  I'm ready for a change.

I did think it appropriate to take a photo of this sign, on the other side of I-94, going west:

You may remember my somewhat sarcastic remarks about there not being a "welcome to Montana" sign when I entered the state from Idaho.  Well, there's one here.  Either Montana only welcomes folks coming from the east, or there was just a sign missing on the route I came in on.  At any rate, I felt very welcome in Montana.  It's a great state.

I realize that I haven't made much mention of the vehicles whizzing by on the road.  The variety has certainly increased on the interstate.  Today, in addition to the usual, I saw a very large machine—perhaps a generator—on the back of a truck going east, a very large cylindrical mechanism that said "double barrel" speeding west, and a hydrofoil racer on the back of a flatbed. But, the most interesting vehicle was the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile.  You may have seen one, or at least photos.  I wasn't able to snap one, but here's one from online:

In case you thought "Home on the Range" was just a fantasy line from a song, I took these two photos:

 

Turns out it's a therapeutic working ranch that was established in 1949, serving up to 54 boys and girls ages 13 to 19.  There's more information here. 

This sign notes the beginning of the Little Missouri National Grassland:

This is one of four grassland preserves established in 1960, and covers over 1600 square miles.

I realize that yesterday I failed to mention an unusual roadside cadaver—a porcupine.  Today I saw a turtle, though as I sped by I couldn't be sure if it was living or not.  A while earlier I had spotted a dead rabbit…you don't suppose…?

Shortly before the Medora exit there's a great scenic view pull off.  I took these photos of the beginning of the North Dakota badlands:

We're back in Medora tonight, ready to take a drive on the 36-mile loop through the park, hoping to see some wildlife.  Tomorrow is a short ride—about 40 miles—then an overnight before our long drive to Billings for our flight to Seattle and a few days off.

 

Day 29: Vida, Montana to Glendive, Montana - 330 Miles (79.4 on the bike)

"The best laid plans of mice and men…"

Having stayed in Wolf Point last night, we drove to Vida early this morning, and I began my ride at 7:15.  At 7:48 it ended…almost.  Let me give you some back story.  Before leaving Bellingham i bought a new rear tire, an Armadillo. Now some people swear by them, and some swear at them.  Yesterday I joined the latter group.

On Day 22, at the top of Logan Pass, as a group of riders shared picture-taking, a fellow rider pointed out a couple of places on that tire where the outside rubber layer was delaminating—one spot larger than the other. I checked it out and it looked like a minor issue, the rubber was still tight at the edges of those spots, and there was that Kevlar-like layer underneath.  So far so good.

Yesterday, as I was loading the bike into the Rialta at Vida for the ride back to Wolf Point, I noticed that, not only had that larger delaminated spot enlarged, there was now a bulge there.  Not so good. The other not-so-good, issue is that the spare tire that was on my checklist, failed to get checked off.  In other words, my spare is in Bellingham.

I forewarned Dee that this would likely be a problem, and as I began my ride on a road with deep joints every few yards, was convinced that it would be.  My good friend Janet Ott would likely tell me to be careful what I focus on, but I think this might be a matter of physics rather than metaphysics.  At 6.1 miles "pop"—the tire blew.  And, I mean the tire blew.  Not just the tube.  Here's a photo:

I phoned Dee, who was waiting a few miles ahead, and she drove back to get me.  Unfortunately, the nearest bike shop that we could locate was in Glendive, about 73 miles away.  So, I loaded the bike, relieved Dee of her driving duties and headed for Glendive.  Because it wasn't yet 8am, we decided not to call.  The GPS directed us to a home in a residential neighborhood, with no sign.  We pulled to the curb and decided to call.  The number had been disconnected.

Short story long…no place in Glendive, a town of about 4600 people, smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest coast to coast bike routes, sells bike tires.  Not K-Mart (well, the do, but not for the road or touring bikes that come through), not the huge Runnings hardware and farm store, nowhere.

The next nearest bike shop listed was in Medora, North Dakota, another 65 miles away.  This time I called first.  Yes, they had tires that would fit my bike.  Yes they would hold them.  So, off to Medora.

Medora is a charming town.  It's the location of Teddy Roosevelt National Park, the place he had his ranch.  It's full of small shops and restaurants.  It feels like an up-scale Winthrop, for those of you who know that east-of-the-Cascades western town.  We had lunch at Boots Bar & Grill while my tires were installed.  The bison burgers were great, and the service was very good.  We would highly recommend the place—just at the mechanic at the bike shop did.  I bought a pair of Schwalbe Marathons.  Even though the front tire was intact, I thought the bike might track better with paired tires, and now I would have a spare.

I've mentioned that Dee and I "leapfrog" during the day.  Riders along the Northern Tier also "leapfrog" a bit.  In the bike shop in Medora today we encountered a trio of riders who we first met at Round Lake State Park, just outside of Sandpoint, Idaho.  They're riding from Bellingham to their home in Maine.  We also spotted a couple of bikers along the shoulder of I-94 on our way to Medora.  I stopped to ask if they were OK.  Ted and Natalie were riding from Seattle to their home in Brooklyn.  They'd had a flat, but things were under control.  Later, we met them again in the bike shop at Medora.  We saw more bikers heading west today that on any other day.  Most were part of a supported group, though strung out over several miles.  I was sympathetic to them as they were riding into the wind, and uphill, most of the day.

Lunch over, we loaded the bike and headed back for the blowout spot.  I know, my friend Wendy Boleke would have suggested that I just go on from there, forget about that 145 miles or so, and not tell anyone.  But, I'm a bit of a purist about this ride, as Dee will tell you.

So, at 3:10pm the ride resumed.  Fortunately, the wind goddess was favorable.  Breezes of 10 to 15 mph were blowing from the west and northwest.  On the first 24 miles I was heading straight south, so I had a bit of a crosswind, but once I turned onto Montana 200S, heading southeast to Glendive, I had the wind goddess behind me.

I didn't snap many photos today.  I was a bit distracted.  Here's one of a corn field.  I was struck by how healthy it looked.  Having grown up in the middle of corn country I've come to expect most western corn fields to look a bit anemic.  This one doesn't.  It might even make an Illinois farmer proud:

On my third time passing this farm I finally took a photo of the interesting planting of trees.  Now I've seen many farms where windrows have been planted around fields, but none in such an interesting pattern:

As I headed on the diagonal road to Glendive, the terrain began to change and take on a hint of the "badlands" that I'll encounter in North and South Dakota:

Just before our campground, I crossed the Yellowstone River.  Here's a picture of the sign, but the river is hidden by the trees:

The campground is located not far from the banks of the river.  We even have a peek-a-boo view from some points in the campground.

I've usually completed my rides by mid-afternoon.  Tonight I pulled into the campground just before 8:30.  Thank goodness for summer light. Tomorrow I'll make the trek from Glendive to Medora once more, this time on the bike.  The wind goddess is supposed to be with me.  I just hope that the tire gods are as well.

Day 28: Malta, Montana, to Vida, Montana - 76.2 Miles

It was in the mid-60's when I left the campground at about 7:20 this morning.  It's the first day I haven't started out with one of my thin, long-sleeved, wicking shirts under my bike jersey.  I was plenty warm.  One of the first unusual sights this morning was this:

If the airplane, "crashed into" the bar doesn't get your attention, the dinosaur should.

I was once again mystified by the changing road surface, and width of the shoulder.  Just when I get used to riding in peace with a rumble strip to protect me, the shoulder suddenly becomes 18 inches wide.  Then again, when I least expect it, it widens again.  Weird.

That said, I've yet to feel endangered by passing motorists.  As I've said before, big trucks, which are most often mentioned in writings about the riding conditions on Route 2, are the least of my worries.  I've not had a big truck come close to me.  Small cars amuse me.  They are the ones who most often hug the other shoulder, far out in the other lane, as if hitting me might be as damaging to them as to me.  The drivers who seem to give me the least slack—and there certainly have been exceptions—are those with big motorhomes, or who are pulling large trailers or fifth wheels.  Even if one can see a clear road ahead for miles—which you often can in Montana—those guys don't seem to want to give an inch.

At Nashua I came upon this sign:

And, if you were wondering what the TERO ORDINANCE is…Tero stands for Tribal Employment Rights Ordinance or Office. TERO Ordinances require that all employers engaged in business on reservations give preference to qualified Indians in all aspects of employment, contracting, and all other business or economic development activities.  Seems only fair.

A short distance out of Nashua the map took me off of Route 2 for the first time in quite a while.  I turned south onto a Bureau of Indian Affairs road—BIA 1. Road conditions varied widely. The first several miles were newish, relatively smooth chip seal.  There was barely a shoulder, but the road was wide, there was clear visibility, and in the 30 miles on the route I encountered 8 vehicles.  For four miles I was on new asphalt that was reminiscent of the smooth-as-silk road on the reservation back in Idaho.  Then it went to older, but pretty smooth chip seal, with deep joints every few pedal strokes that gave the entire bike a jolt.

I was now riding in the Missouri River Valley, having left the Milk River behind. Every once in a while I can catch a glimpse of the river off to the south.  Dee and I had arranged to meet near Frazier Lake, just outside of the town of Frazier. Here's a photo of the lake:

Can you see any water there?  That is Frazier Lake between where I'm standing and the town of Frazier, where you see the water towers.

There have been irrigation ditches along much of the road, and I've been able to hear frogs croaking, though I've seen none.  Bird life is, once again, teeming. Among the birds I can identify have been Red Wing Blackbirds, and a Dove. Thought it was in the morning, I'm not sure it was a Mourning Dove.  There were many other species, most of which I wasn't close enough to see the details of.

At one point I spotted this sign, which I correctly interpreted to mean that the road would turn to gravel:

Fortunately, my route took a sharp left just where the gravel began.

We reached Wolf Point just in time to have a picnic lunch in a park.  Here's a sign about Wolf Point:

I know that many towns and cities have acquired their names in odd ways, but to think the town was named because of hundreds of frozen corpses of wolves stacked on the river bank.  Hmmm.

Wolf Point is where I permanently leave U.S. Route 2.  The Northern Tier route used to run across Route 2 to Williston, North Dakota.  A few years ago, as the Bakken oil fields developed, the route was moved due to heavy truck traffic.  The owner of the RV park in Malta last night asked Dee is we were going to Williston.  When Dee told her no, she said "that's good, you need to avoid it."  She then ran through a list of bad things that might happen to you from car theft, to being mugged, to being kidnapped, to being murdered.  I know that the area was inundated by folks seeking employment in the oil industry—far more people that there are jobs.  Homelessness, drug abuse, crime, and violence have all escalated.  I'm sure for any economic gain Williston, and other towns in the area, have gained, they've lost a great deal in culture.  It'a a shame.  Dee and I have a very fond memory of stopping in Williston on a very hot summer afternoon and going swimming in the public swimming pool.  Doesn't sound like it would be such a great thing to do today.

I've mentioned oil trains a couple of times.  It would be very misleading to suggest that all, or even a majority of the trains are hauling oil cars.  We've seen long strings of grain cars on some trains, and double-stacked containers on others.  It's estimated that in the U.S. railroads carry about 40% of freight as measured by ton-mile.  Even more reason, one would think to get those dangerous oil tank cars out of such an important system.

My original plan had been to end my ride today in Wolf Point, but looking at my schedule going forward, I decided to even out the days a bit more and gain some time before we fly back to Seattle for meetings on Thursday.  So, at Wolf Point I headed to a little town of Vida, about 20 miles south.

Just a ways south of Wolf Point, I crossed the Missouri on a relatively new, low bridge, with an older steel bridge to my left.  Here's a photo of the old bridge and the Missouri River:

The ride today, especially compared to yesterday, has been a breeze—literally. I've had wind at my back most of the day, at up to 15 mph or more.  Now as I headed south I was getting a bit of a crosswind, though it felt like the wind was coming somewhat out of the northwest, and helping me a little.  Most of the terrain until turning south had been pretty flat, and I'd been able to maintain about 16 mph.  Now that may not sound very speedy, but as I tell folks, "I'm a rider, not a racer.  I'm not slow, and I'm not fast.  I'm kinda half-fast (say it outloud)"  My friend Doug Cole rides faster than that…uphill…into the wind.  But I like to remind Dough that I spot him 100 pounds.  I ofter threaten to make him ride with a huge bag of dog food, just to even things up.

In addition to the wind shift, the terrain also became hilly again, so my speed was slowed even more.  It was pretty, rolling hills and at one point I spotted this, and couldn't pass snapping a photo:

I know I've run on a lot about Ivan Doig, but as you've likely gathered, I'm a big fan and he was a great friend. This sight reminded me so much of my favorite Doig novel, Whistling Season.  It's about a kid growing up in a one-room schoolhouse, who in the post-Sputnik years, as Montana's Superintendent of Schools, has to shut them all down.

I arrived in Vida none too soon.  I had been sprinkled on for a few minutes, but just after I rendezvoused with Dee, the rain began pelting the windshield of the Rialta.  Because Vida is a only wide spot in the road with no accommodations, we drove back to Wolf Point.  In the morning we'll drive back to Vida where I'll pick up the ride. Because of all the logistics involved, we decided to stay in a motel tonight.  We love our Rialta, but it's nice to have a break.

Weather conditions tomorrow, including wind direction, look relatively favorable. But, as sometimes has been said of weathermen, they get paid 100% of their salary for being right 20% of the time. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Day 27: Malta, Montana, to Glasgow, Montana - 71 Miles

The temperature was in the low 60's when I left the campground at 7:45 this morning and pulled back onto U.S. Route 2.  The shoulder was wide, once I was out of Malta, and remained so for quite a number of miles.  I had a theory about the changes, which was totally blown this morning.  I had seen several shoulder changes at county lines, though it made no sense for a federal highway.  Today's changes were random, going from wide, to narrow, to wide again. Needless to say, I prefer wide.

This was an early morning shot that captured a hay field, early morning light, and the big sky that Montana is famous for:

Taking the unexpected rest day at West Glacier before my climb over Logan Pass threw my schedule off, so instead of taking a rest day in Havre, I pedaled on to Malta.  Now I'm back on the calendar.

Route 2 across much of Montana is the Lewis & Clark Trail.  That group of explorers primarily followed the Missouri River, which we'll see much more of both here in Montana, and as we travel through North and South Dakota.  Here's the sign that marks the route:

 

Once again today, the wildlife I saw were mostly birds.  I forgot to mention something yesterday that intrigued me, and was repeated today.  On a few occasions as I pedaled past birds along the side of the road, one or two would fly along beside me for a while, chattering away.  I wasn't sure if they were warning me away from their babes, or simply wanted to have a conversation.

I remember a bird identification assignment in high school biology.  My best friend, Bill Graba, and I were going out after school to identify birds.  Bill's Mom asked Bill, "does Chuck have a bird book?"  Bill replied, "no, but he has a bird brain."  Oh today I really wish I had a bird brain.  It would have been great to know what those birds were talking about.

I promised no animal obits, unless it was an unusual species, or one I'd seen for the first time on the trip.  No marsupials this time, but I did spot a pheasant along the shoulder that apparently didn't dodge a car or truck fast enough.  I mention it because the pheasant reminded me of a time in college when I went pheasant hunting.  I grew up hunting rabbits, and in college went with a friend to his hometown for the weekend, where we went pheasant hunting.  I had several opportunities to bag a bird, but couldn't hit the broadside of a…pheasant.  I gave up hunting after that.

I've mentioned before that I'm in cattle country.  No big surprise.  Early in the ride today I came across this historic sign about cattle brands:

 

And speaking of cattle, I discovered that a relative (perhaps) has a big ranch here.  Here's the sign:

If it is a relative, it's good to know that they weren't all riding with the Wild Bunch.

There are some really clever ranch signs around.  Here's one for Taylor Ranch (I also have Taylor relatives):

I realize that as much as I've mentioned the fauna, I haven't commented on the flora, which is odd as it's been quite diverse.  Riding through Glacier National Park there was a wide array of wildflowers.  I didn't take photos as I was a little busy cranking up Logan Pass, and then swooping down.  The flowers there included Buffalo Grass, Indian Paintbrush, Alpine Daisy, Balsam Root, Fireweed, and many others.

Down here in the flatter land I've seen some identifiable flowers and some I don't know (that A in botany isn't serving me so well here).  Here are some of the flowering plants I've seen (some are called crops and some weeds, others just flowers):

 

Morning glories, or a close relative.

Clover. I suspect this is sown alongside the roads, because in many spots they've mowed and baled it.

Yellow flowers…yeah, you're right…I don't know.

Milkweed.  I don't remember seeing so much of it in bloom.

There were a couple of indications that the climate had changed a bit when I spotted plants that reminded me more of the Southwest:

Cactus, and:

Sagebrush

A couple of historic signs were grouped together in one spot.  One was for the Sleeping Buffalo Rock, which had originally been on a hilltop nearby, and was moved to the city park in Malta, but then returned to this site.  It had great significance to many of the local tribes.  Here's a photo of the sign and the rock:

 

 

Also at this site there was a sign for Cree Crossing.  This valley had been where the Missouri flowed until an ice dam diverted it 15,000 years ago.  Now the much smaller Milk River meanders wildly through the glacial debris.  Near this spot there was a place the river could be forded. Here's that sign:

 Lunch time rolled around just as we reached Hinsdale.  Dee was waiting by the side of the road at the edge of town and a gentleman was talking with her.  He had graduated from high school in Seattle years ago, but had lived here in Montana for quite a while, including the last 18 years on a farm near Hinsdale.  He recommended a café just down the street, and we took him up on his referral.  Here's a photo of me in front of Sweet Memories.

 

Hinsdale is right along the Milk River. I had just come from Malta: Malta…Milk, Malta…Milk.  Got me again. So with a great ham & Swiss panini (real slices of ham, not that packaged stuff), I had a chocolate carmel malt (well, it was really a shake, but small difference).  Dee had a great turkey and bacon wrap.  The food was delicious and the folks at Sweet Memories were very warm and welcoming.  They brought a guest book to the table.  In it we found the names of some riders we had encountered earlier in the trip—the Rippls and L.J. and Alan from Des Moines.  

Speaking of bikers, yesterday I didn't see a one, in either direction.  Today I saw three pairs of riders heading west.  They were all self supported.  I never envy those riders with full panniers, heading up hills into the wind. I didn't get a chance to talk to any of them.  They were too busy cranking west.

Just as I was coming into Glasgow this afternoon I spotted these dinosaurs:

 

When the Fort Peck Dam was built a few miles southeast of Glasgow, many dinosaur bones were discovered.  That discovery is apparently commemorated in these models, which appear to be life-size.

Speaking of Fort Peck Dam, after I showered, we headed down to see the massive dam -- largest earthen dam in the world at the time it was built, and the WPA project that employed the most people.  It'a an amazing site.  

Nearly 20 years ago I was privileged to be asked to "blurb" Ivan Doig's novel Bucking the Sun, which is set around the building of the Fort Peck Dam.  Here's what appeared on the back of the hardcover edition of the book:

"I have long felt about Ivan Doig's books much as Will Rogers must have felt about his fellow human beings—I've never met one I didn't like.  But I've never read one I liked more than Bucking the Sun.  Doig has concentrated the full force of his immense writing talents and his bone-deep feel for the Big Sky country on telling this epic tale. Nowhere are fictional characters so fully alive.  Nowhere do events long past seem so present. This is Ivan Doig at his best, and writing just doesn't get any better"

In a recent email to Carol Doig, Ivan's widow, I told her that riding through Montana felt like riding through an Ivan Doig novel.

Here are some photos I took at the dam:

This one is looking over the large earthen dam to Fort Peck Lake, the fifth largest artificial lake in the U.S., stretching back 134 miles.

The impressive power plant generates enough electricity to power 18,500 homes.

On the way back to Glasgow, we had our first antelope sighting of this trip.  There he was, tanding alone in the midst of a field, about 50 yards from the road, looking incredibly majestic.  I'm guessing it won't be the last antelope we see on the trip

Though the wind never shifted behind me today, as the forecast suggested it would, at least the crosswind wasn't inhibiting me like yesterday's head-on blast.  I'm hoping tomorrow's forecast is more accurate.  It's showing winds out of the west at 10 to 17 mph.  Of course, at some point in the afternoon I'm turning south.  Wouldn't you know it?

 

Day 26: Havre, Montana, to Malta, Montana - 89.7 Miles

It was 60 degrees in Havre at 6:35 this morning as I launched the bike onto U.S. 2 for my ride to Malta.  Winds were light, but still mostly from the east. Shortly out of town I noticed that the landscape had changed a bit.  Though I was still in a relatively flat prairie environment, I was in the Milk River valley and there were marshy areas now.

Bird life was much more plentiful.  Here's a photo of a flock of waterfowl (look closely) taking off as I rode by:

A few miles into the ride I came upon this historic sign, which commemorates the final battle with the Nez Percé, after which Chief Joseph surrendered and sent the message containing the famous line "from where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever."

As I was riding up and down hills this morning I was pondering why it seems that uphills are always much longer than downhills.  Suddenly I could see the face of my H.S. physics teacher, H. Ray Young, bushy eyebrows raised and a puzzled look on his face, as if he might be considering flunking me, even though I'd been doing quite well in the class.  Duh!  It hit me. I ride up hills at, let's say 8 mph, and I go down hills at, let's say, 24 mph.  Of course downhill rides go by faster than uphill rides.

Mr. Young was a well-loved teacher with a great sense of humor.  After every test, someone in the class would ask "did you grade it on the curve?"  To which he invariably replied "no, it's too dangerous to grade on the curve.  I graded the tests at my desk."  He loved to joke and tease, and I'd guess that he was just as amused when my Mom caught him.  The Youngs were family friends from our church, and one Sunday my Mom approached Ray, who also taught chemistry, and said "could you tell me about nitrates?'  After a thorough lay definition of nitrates, he looked at her and asked "was that what you wanted to know?"  She replied, "I really just wanted to know if they were cheaper than day rates."

The first unusual roadside object I came across was this:

Oh no.  Is this the same family that lost the inflated lifesaver and foam float?  When they get to that lake in Minnesota or to the Wisconsin Dells, they're going to look in the back of the pickup or that trailer they're pulling, and realize all of their water toys are gone.  OK, I realize that inflated lifesaver was hundreds of miles back.  The chances of this being the same family are what, one in a million?  But I'm just sayin'.

I realized today that the day by day inventory of roadside discards is getting really boring…at least to me.  So, from now on I'll only mention the unusual ones, the ones I haven't seen and wouldn't have expected.  Some of you may have seen the comment our friend Laurel Ringler posted on my blog regarding roadside debris.  Here it is:

"When we did long bicycle trips with the kids, they created a story for all of the found objects. Eventually there were characters, and an entire setting created from the items. Those pretend people had a number of chairs, bedding but no beds, dressed very oddly (one boot & one shoe, for example) and were very resourceful in how they would use the oddest detritus. So if the miles are long, you could also try that!"

Not a bad idea, and one way to pass boring hours on the bike, but I think I'll leave this to Laurel's kids, who've grown up quite a bit since their trip from Bellingham to Mexico.  They were real troopers then.

But before I leave the subject of roadside leavings, I'd like to mention that because of seeing all of the bungee cords and packing straps (nearly every day since leaving Bellingham), and hearing so many people say things are falling apart, I've developed a Unified Theory of Chaos.  That's right, there must be a connection.  All of these straps that once held things together.  I've seen dozens and there must have been more in the deep grass, or cut to bits by the roadside mowers.  And, I've only been on a little more than 1000 miles of roadway.  If you multiply what I've seen by all of those other roads, well it's clear.  It's no wonder things are falling apart.  All of those things that held them together are along our roadsides.

There's a lot of time to think when one's riding a bike.  I'll warn you though, many of the things I think of just don't make sense like this one does.

I've also tired of writing animal obits.  So, from now on I'll only mention animals I haven't seen along the roadside before.  Today that included two foxes.  And, though I think I mentioned a skunk before, today I saw two that didn't beat the car they were racing.  Fortunately, neither gave off the odor one would expect.  I will be certain to report any unusual roadkill sightings.  I wouldn't miss a duckbilled platypus (or any other marsupial) for instance, but I'd certainly much rather spot them as wildlife than as roadkill.

Most of the wildlife I've seen today has been avian.  However, I had an adrenaline rush when I spotted a large four-legged cat creature slinking through the deep roadside grass.  I thought at first it might be a bobcat, but a second look revealed a large domestic mother cat, trailing three kittens.  She looked more startled by me than I had been by her, when I thought her a bit more wild than she was.

I snapped another photo of a train with oil tank cars.  Not because I love photos of trains, but because this one was so long. There were more than 100 tank cars headed west.  Full, no doubt, of Bakken oil.

On the map for this section of the Northern Tier Bike Route it says this: "In general, road surfaces are fair to good. Shoulders, however, are erratic.  In places they are wide; elsewhere the are nonexistent.  Deep rumble strips are also a concern."  Boy, did they nail it on the head.  Here are some photos to show the differences:

You can likely see that some of these are more challenging than others, especially with the heavy truck traffic on Route 2.  To their credit, however, truck drivers have been extremely cautious and courteous.

This sign welcomed me to an area that encompassed about a fourth of today's ride:

We tried to stop at the Smoke House Café for lunch, but it was closed, so we drove the 3 miles back to Harlem and had lunch in a small café there.  All morning long I'd been riding along the Milk River to Malta.

My mind had been repeating Malta…Milk, Malta…Milk, so what do you suppose the biker had with his lunch?  A banana malted milk, of course.

This was the toughest day of the ride so far.  First there was the distance, just short of 90 miles.  Next there was the heat, 95 degrees mid-afternoon.  But, worst, there was the wind, 15 to 16 mph, out of the east, right on my nose.  I struggled to maintain a reasonable speed, even downhill.  I was more exhausted than I'd been on any ride since my first STP.  

About four miles out of Malta I stopped at a final history sign, and a chance to get a last drink of water before plowing back into the wind to my destination.   

 

On July 3, 1901, Kid Curry and the Wild Bunch, including Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, pulled off one of the most successful train robberies in U.S. history. At Exeter Creek, about six miles west of Malta, they held up the Great Northern Railway passenger train. They disappeared with $41,500 in unsigned tender. 

I rode the last few miles to our campsite, drank my chocolate milk, showered, and took a nap before dinner. It had been a long, hot day.  Tomorrow the wind direction and temperature are both supposed to be more favorable.