Two lane highway; Goin my way; Movin fast; Two lane highway; Is taking us home; Home at last

Aug 2 - 6, 2006

Maggie was due for an oil change and check-up and we’d made an early appointment at the Ford dealer in Spearfish, South Dakota. While they inspected her, we stocked up on groceries before heading north.


Belle Fourche, SD is billed as the ‘Geographical Center of the US’. I don’t understand that. If you look at a map, somewhere further south and east would seem more correct. We passed through the historic town on our way to North Dakota via highway 85. The 150 or so miles due north were through a lot of ‘nothing’ – grazing lands and barren waste, mile after mile. We were headed for the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, which is in two sections. We pulled into the south unit and registered for two days at the park campground ($5/night for seniors but no hookups). It was beside the Little Missouri River and was full of large cottonwood trees. We had a beautiful, big and private site open to the narrow valley where the river runs through and wildlife roam free. We were able to walk through the meadows and along the river – it was delightful but it wore poor ol’ Caesar out.

When we pulled in, the campsite beside us was occupied with a tent, a couple of chairs and a canoe but the inhabitants were nowhere to be seen. They returned about an hour later and appeared aghast that a ‘big motorhome’ would be beside them. We watched as they stared, walked to the pole where our registration was posted, talked animatedly with pxxxxed off faces, walked back over to their campsite, discussed it some more and put the chairs in the car, put the canoe on top of the car and the tent (in open position) on top of the canoe. (It reminded me of the IKEA commercial where the VW can’t get under the bridge). That was that – we didn’t see them again. We couldn’t help ourselves; we chuckled with enjoyment.

About 9pm, we put our little ‘whisper-quiet’ Honda generator on to watch a bit of TV and use the computer. About a half an hour later, a woman came to our door asking us to shut it off. “Didn’t you know that generators aren’t allowed after 8pm” she said. I did know but I said I didn’t but told her we’d shut it down right away. I found myself quite aggravated (irrationally, I suppose). I held myself back from being snarky and telling her that their big motorcycle offends my ears every time they drive past. They were in a tent about 200 feet away and the generator was barely audible, just a gentle buzz from over there. However, empathetic person that I am, I understood how mechanical noise would mask the sounds of nature and that was why they were out there. So I missed an episode of “So You Think You Can Dance” and I love that show.

The strange thing about both those sets of tenters was that they chose to camp in the end of the campground with the large pull-through sites that are designed for RV’s when there’s a special section for tenters. I guess we’d better stick to Walmart in the future – we’re far more welcome and can run our generator all night if we want. No one ever complains.

It got so chilly about 3am that we pulled our duvet on top of us. How wonderful to feel real cold again.


A beautiful sunny day greeted us, that was to become a bit too hot later but we’re now pros at beating the heat. We took Caesar along with us on the 36-mile loop road through the park. The wildlife in the south unit is different from that in the north. Southside has bison, elk, wild horses and lots of those little darlings – the prairie dogs, while the north end has wild longhorn cattle and big horn sheep. Both ends have badger, coyotes and golden eagles.

Caesar absolutely loved watching the antics of the prairie dogs – he’d hang out the window and quiver with delight, occasionally whimpering with the desire to go out and give chase. We saw large herds of bison grazing and rolling in the dust, but came across one massive lone bull only a few feet from the side of the road. His scent must have tickled Caesar’s nose because our pooch was up and almost out the window after him, barking crazily, which is something he seldom does. The bison slowly turned his heavy head threateningly and we figured it was wise to move along before he charged us.



The terrain is considered to be “Badlands” but I would call it “not very bad lands” because there was a lot of greenery – cottonwoods near the river and creeks; juniper on the north facing hillsides.

Medora, an historic town built around a meat packing empire is nestled at the entry to the south unit of the park. Its major tourist draw, other than the park, is the Pitchfork Steak Fondue followed by a musical play in a western theme – lots of cowboy music. Fernie had gone without red meat for three months (a record for him), so it got his mouth watering to a point of craving. The Pitchfork Steak Fondue is a literal description. Narrow pitchforks are loaded with rib-eye steaks and bubbling cauldrons of hot oil await. The steak-carrying pitchfork is plunged into the hot oil and Voila! minutes later medium rare to medium steaks.

It’s held atop a high plateau in the open air. There was a single sitting at 6:30pm. Long picnic tables were set up, some under cover and some outside. There was enough room for about 500 and it was close to capacity. The country western musical theatre group entertained from a stage in the corner while the cowbell rang to signal dinner was starting. We couldn’t believe our eyes when 95% of the diners rushed up to stand in a long line-up in the full hot sun. We watched as they returned to their tables, a huge steak on one plate and another plate heaped with salad, baked beans, baked potato and garlic bread. As the line dwindled to just a few, we joined it. I had chosen the half-size steak (5oz) and they gave me a black plate. Fernie who chose the full 11 oz one got a white plate. We watched as they plunged our steaks into the huge vats and pulled them out minutes later. There was no choice on how you wanted it cooked. A sign read, “We strive to cook all our steaks medium rare to medium”. Well they came out perfect and delicious – and I’m the one who says, “I don’t eat red meat”. The cost of this cowboy barbecue was $18 for the small and $22 for the large including the buffet of side dishes, dessert and lemonade.

Oh, the reason I mentioned the colour of our plates was that I looked over the panorama of folks ‘chowing down’ and I only saw a couple of black plates. I can’t believe how people can eat such huge chunks of meat – Fernie couldn’t finish his and neither could I. Caesar was delighted at the doggy bag we brought back for him.








We declined the hard sell on tickets for the country western musical following even though they insisted, “You’ll be sorry you missed it”. I replied “ We have to get back to our dog; it’ll be too hot for him in the motorhome”. Caesar saved us!

On our return, we noticed a beat up pickup truck in the spot beside us. A dark-skinned, long-curly-haired, young man sat cross-legged at the picnic table chugging down a beer. Not a good first impression and ‘Dang blastit!’ (That’s my new cowboy cuss phrase) we wouldn’t be able to run our generator again. He gave us a wave as we got out of our car and Fernie answered with a loud and friendly ‘Hiya!’

I made Caesar his dinner of steak and yogurt while Fernie got out our lounge chairs and made us a drink, which we took outside to imbibe. Within five minutes, our neighbour sauntered over and what a ‘handsome dude’ he was – drop dead gorgeous! Even Fernie agreed.
“How’re you doin?” he asked with a strong southern accent.
“That’s a fine southern drawl you have, where are you from?” I answered a question with a question.
“Kentucky – Lexington” he drawled as he sank down onto a big rock.
He introduced himself as Cory and shook both our hands. Caesar was immediately drawn to him and sat close in front of him so he could be petted. He must be a good guy then, right?
He was about thirty years old and got out of the US air force just over a year ago after he spending some time in Iraq and Afghanistan without seeing much action.
“Iraq is the hottest place I’ve ever been to” he said “and I’m used to Kentucky where the humidity is so high that you get out of a shower and you’re sweating right away”.
He told us that just a couple of months ago he completed a four month bicycle trip with a group of fourteen right through Africa from north to south.
“The Garden Route just north of Cape Town is the most beautiful place on earth” he said “and I’ve travelled a lot – been travelling since I got out of college”.
“I’m just about running out of money now, but I’m heading up to Alaska first and I’m going to stop by Whistler to see my girl friend on the way”.
“It’s getting time for me and my girlfriend to settle down, buy a house in a small town in the mountains and get a job teaching basketball in the local high school”.
He excused himself with “Just a minute while I run over and get my Ramen noodles”.
He was back in a flash with the pot of noodles and a spoon and two cans of Coors beer, sank back down onto the rock, Caesar beside him and asked us about what we were doing and where we were headed. He was a charming guy and really entertained us for a couple of hours. He also said “No problem” when Fernie asked him if our small generator would bother him.



Next morning we drove seventy miles up to the north section of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. En route we saw cowboys riding the range inspecting fences and just looking very romantic and glamorous. We passed a ranch with a fenced compound at the side of the highway that contained two bulls. The odd thing was that one was a longhorn bull and the other a bison bull.

We registered to stay one night at the Juniper campground. The day started much hotter and the temperature continued to climb to an uncomfortable level – somewhere in the high 90’s F but after the 113 degrees in Deadwood, we weren’t complaining. Instead we vegged out, reading and writing and snoozing under the shade of the cottonwood trees. We roused ourselves in the afternoon to take the drive around the park and the cool of the car’s A/C was rejuvenating. Caesar really enjoyed it. There was little wildlife to be seen; the heat of the day had probably sent them under cover. The scenery was terrific though – from ‘badlands’ to forest, to grasslands.

We didn’t even try to break the rules and kept our generator off in the evening. We laid under the stars watching for the shooting kind and eventually went in and played a couple of games of cards – ‘Spite and Malice’.



A breeze broke the still air in the early morning and by the time we got up, it was a full-fledged wind rustling the leaves to sound like the chink of coins in a casino. The temperature dropped twenty degrees to somewhere in the 70’s – thank goodness.



Our next destination was Glacier National Park in western Montana, so we faced the fact that there was going to be a lot of boring prairie scenery on the way. We stopped for gas in Wolf Point, Montana and a group of five ‘biker’s were filling up their motorcycles ahead of us.
“Are you headed for Sturgis?” I asked. “We just left there a couple of days ago and it was already full of bikers”
“Yeah we are, we figure on getting there later today – been goin’ to it for five years now”
I asked them if they camped in the fields and they told me they did but the ranchers charged $40/night just to pitch a tent. Those guys who looked so tough and mean in their leathers were delightful and wanted to pursue the conversation with us.

Otherwise, it was an uneventful day and we stopped for the night in the Hi-Line RV park in Glasgow, Montana. No Walmarts and no boondocking opportunities unless we went way out in the country to the National Forest Service campgrounds but that would take time and cost more in gas than the $15 they advertised as the charge. It provided full services in an industrial setting and it was almost empty – just one other RV. There was no place to register so we just pulled into a pull-through site, hooked up the electricity and water figuring someone would come around to collect, but they never did.

Montana’s nickname is ‘Big Sky Country’ but so far travelling on US2 from east to west, I’d call it ‘Big Yawn Country’. Flat prairie, small farming towns, ‘Indian Reservations’, sagebrush, wheat, range cattle, railway line, telephone poles and the most expensive gasoline that we’ve seen $3.269/gallon. It was so boring driving this stretch of highway that the squished insects on the windshield became a topic of conversation.
We settled in early at the small town of Shelby, Montana in the city campsite beside their reservoir. It was very green and shady and provided hookups. A motorhome just down from us had a Direcway Internet satellite dish out but he had the connection secured so I was unable to access a signal. A man walked by as we were setting up our TV satellite dish and struck up a conversation and introduced himself – Wayne from Tennessee just returning from Alaska with his wife Bev and a beagle. It turned out he was the Direcway dish owner and he asked me if I used WIFI and I said ‘when I can get it’ and he offered to allow me access to his for the rest of the day. I jumped at the offer and he did all the setup for me. He looked too young to be retired, and he told us he worked on the road – some sort of techie stuff – electronics/software; he didn’t want to elaborate, probably thought that we wouldn’t understand.

While we were in town shopping, we stopped at the Visitors’ Bureau and were given four ‘Outdoor Adventure Gift Packs’. They contained toothpaste, granola bars, body wash, and that sort of thing. Fernie decided to take two of the packs over to Wayne and Bev to say thank you and they invited him in for a visit.

Guess it’s obvious how the evening was spent. We had to schedule for who had online access when.