Day 17 – Hettinger, N Dakota to Mobridge, S Dakota

Crossing the Missouri

Today was a great day for cycling. The temperature ranged between cool in the morning and mid 70sF in the afternoon, and the breeze was helpful. The roads were quiet and wide, and there were just enough refreshment stops to keep me going across the wide empty spaces of South Dakota, which I entered with the minimum of ceremony just a few miles after setting out. I cycled, fully loaded, for 125 miles like this, averaging almost 15mph, and arrived at the broad Missouri River before 6.30pm, Mountain Time. That quickly became 7.30pm Central time as I crossed the mile-long bridge into the small riverside town of Mobridge, easily the day’s biggest settlement. But what’s an hour between Dakotans? South Dakota straddles two different time zones, with the impressive Missouri River – which cuts the state in half up the middle – providing a sensible (and very physical) dividing line.

After a breakfast of Frosties, milk and a banana, bought the night before at the Kum & Go gas station and convenience store in Hettinger, I set out knowing that I had much work to do. It felt good from the start, and I knocked off the first 25 miles to the pleasant little town of Lemmon with minimum fuss. South Dakota has been green and verdant, with most of the land put to agricultural use. There were many combine harvesters at work today, and I also passed large fields of sunflowers. This means there was plenty of evidence of human settlement throughout the day; but still very long stretches without anything that offered a retail opportunity. So when one arrived, you took it. I therefore enjoyed a “scramble bowl” in the bakery in Lemmon before the next barren stretch, 29 miles, to the tiny town of Watauga (population 17). It may not sound much; but here is Brenda’s Tumbleweed Cafe, which turned out to be a Godsend.

The cafe is well named. I have never seen anywhere quite like it. It is small and simple, and the counter is piled high with huge numbers of old newspapers. Brenda is a character: locally born and bred and happy to be far away from the masses. There were a couple of farmers inside, taking a break from baling hay. Between the four of us, and the newspapers, we pretty much filled the available space. I chose from a rudimentary hand-scrawled menu and found that Brenda is not only quick to produce a meal; but does it generously and of a standard that outdoes her more basic decor. We chatted about various matters, not least the lack of any other cafe between here and Mobridge, still 70 miles distant. Brenda’s view is that no one wants to work any more. She described all of the settlements I would pass through and told me what to expect. The furthest away, and largest, was McLaughlin. “Don’t stop there, just keep moving. Enough said!“ she asserted. I thought I might not have a choice. “Well, be careful and watch yourself and your things, “ she warned. Hmm.

Brenda gave me a fridge magnet to remember her by. I intend to carry it home with me. But I had to press on. The next stop was a rare gas station in McIntosh. I bought root beer and ice cream and ate it while I chatted to the people in charge. They were pretty surprised by what I was doing. Some discussion took place about whether the hills before Mobridge would be a major obstacle. It was decided I would mostly benefit, and I think they were right. I had a quick look at the main drag in McIntosh. These are small places and there was no other remaining shop in town. These rural main streets can be quite depressing sights. But even in a place like this, it seems, there is always an open branch of a local bank and a US Post Office. How different things are compared to home!

I had about 60 miles still to go, and one more gas station half way. This came at a road junction in the town of McLaughlin, which I could see ahead of me for about five miles. It is utterly dominated by huge grain elevators from which the very long freight trains are loaded up, one wagon at a time. There was also a very tall water tower with the town’s name written on the side. When I finally arrived, it quickly became clear what Brenda was concerned about. I was in part of Standing Rock Reservation, and the local population in McLaughlin seemed to be majority Native American. They didn’t look very affluent; but everyone was friendly. An old man came up to ask me where I was going. He also wanted money for beer and I think he was quite drunk; but he wasn’t pushy. He performed a kind of blessing or prayer to the Indian Gods and told me that now I would travel safely. I was quite touched.

Another man at the gas station introduced himself as the local Indian Chief. He said he could offer me a cabin to stay in. Again, I was touched; but declined his offer on grounds of time. We shook hands. A woman from inside a waiting car wished me safe travels through the window. Despite the obvious hardship in this run down town, and the outward signs of poor health, I felt welcome.

The last part of my journey today was more scenic and more hilly. There was one descent in particular, off the higher plateau toward the Missouri valley, twenty miles from the end, that was exhilarating. This was proper “Dances With Wolves” undulating grassland. No farms or cows here. After a few more ups and downs, the full majesty of the Missouri River opened up before me, bridged by both the road and railway. It was a broad, blue expanse, perhaps a mile wide. Bridging points are around fifty miles apart, so you plan your route carefully. The Meccano-like bridge itself was narrow, with no shoulder, so it wasn’t a place for stopping and taking photos. But I got what I could from either end and enjoyed the moment as I pedalled across. Like everything else here, it is on an epic scale.

Going down…

I enjoyed an excellent Mexican dinner tonight. So nice to have a change. Tomorrow I head for the much larger city of Aberdeen, 100 miles away, on what appears to be a dead straight road. All the roads on the east side of the Missouri – unlike the west side – run in straight lines. And there are many more of them. This suggests a change of topography. Currently my plan runs out in Aberdeen, still 250 miles short of the Twin Cities, so I need to address that urgently. But after crossing two of the continental USA’s four time zones by bicycle with an evolving plan, I am confident my approach can get me there. Minneapolis is about half way across the country. I think I am about four days away.