8/26: Sidney, Montana

Hopping into the truck with Rob, I thought this odd day would return to normal. I would be corrected.

Rob, predictably, worked in the oil fields as a tester and was on his way home, an hour away in eastern Montana. There was some confusion at first, as I asked him if he was going as far as I-94. He said that he was but I learned after we had already left Williston that he was going only as far as Sidney, 50- miles short of Glendive and I-94. A little improvisation is good for the soul, and he spoke highly of Sidney. I even had visions of taking a day to patronize the library and upload pictures, congratulating myself on finally making it to Montana.

Rob's route out of North Dakota was perfect. We passed the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri rivers, and historic Fts. Union and Buford. I had considered venturing down this way on foot if the situation presented itself in order to satisfy my Lewis & Clark curiosity. The fates had given me the best of both worlds: proximity and a ride. Rob and I chatted about his work and my travels the entire way, but there was nothing extraordinary about it.

Passing into Montana was a nice feeling. This state been a thorn in my brain for over a year, since deciding against coming north from Pocatello, ID last July. Now, as we slid thru Fairview and approached Sidney, I was glowing in the idea that I was about to tend to unfinished business... and cross nearly the whole damn thing. I had been hearing stories about its beauty for a long time. Now, I would see for myself.

Coming in from the north, Rob dropped me at an Exxon station toward the south end of Sidney with a warm handshake and wishing me luck. He was quite boastful of his fellow Montanans, and seemed quite certain I'd be in Glendive soon. Despite still running on next to no sleep, I had long since tapped into sustained adrenaline and began looking for places to hitch, so as to try take advantage of the remaining daylight. I settled on a spot adjacent to another gas station, next to the road, and in front of a small strip mall. The traffic was brisk, and I noticed that young people were actually cruising! On a Wednesday evening! I liked Sidney immediately.

My first indication that Sidney would continue the oddities seen in Williston was the the abundance of curious, friendly looks. It was obvious that Sidney had not had many passers- thru donning backpacks. I was quite the curiosity, particularly to a truckload of young girls who repeatedly drove by yelling. It reminded me of the cafe scene in Easy Rider, without the ensuing bludgeoning in the woods... I hoped.

The spontaneous acts of kindness crossed state lines with me. After half an hour, I turned around to see a man carrying a bag of McDonald's he'd picked up for me. He said he was sorry he wasn't going anywhere, had "been there" and figured I could use a meal. Then, shortly before the sun had set a young girl of about 17 walked all the way across the parking lot then, without saying a word, handed me $10. When I asked, "What's this for?" she just smiled and said, "Take it easy, dude." It's one thing for middle aged people to do this, but this especially touched and impressed me, considering it came from her. I am still kicking myself for not giving these people my cards with the website address, so they all could know just how astounded I was. In my surprise, it never even occurred to me.

As in Williston, rides did not accompany the gifts so as the sun fell, I had to think about places to sleep. I noticed a police car occasioning by through the evening, but she had not bothered me... until I took my first two steps toward finding a nest. I was a bit taken aback by this particular cop. She was in her early 20's, and easily the most attractive lawdog I'd ever seen. However, I had to conceal a chuckle as I thought, "I wonder if she'd perform at my bachelor party in that uniform!" Sexist? Maybe. But, I would pay good money to witness that! Anyhow, apparently someone had seen the girl give me money, and made a complaint that they thought I was "soliciting work," which is illegal in Montana. When I explained why I was there, where I'd come from, and where I was headed, it was obvious that I wasn't interested in finding gainful employment, but she still asked for my ID. I diplomatically asked her what she thought of this arbitrary invasion of privacy, since by her own clear admission I was breaking no laws. She responded that it was Montana procedure to run the ID of everyone law enforcement comes in contact with. I found that laughable, but she was serious. I also found it amusing that she had never heard the phrase "papers please." Hearing that, I concluded that this pretty, well- intentioned young lady may actually be better suited to a profession in the exotic entertainment field, rather than law enforcement. There are fewer ethical questions, and at least mindlessly following dictation (no pun intended) while performing a lap dance is an asset (again), and probably much more lucrative!

Madame Law did give me some very good information on where to camp. She said that I could nest nearly anywhere off private land, as long as no one saw me & complained. The fine folks of Sidney were apparently freaked out by drifters, after having to endure a mentally ill vagabond who had hung around a bit too long. Understanding this, I assured her that no one would see me and I would be on my way at the first opportunity.

Keeping my word about not being seen was easier said than done, and nearly cost me a leg. I executed my misdirection technique, which entails walking one direction, then backtracking the opposite way to throw off anyone who sees me and is interested in my whereabouts. This is especially useful in populated areas. It was completely dark, and as I was backtracking beneath a bridge along a small stream, I learned the hard way that Montana has the same small gullies as New Mexico. But, here they're hidden beneath vegetation! I first discovered this after suddenly finding myself on my belly with my pack driving my face into the dirt. I was then reminded, again, when I found my left leg in a 3ft. ditch submersed to the knee in water. Lovely!

Once I found a decent spot behind a hotel, I didn't move. Not even to pee...

8/26: Williston, ND- Unexplained Generosity

The notion of a couple hours of sleep was absurd. Traffic and an early morning damp chill conspired to keep me awake for all but 30- minutes. Before the sun was up, I was back at my spot, on a curb between WalMart and the truckstop. I hoped to catch a ride with someone on their way to work, or getting an early start on their way west into Montana.

As the morning progressed, I settled in to a relaxed, fatigued routine and managed to catch a few energizing winks as traffic rolled by. Astoundingly, I shunned the habitual coffee trips, despite the lack of sleep, after drinking what seemed like gallons the night before. It also became painfully apparent that the "other shoe" I was expecting had indeed dropped. Williston was going be home for a while!

The weather was beautiful, with sun and temps climbing into the low 90's as I resigned myself to fate. I strapped on the headphones, worked on the sunburn, and watched with curiosity the odd looking machinery going to and from the oil fields. I believe a year ago this would have bothered me. But now, I noticed a once- rare patience as I mentally snapped back to Devils Tower, and the resulting ride with Leslie and Bonnie. With time to sit came time to reflect on how every time I had been "stuck," things had, in the end, worked out perfectly. As if scripted. My Center of the Universe philosophy, that sometimes things need to develop elsewhere, echoed in my mind and helped me to just enjoy the day. And then, almost immediately and as if on cue, something remarkable began to happen; something that had never happened before. People began spontaneously handing me money as they passed by.

I was dumbfounded. To be clear, it was completely, absolutely unsolicited. The sign I was flying said "Montana." At first, the frequency made me VERY uncomfortable. People had on occasion offered money, but it was a very rare thing and NEVER from anyone I had not spoken with first. Suddenly, there was a stretch of 3 out of 4 cars silently handing me five and ten dollar bills, then wishing me luck. I wasn't sure how to handle it. Then, I remembered the Indian from the night before and when I myself had given money to Harry. I couldn't explain what was unexpectedly compelling people to give me cash any more than I could explain those who have stopped because "something just told them to." I wasn't about to tinker with karma or fate. I could only conclude that maybe it was this mysterious cycle coming back to me; my time to receive. This idea naturally transitioned to, and added a new layer on top of, the Dennis- triggered idea of Karmic Give and Take. Seeing it transpire right before my eyes was remarkable, and gave me plenty to ponder as the afternoon quietly passed and a couple more gave money.

Incidentally, the out- of- the- way, spontaneous generosity of people was not limited to money. A retired couple from Raleigh, North Carolina spotted me from the parking lot, and walked over offering lunch inside their fifth wheel. It was perfectly timed; I was forgetting to eat again! They wanted to give me a ride too, but were delivering someone's truck to Boise and didn't feel right about it.

I found it richly ironic that people were giving me cash, but no rides! And, it that it would appear on the surface that, as dinner time approached, I was having a lazy, uneventful day. One of the odd things about this life, however, is that oftentimes the days with the least movement offer the most reward. It took me forever to accept, but it's generally a case of keeping your eyes open and mind tuned to receive the quiet, yet powerful lessons life can provide in seemingly mundane ways. Once you find that frequency, the peace it can provide is incredible.

With rush hour and a dramatic increase in the Halliburton trucks, came the acceptance that, for whatever reason, I was about to have my first full day ever without a ride. As though someone was toying with me, at precisely that time along came Rob. He was on his way home from work and this bizarre day would continue in Montana...

8/24: Grand Forks, ND- Joel, Don, & Howard

Awaking relatively early because of the lake of concealment, I took some time at nearby gas station to have some coffee, look over the atlas to get my bearings, and begin plotting a general course. I would be "actually" hitching an interstate, now I-29, for the first time since last August.

It didn't take long to get moving. After a brief wait, I found myself on the way north to Watertown with Steve, a 40- something, professional looking grade school gym teacher. At first, he was quite reserved, but as is usually the case, we found quite a bit to talk about when I feebly attempted to explain why I was out there. Steve had taken a western hitching trip years before, had run out of money in N. California, and had stopped to pick apples with migrants; he got it. There was then yet another nice political/ social conversation and before I knew it Steve was dropping me at the extravagant truck stop in Watertown.

I had run into one of the common "professional hitchers" during my stint in Sioux Falls the night before, and there was another in Watertown. He was panhandling and had apparently raised enough to get a cheap hotel and avoid the rumored rain. He was overly friendly, and immediately offered me the floor of his no- doubt luxurious accommodations, but I didn't trust him and wanted to keep going anyhow, since it was by now just barely afternoon.

I got a good indication of my immediate future when Howard stopped after 45- minutes. He was around 50, and had a memorable red tattoo of Charlie Brown's Woodstock character on his neck, among many others. He looked like he had experienced some history, and raised some Hell doing it! Howard had intended to head the 30- miles east from Watertown into Minnesota, but took the interstate instead when he spotted me. I'm always amazed that people will turn around, or alter plans for me.

Howard was an interesting study in contrasts. He had indeed found a great deal of trouble in his youth with drugs and alcohol. He had gotten it together however, and was now involved with his church, even going on a relief mission to Haiti. The way he spoke of religion resonated with me and, again, reminded me of Randleman. He despised "loaded" charity and before their Haiti trip had told the church he would NOT be recruiting new Christians while there. His philosophy was that only once you help feed, clothe, and shelter people, are minds truly opened to these abstract ideas. Hearing that generated an enormous amount of instant respect from me. He went further by sharing that once there, he had repeatedly left the frightened church members behind at camp, and actually gotten out alone to get to know the people while he was there. One anecdote he told was how he was being approached by a group of young Haitian men carrying machetes. Initially thinking the worse, in the end he came to have his own "Vern Moment"; they were returning from work in the sugar fields, and wanted to say hello.

Howard was now in the process figuring out a way to open a dive shop in Haiti. He wants to transfer tourist money directly to the people who need it, eliminating the middle (charity) man. Howard was one of the most well- rounded people I have ever met, hitching or otherwise. He had experienced things most of us can only imagine, mostly self- inflicted, but had come out the other side as a conscientious, pragmatic, grounded human being with a developed sense of clarity that I wish I had. I also wish he had Internet, because I would have loved to stay in touch with him.

Howard's exit happened to be US-12 in Summit SD at an old Sinclair truck stop that looks completely out of date. After some coffee and a brief dodging of raindrops, I was visited at the ramp by the first cop on this part of the trip. He was just checking up on me, and didn't bother running my ID after asking a few questions, and making sure I knew I was fine as long as there were no complaints. Why can't they all be like that? There was little traffic at this spot, so I prepared myself for the fact that this may be an Idaho- kind- of- wait. I even began to scout places to sleep, but after 90- minutes it was moot when a young man in a big pickup stopped.

Joel was an organic farmer from near Wood, SD and on his way to Grand Forks, ND on business. My sign read "Fargo" because I had yet to decide how far north to go, and knew I-94 ran thru it if I decided to turn west there. Almost as soon as I was packed in the truck, Joel offered a ride all the way to US-2 in Grand Forks, if I wanted it. Without much thought, that was that. I would be in Grand Forks that night making another big left turn. And, this would be the furthest I had ever hitched in a single day that didn't involve truckers!


Joel was the perfect followup to Howard. He had recently crashed a huge piece of farm equipment into an overpass, and had made all the Dakota TV news channels in the process! He was on his way to Grand Forks to look at replacements, and possibly going into Canada if they weren't suitable. He told some remarkable stories about life in rural South Dakota, reminding me of the old west in the process. For example, when a young man had gone missing in the dead of winter, he had gone up in a plane as part of a search party. It turned into a recovery effort when they found the body. He told how it was 60-miles to the nearest grocery store, and 100 to the closest Wal Mart making self sufficiency a necessity. Law enforcement and other state services are apparently of little use to them. They handle trouble themselves, and work together in times of need. For example, everyone he knows is a "volunteer firefighter" and they rely primarily on themselves to plow their roads in winter. Many people share a disdain for government interference, but Joel and his neighbors seemed to go beyond that. They appear to have found a way to simply marginalize it by eliminating the need for and dependence on it. I was getting the confirmation that this was, as expected, the predominate theme in this part of the country. And I, as expected, liked it.


Joel had told me of another farmer he knew of up toward Buxton, ND that he described as a kind of McGyver character. As Joel described him, Don Dufner had build some sort of a famous Frankentractor: three huge tractors combined and customized into one huge machine. Joel told how Don would take this beast to tractor pulls, and dominate. He also explained how he was a whiz at restoring antique John Deere's, and had barns full of antiquated farm equipment. Shortly after crossing into North Dakota and passing Fargo, Joel suddenly asked if I wanted to stop by unannounced and see for myself. In a flash, we were flying down narrow North Dakota farm roads in search of Frankentractor's Lair! Joel hadn't seen Don in a couple of years, and wasn't sure he would even remember him. This reminded me of the old days in Hillsdale, and I was curious to see how Don would react to this unexpected evening call from two perfect strangers, and to hopefully see his barn full of toys. Joel did not exaggerate. Don did not disappoint.

Don Dufner is a very young, affable 71. He still works his nearly 10,000 acres full time, and speaks with that slow, northern Minnesota accent. Despite the fact he was still working in the fields when we arrived, (and didn't remember Joel at all) he happily welcomed us in and took us straight into the barn where his monstrosity was caged. I am not generally impressed with monster trucks or tractors, but this thing was fucking incredible, especially considering he had done ALL the custom work himself and it looked to be off the John Deere assembly line. Joel reiterated that there was You Tube video of Don in action, and after climbing inside and taking a quick look at his collection of tractors that went all the way back to the Depression, I saw on his wall more than 300 tractor pull trophies. While the craftsmanship was obviously impressive, listening to him talk was nearly as much so. Don was an old- school farmer, who loved tradition and could do anything with any equipment. As Joel pointed out later, this is a guy whose tutorship would be priceless. When we left Don's, I was beaming. That was something out of Charles Kuralt, and I was quite happy to have seen that small piece of hidden North Dakota.

We passed a sign for Winnipeg, Manitoba just before we arrived in Grand Forks, and it blew my mind that we were barely 100 miles from this Canadian city. It put into contrast just how far north I had come. US-2 had been a route I had had my eye on for a long time, and now I was climbing out actually on it, and thinking that even if I wanted to I couldn't go much further north! And oh!, I thought about it! Joel had turned out to be one of my more interesting rides, and I was again sad to see one move on. The last three days had been a flurry of interesting people and experiences, and after scouting out both truck stops at the intersection of I-29 and US-2, I decided to slip into the bar located at one to celebrate. After all this, my day still wasn't quite over!

I intended to have a solitary beer and relax before wandering around back to find the night's nest. Before long however, I was involved in a conversation about music, sociology, and American/ Canadian politics with "Fish," a big, jolly, trucker from Winnipeg. One beer turned into four, and my happy little stay at this blue collar truck stop bar ended with a Prairie Fire, courtesy of Fish. A Prairie Fire consists of tequila, Tabasco sauce... and one hell of a buzz! It wasn't long after that and I was wobbling toward the back of the truck stop, and then walking headlong through tall prairie grass. I was walking full- stride when I hit a wire fence that was exactly waist high. The backpack made me top heavy, so before I knew what was happening I was tumbling over the fence head first! I expected to bust a shoulder or an arm because of the weight landing on me, but found the landing to be surprisingly soft due to the tall grass. As I lay there laughing at my own idiocy, I summized that if it was soft enough to fall in, it was perfect to sleep in. For once, I didn't waste an hour looking for the ideal spot; I had literally fallen into it!