There was still headwind on the way to Medora, but not as bad. Much more hills, though. The North Dakota Badlands, adjacent to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, made for some of the best riding of the entire summer, 2nd only (and it’s close) to the Black Hills in South Dakota.

Also made for one of the more challenging days of riding. Memorable days are rarely easy, and vice versa.

I’d intended to stay at Rough Rider State Park, just outside of Medora, but it was 100% full, even on a Monday. A ranger told me my best bet was to go into town, where there were two private campgrounds. The first one was almost entirely an RV park. Tent sites were $28, with no shade, within three meters of the highway. I also got a bad vibe from the owner, so I left.

On the way to the 2nd campground, I found a bike shop in town and stopped in, partially only to check it out, and also to ask about the other campground (legit camping with shade, or merely RV parking spaces?). The owner told me to keep going a couple miles out of town, turn off on a particular dirt road, and you can camp in the National Grassland for free, in an area with plenty of trees.

So I did. There was only one other guy there, in a small RV. Friendly guy from Ohio who let me borrow his hammer for my tent stakes. Primitive camping in a random pasture was much better arrangements than anything in town, and it was free.

I’d been told Medora was a cool town, but I didn’t like it. I don’t like buildings which were clearly built 15 years ago, but meant to look like they were built 150 years ago. Everything about towns like these screams “FAKE.”

I don’t understand why people spend hundreds of dollars only to drive somewhere, stay in an RV (which is only a worse version of their house), and spend $20 on a burger, $6 on an ice cream cone. You could've simply stayed at home and gotten a burger, probably a better one, for less money. I don’t see the point of towns like this.

Leaving Medora made for equally good and difficult riding, but I had tailwind for once and made great time despite the hills.

The official route involved several unmarked back roads. At one point, I was headed down a hill, when the road went directly in front of someone’s house, kind of unusual in the middle of nowhere. There happened to be someone standing in the driveway, which is only even more unusual. He called me over.

“Are you lost?”
“Nope! On my way to Elkhorn Campground.”
“Yeah, you’re lost. This road dead ends here.”

I looked ahead. There was clearly a road going up and over the next hill.

“Um, I can see a road ahead…”
“They don’t connect, and that’s all private land. You have to turn around.”

I doubted his claim that the roads didn’t connect, and noted that he didn’t say it was a private road, but that it went through private land. Well, yeah, almost every road is surrounded by private land. That doesn’t mean you can’t use the road. But in the interest of not starting a fight, I turned around and backtracked four miles, into the wind.

The way I wound up going, in comparison to the official route, was shorter, had less hills, fewer superfluous turns, and the gravel quality was better. The simplest solution is often the best one, but most of the people behind the Great Plains Route don't appear to understand that.

I arrived at Elkhorn Campground shortly after 1:00 PM. It’s a primitive campground, with almost no amenities. Flat spots for camping, a few picnic tables, a pit toilet, and a water pump that makes you earn it. There was no cell phone signal. No outlets. And no one else there. Only nine hours before it gets dark. I was going to lose my mind.

I washed up at the pump, ate a snack, took a nap on top of the picnic table, and woke up at 3:00 PM. There was a van taking a lap around the campground (evidently they do this in the Dakotas too), pulling a trailer with mountain bikes mounted to the top. “Escape Adventures” was written on the side. Evidently some kind of paid cycling tour was going on around here.

The van pulled into a campsite. I had company! Someone to talk to! I waited ~20 minutes and walked over.

Next to the van, there was a 25-year-old unloading duffel bags and dealing with bad allergies. Gavin invited me to sit down in the shade and talk while he got some work done. While he was unloading another box of supplies, he asked,

“You want some snacks? This is our 2nd-to-last day and we’re not gonna eat all these. Rice Krispie Treats? Fig bars?”
Don’t mind if I do!

About an hour later, a group of eight riders showed up, mostly older guys, led by Roy, the other guide. They asked what I was doing out there, and after telling them, I was promptly invited to dinner.

“Yeah, we have to make enough for everyone, you get hungry after a day’s ride, so it’s a lot of food and there’s always some left over. If you don’t eat it, we gotta pack it outta here, so you’re doing us a favor!”

Shrimp scampi, and for dessert, warm brownies, homemade in a Dutch oven. Then they fed me French toast and coffee for breakfast, before giving me some granola bars to go. I’m so glad these guys showed up.

That same night, a mouse got into my tent. The zipper wasn’t working properly, so there was always a gap in the door. It woke me up from a dead sleep by crawling over my arm. Almost immediately, I knew what it was. Too big to be a bug, too small to be anything else. I grabbed my phone, turned on the light, and shone it around the tent. Yep, there it is.

It took at least five minutes to get it out because the little bastard was good at hiding. Five minutes of thrashing around inside a sleeping bag, yelling at it, swatting at it, and pounding the ground, trying to scare it out. None of that worked. It was almost impossible to force it out the relatively small opening, all the way at one end of the tent, especially since it didn’t realize that’s what I wanted. It was simply scared for its life, so it instinctively tried to hide. 

More than once, I thought I’d gotten it out, but lifted a pile of clothes, or bag of toiletries, or whatever it was near the tent door to make sure it wasn’t hiding under that. But there it was, and it’d zoom back to the foot of the tent and hide. And so we start all over again.

Once I finally got it out, I spent 15-20 minutes trying once more to fix the zipper. No luck. I’ve had the tent a long time, and everything else is working great. It’d be a shame to throw out a rock-solid tent and spend $350 on a new one, only to replace a $3 zipper.

I had to figure out a way to keep the mouse from getting back in, or else this could be a long, sleepless night if we go through this several times. I eventually came up with a solution involving rolling over the zipper seam and crimping it shut with two carabiners. In the end, I probably lost an hour of sleep, but I learned a new trick. 

At breakfast the next morning, I expected the Escape Adventures guys to say something about all the yelling they’d heard from my campsite around midnight (I was camped about 100 meters away), but no one said anything. I told them about the mouse and had the group laughing their anuses off.

Thunderstorms had been predicted overnight, with rain continuing off and on all day. That meant the day would start wet, and it'd never dry out. I was mostly worried the roads had become unrideable slop, like they had in Kansas, only this time, there would be no paved alternative. 

When I woke up at 4:30 AM, (first light comes very early up north), I noticed the tent was entirely dry. I opened the door and looked out. A little bit of clear sky, thin clouds elsewhere. Didn't look anything like rain. I rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour. 

At 5:30 AM, the same thing. This time, I decided it'd be smart to get up and get everything packed, in case the weather was still on its way. At least I could get everything packed before it got wet. No one likes packing up a wet tent.

As it turned out, no rain fell all day. Instead, I got some of the best riding all summer. Moderate tailwind, not so strong it gets annoying. Bright sunny day, but stayed within a reasonable temperature range. Some hills, but not many.

Made it into town at about 1:00 PM, much earlier than predicted. Started asking around and was told I could camp in the city park. Great! It happened to be right next to the highway, which had an enormous amount of trucks on it at all times.

Once again, why does any city put public parks and campgrounds next to the highway? This poor planning decision ruined the impression of the town. It would have been a nice town, except for all the trucks. If you put the park anywhere else, it'd be better for residents and visitors alike. Now all I remember about Fairview, MT is constant noise.

By making it easy for traffic to flow through town, the town is made much worse. There’s an inverse relationship between car-friendliness and quality of life. The easier it is to drive somewhere (like a freeway), the crappier a place it is to be.

Weeks prior to the end of the ride, I’d already bought homeward train tickets, and by getting ahead of schedule, I was able to slow down the daily distance. The last nine days had an average distance shorter by an incredible 60 km (37 miles) compared to the average day before that point. The last three days in particular were notably short, in relatively easy conditions. I was out of the hills again, back on the plains, and had light tailwind all three days.

Making it to the Canadian border involved a 10 km (each way) out-and-back. When I got to the customs station, I didn’t even go into the parking lot. I took a picture, waved at Canada, and turned around.

The closest town was Fortuna, population 30. It was home to The Teacher’s Lounge, a bar/motel in a former school building. When I arrived, I went inside and asked about camping, and I was told I could camp around back for free. It was 1:00 PM. A room was $70. I changed my mind. I’d made it to Canada! I could celebrate for hours with fancy things like air conditioning, running water, electricity, and a bed.

Name:
I am a carbon-based life form.