Alan Phillip (Big Al) Thompson's
Bicentennial Bicycle Retrace of
The Lewis and Clark Trail
from Saint Louis, Missouri, on 06/22/2005
to Astoria and Seaside, Oregon, ~09/01/2005

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Bicycle Road Trip Report 4 of 10, 07/20/2005,
Bismarck, North Dakota

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Dear Family and Friends,

      Greetings from Bismarck, capital of North Dakota! I'm slowly making my way across the Dakotas — and large states they are.

      A week ago today I stood at the mouth of the Bad River where it enters the Missouri across from Pierre, South Dakota's capital (second smallest state capital in the land next to Montpelier, Vermont). It was at this exact spot on September 25, 1804, that the Corps of Discovery had their run-in with the Lakota (Teton) Sioux that almost erupted into battle. The Lakota Sioux were the most powerful tribe on the lower Missouri — a nomadic plains people who followed the buffalo herds and whose culture was so intertwined with the bison. It was their custom to require traders, trappers, and other Indian tribes to pay a toll or fee if they wished to pass onward up the Missouri. As William Clark was transporting three of the Lakota chiefs back to shore after a visit to the keelboat, three Sioux braves grabbed onto the towline of Clark's pirogue (large canoe) and refused to let go. One of the chiefs was not satisfied with the presents he had received from the Captains and demanded more, becoming (sic) "verry insolent both in words & justures." (sic) (Clark had a few problems in the area of spelling.) Clark drew his sword, while on the keelboat Lewis had the men load their muskets and the large bow swivel gun. On shore the Sioux braves who greatly outnumbered the Corps had their bows drawn and arrows ready to fly. With one spark, the whole scene was about to ignite. At that instant, Black Buffalo, one of the wiser Sioux chiefs, stepped in to diffuse the situation, allowing both sides to save face. If this tense standoff had erupted into battle, the outnumbered Corps would surely have been destroyed in spite of their more powerful weapons. This was just one of so many key moments on their two-and-one-half year journey of exploration.

      I've been running into my two lady cyclist friends quite a bit — Polly and Chris. We often end up at the same campsite, and the last couple of days we've been riding together. The other day as we were riding to Mobridge, South Dakota, the temperature started to skyrocket. By the time we reached Mobridge, we were riding in 107-degree Fahrenheit heat with a wind that gave new meaning to the term blast furnace. Polly and Chris and I sought shelter at Kountry Kamping and Kabins (all K's) and decided to forego the camping and instead rented one of their little cabins with plenty of bunkspace and an all-important air conditioner running full out. AC never felt so good!

      The next day a gift was bestowed upon us — much cooler temps, by 25 degrees — but the gift was a Trojan Horse. Cooler temperatures usually arrive with a northwest wind — our direction of travel — and this was a ferocious NW wind that literally beat up on me, tossing me from side to side and actually making it necessary to pedal downhill. It was great sport for the 30 to 40 mph winds, but not so for me. After about six hours and only 36 miles, I crawled into Pollock wanting nothing more than a beer and sandwich, but the tiny town of Pollock was buttoned up tight on this Sunday — not an establishment open. But as the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining, and mine drifted by later that evening as I walked the deserted main street (about the only street) of Pollock. I noticed some cars in from of the town's senior center. I poked my head in to inquire about some eating establishment that might be open, and before you could shake a gray hair, I was sitting down to potluck with the senior citizens of Pollock — and what a lovely group of seniors they were. It was their annual craft club picnic, and when I asked them what kind of crafts they did, their reply was, "Oh, we don't do crafts anymore — we just get together to eat and talk."

      The following day made three tough days in a row with slightly less wind but more hills — a multitude of creek drainages that are like mini river valleys with quick, steep descents and just as quick and steep uphills.

      But ah, yesterday — now there was a day. Still fairly cool temps and wind that was now knocking on the backdoor, scudding me across the North Dakota prairie with reckless abandon. Now, I was spitting in the face of those hills, daring the brotherhood of the incline to throw one at me that I couldn't handle. There are ways a touring cyclist can cheat gravity on the hills. There's the traverse, done just like in skiing, cutting traverses back and forth across the roadway to lessen the angle of incline — best done with no oncoming traffic, however! There are little micro-rests, where you lessen the stress on your legs, if only for an instant. Clipless pedals allow you to both pull and push on your pedals. And then there's the all-out, banzai assault on the hill where you take no prisoners — better on short, steep ones.

      And so here I am in Bismarck. It was just north of here that the Corps of Discovery spent the winter of 1804-1805 with the Mandan and Hidatsa Indians, and built Fort Mandan, named in honor of their hosts. It was also here that Lewis and Clark would employ a Frenchman, Toussaint Charbonneau, as an interpreter, and he would have with him one of his wives, a young girl by the name of Sakagawea (Sakakawea) and her newborn baby boy. More about this later after I have visited Fort Mandan and the Knife River Villages where they first met this remarkbable woman.

      Until the next time, I am proceeding on.

      — Al Thompson