All was not lost, however.
Just after departing Jamestown I happened across a delightful place to have breakfast in the quaint little college town of Valley City. I rode past all the fast food eat’n’puke places to get to the field where the local football team had a match. I passed that, and came across this little gem right downtown.
Not bad.
And the sun was shining for a change.
Updated: Arson is alleged. Bond set at one million dollars.
Updated August 13, 2013: Here’s a link from The Bismark Tribune with a couple of photos of the remains.
Updated August 12, 2012: It looks like the Lone Steer is no more as of today. Judging by the comments on Amy’s page, the Lone Steer held a lot of memories for the residents of the community. Thanks for posting the link in my comments, Amy.
Updated May 26, 2012: Well folks, according to jim and Kenny down in the comments section –
the rooms they remodeled are nice… They have new carpets, beds
So then, all is now well and good at the Lone Steer Motel.
*
Well, let me tell ya about back in 2008…
I’ve been trying to get to Chicago for two days now, and the weather is just not cooperating in the slightest. Since yesterday I’ve been following a system with lightning, hail, extreme high winds and torrential rain with the possibility of tornadoes.
Last night I pulled over at a place called Steele, ND and checked out a room at the Lone Steer Motel. Yes, that’s right. The Lone Steer Motel Casino Restaurant Lounge Campground.
I have some advice for you, people. Before you pony up the cash for a room at this place, get your key and check out the room first at the Lone Steer Motel in Steele, ND off of I94. When I stayed there, it was filthy. The room was filthy. The carpet on the floor was filthy. The walls were filthy. The ceiling was filthy.
It was dark and dingy.
Would you like to know why the lights in the room were underpowered? They were underpowered to disguise the fact that the sheets on the bed were hiding pubic hair. Fresh pubic hair, as far as I could tell. I wasn’t going to get too close.
The restaurant chef – such as he was – cooked me an egg over and served it with toast that wasn’t warm and wasn’t toasted either. The toast was dried bread that had obviously been left out on the counter to get hard and/or stale, and thus was served as toast. It was as white and as cold-as-the-driven-snow cold, but let me tell you, it had a crust.
At 0130 hours I loaded up and headed east on the 94 one more time.
I got as far as Jamestown before yet again catching up to the storm system.
I should have followed my temptation to ride south on the 15.
Last fall in 2007, while I was on a ride through Montana country and route 200, I noticed quite a few roadside posters bemoaning the problems related to methamphetamine use. While I was in the Lunch Box in Circle, I asked Bobbie what was going on, since I didn’t think the area was a hotbed for meth use or production. She told me that there was a poster competition going on, and that the winner’s poster would be painted on the the side of the local sheriff’s building.
Well, here it is:
Get the picture?
The cards get their name from the legend of it having been the five card draw hand held by Wild Bill Hickok at the time of his murder.
All right, so I’m weak. Sue me.
I hit the road a tad earlier than Wednesday.
The weather was good – clear blue and plenty of sunshine with temps in the low 90s. In other words, excellent riding weather. Neither wild horses nor a fine woman could have held me back.
I was sorely tempted when I kept seeing this sign. The 15 south starts at my front door and rolls all the way to Mexico and the Baja, and even though it’s hotter than Texas tar in those parts now, once you get on the coast there’s a nice refreshing breeze.
Maybe next time.
Yeah, yeah, and I’m still weak, but I headed east on Montana 200 out of Great Falls. I still think 200 is a great little two-lane stretch of blacktop. It runs through some pretty nice country, and at this time of year everything is green, except for the canola which has stared to bloom its vibrant yellows. Back in September, the landscape here was all brown.
This time I’ve stopped at a mom and pop in Lewistown called the B&B Motel – 51 bucks a night, tax in, and with wireless to boot – and it’s extremely clean, neat and well kept up. Mom is a former northern California farm girl who’s been living here for 30 years. I can tell by the shape this place is in that mom is one of those people who cares.
A couple of hundred early miles tomorrow morning and I’ll hook onto the boring 94 headed for Minneapolis, good for making time, bad for interesting places and people.
I did a hard and fast ride today. The bike is running well.
And so am I.
Every sign I see says “South”.
What’s with that?
Perhaps it’s an omen.
I’ve got cash in my pocket.
I’ve got gas in my tank.
I’m ready to go like a god-damned rocket!
Oh yeah!
With a 2,300 mile ride coming up on Wednesday morning, I’m starting to get a little edgy to get on the road. To take my mind of the fact that the trip is still three days away, I’ve been prepping the bike. Nothing serious, of course, since I believe it to be well-maintained by yours truly:
How I love maps. Even if not going anywhere, I can pour over an atlas for hours at a time. In East Africa I had the only map of the area — a Michelin road map, believe it or not, that showed no actual roads, but only trails. To this very day my faith in their maps remains inviolate, particularly as their accuracy pertains to that part of the world.
Occasionally in a book store I’ll pull out the most recent version of that old Michelin map, open it up and discover that the old routes haven’t changed any. They’re still marked as trails, and trails they were, heading mostly north and south and plied by camel caravans and nomads on foot migrating from point to point depending on the season and passing by our campsite, stopping only for water.
I miss those old and still-familiar days as though they were only a yesterday away.