Stop - Williston, ND
Today's miles - 420
Total - 7,001
There are three primary "sister cities" on the North Dakota/South Dakota border. In the north, Grand Forks, ND, sits across the Red River from East Grand Forks, MN. In the middle, Fargo, ND, sits across from Moorhead, MN. And 50 miles south of Fargo/Moorhead, Wahpeton, ND, sits across from Breckenridge, MN. This was the center of the universe of my childhood and I was so excited for this day of riding.
I realize that I am biased so everything that I am about to say about my reflections on, and experience of, a day of riding through my home state is strictly my opinion and subject to change on a moment's notice so please, my ND friends and family, don't be overly offended by the thoughts that I had as I traversed the homeland.
Anyone crossing the border from Minnesota into North Dakota for the first time would immediately notice that, some time in the night, someone came and stole all the hills. Eastern North Dakota is flatter than the Coke you left on the counter last Thursday. And trees? The only trees that you will see were either put there by God right next to a water source or they were planted by some prudent farmer around his home place or between his fields, hoping against hope that the wind wouldn't blow everything away.
There are two interstate highways that cut across the state. I-29 runs north/south near the eastern border. It goes right by Grand Forks and Fargo but it lies 13 miles to the west of Wahpeton. There is a reason for that. The Wahpeton forefathers, rather than lobbying to make sure that the modern world didn't pass them by, instead fought tooth and nail against the encroachment of the "freeway". That pretty much sums up the vision of my home town. First they raise under-achievement to an art form, then they apply moral value to it, resulting in a situation that insures that people will be their most important export to other places in the country.
I-94 is the other interstate, running from Fargo in the east through the center of the state, passing through Bismarck (the state capital) and on into Montana. If you have ever crossed North Dakota, it probably happened on I-94. Farther to the north, coming through at Grand Forks, is US 2. US 2 was my target for the day.
Another thing you need to know about North Dakota is that it is almost two states in one. Everything on and north of I-94 forms the heart of the state. Everything south of I-94 exists but feels largely irrelevant to the whole. And everything changes as you move from east to west - I think you feel that immediately when you move from Bismarck to Mandan on I-94 or when you leave Minot on US 2. The landscape changes. The mindset changes. There has long been a simmering discontent and mistrust between the east and the west. The east has long been seen as the bastion of "rich Republicans" with the incredible growing powers of the loam soil of the Red River Valley, the economy of Fargo, long the biggest city in the state (this is relative, folks, Fargo had about 56,000 residents when I was a kid, today the Fargo metro area might have 120,000), and the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks.
The west was about ranchers and farmers who needed to plant vast acres of crops to make a go of it. It was about the Badlands and Medora and Teddy Roosevelt spending his summer vacation. And, from time to time, it was about oil. Never was it more about oil, especially in the northwest around Williston, than it is today. The west used to be fiercely independent and Democratic. I suppose that worm is turning too.
Such were the thoughts that were running through me as I headed west from Wahpeton to meet I-29 out by Mooreton. The farm I worked at as a kid is six miles out of town, a mile to the north on "old 81", the road that used to be the primary way of driving to Fargo. No one, I'm told, goes that way anymore. Hiway 75, that runs on the Minnesota side, was closed due to flash flooding from the storm the night before. So I went west to catch the interstate.
I remember when they built it. My mom's boyfriend lived in Mooreton so we were out there a lot. I remember how exciting it was when they dug a huge hole in the ground that provided the dirt to construct what would become an "overpass." The hole would become Lake Mooreton. You can't imagine how exciting this was and how awesome to see such a majestic highway just 13 miles west of town. As silly as all of that seems, I hope I never lose that sense of wonder at the things that people figure out a way to do, or my appreciation for hardworking salt of the earth people for whom such matters matter.
In the 34 years since I left home for college, I have never experienced taking the road out of Wahpeton, then heading north to Fargo on I-29, without having to pass through some kind of road construction. It must be the fierceness of the seasons that wreaks havoc on the roads. I wasn't disappointed this time either as they are now re-doing the Lake Mooreton overpass. Again.
The speed limit on the interstates is now 75 mph. That is awesome. When I first got my license the federal government had mandated a nationwide reduction to 55 mph. That was a killer. Imagine pulling a band-aid off an owee very very slowly and you get a sense of how painful it was to drive 55 mph when your goal was to get from here to there. Imagine as well that the state patrol didn't have much going on in a state with only 540,000 residents so they wrote tickets just to break up the monotony of the day.
Then there is the wind. Show me a place with no hills and few trees, in the middle of a vast continent, subject to wide temperature extremes, and I'll show you a place where the wind blows. If it isn't blowing it is howling. Today it was in rare form. Heading north, it came to me from the west. And once I got to Grand Forks and headed west on US 2, I was riding straight into its teeth. It was great. Just what I expected. And I was riding hard as I had a 10:30 AM appointment to visit with my Uncle Gordon and Aunt Darlene, and a couple of my cousins and their families, at the farm just outside of Lakota, 60 miles west of Grand Forks.
As I passed the familiar landmarks on the way to Lakota the thought suddenly crossed my mind of how embarrassing it would be for me, now a city boy, to forget how to get to the farm. And I realized at the same time that I wasn't sure I would be able to remember how to get to the farm. That might make me late and that wouldn't be a good thing. Promptness is a high ND virtue. As is feeling guilty. If you don't feel guilty about something in ND, don't worry, it won't take us long to help you with that.
So I decided to go with my gut and trust my muscle memory. I got to the Mapes turn (curves in the highway being rare enough that they can be named) which is where I needed to turn but I almost missed it because the grain elevator that used to be there isn't there anymore. But it still felt right. I could see Lakota off in the distance and this WAS the Mapes turn, so I left the comfort and security of US 2 to travel down a country gravel road the day after a hard rain and storm bad enough that it tore the roof off of one of my uncle's farm buildings. Immediately I realized, "This might not be good."
When I was a kid I flew down gravel roads on my Yamaha Enduro with reckless abandon. A 1000 lb. Harley Davidson Ultra Classic with highway tires, fully loaded with a fat Lutheran pastor at the helm was not made for such adventure. But the road seemed dry and packed and it seemed to be going OK as I hunted and pecked for the farm. I got to the road that felt right and turned left. I got to the next intersection where I assumed the farm was but it didn't seem right. There was a shop as big as an aircraft hanger on one road, and when I turned right there was a big beautiful house with a three car garage that I had never seen before. I was looking for Grandma's house which I came to learn had been replaced years ago. My muscles found the right place but my Harley flew right past.
Now, I got to the Mapes turn at 10:34 AM. So I was running a little late and already feeling a little guilty. I also realized that, while I felt completely comfortable in my own skin, dressed like a biker with a fully wooly head of hair and fresh beard, everywhere else I had been, it all felt strangely inappropriate the second I had crossed the North Dakota border. Now I felt out of place. And I, without realizing it, had passed the home place. Later I would come to learn that Gordon had already received a phone call from a hired hand, "I think your nephew just rode past on his Harley." And my cousin Nancy, seeing me fly by, said to the others, "I think that was Kerry." But they all just let me go because they sensed that God needed to punish me for my big city arrogance.
About a mile farther down the road the road suddenly made a 90 degree correction to the north. And suddenly I saw this (later I asked Gordon to drive me back here so I could record the scene):
Do I need to tell you that hitting that particular patch of muck at 50 mph almost brought a premature end to the odyssey of my ride? I have never fishtailed a Harley in my life as it did in those next few death defying moments. I have no idea whatsoever how I kept that bike on two wheels but the pain I felt for the rest of the day in my left wrist, left elbow, and right shoulder reminded me of the force it took to counter balance disaster. Obviously, having escaped with my bike, my life, and my pride intact, I slowed to a crawl until that useless road met the highway. I was north of Lakota. I knew I missed the farm. But I didn't stop to call until I got back on a firm foundation.
I called Gordon for directions and headed up the highway to the correct turn to get to the farm from that direction. Once I got on the right road I met another relative who was on his way home. We stopped in the middle of the road to share "Hi's", then he left with the ominous warning, "Be careful now, the road is pretty bad up there."
It was. When I got to the worst of it, slowly riding in 1st gear with my feet down for balance, I got that sickening feeling one gets when their million dollar baby sinks into the soft gravel of a battered country road - Sorry Cowboy but this is as far as I go - and over went my Harley. It just fell out from under me. The bike laid down and I stayed standing. "I knew this wasn't a good idea" and "I need to get this back up and going before Gordon sees me" - put those ideas and a fresh surge of adrenalin together and somehow I righted the bike and spun my way through the quick sand to something better approaching a road. I got to the intersection ahead, Gordon now waiting for me in his pickup, only to discover that the huge new shop was his, the new house belonged to my cousin, Scott, and his family, and I had driven right by.
And so it was that I got to spend time with what is left of my family on the eastern end of ND. High tech farmers, salt of the earth people, Lutherans who know to their inner core that they have been blessed to be a blessing to others.
We caught up. We told stories. We laughed. And then it was time to go.
Before leaving Lakota I needed to capture a couple of shots of the town hotspots. Off in the distance is the SunLac motel and cafe - where the older folks gather for coffee and where I have enjoyed several post worship Sunday buffet dinners in the back room when we had enough people there to deserve it - and the Dairy Queen that has long served as Grand Central Station for the younger crowd:
And, of course, I needed to take a picture of Lakota Lutheran Church. That church has been close to the heart of my Nelson family for a long time. The last time I was there was for my Grandma's funeral. Back in the day, when I was in seminary, Pastor Ness let me preach at the Easter Sonrise service two years in a row. (I will also here note both how creative the name of the church is and how the local speed limit says a ton about the speed at which Lutheran churches in small North Dakota towns seem to move):
From Lakota, heading west on US 2, the next "must stop" came at Rugby, ND, the geographical center of North America. Now you understand why everything in our country revolves around North Dakota:
I got to Minot, a town my friend Blair loves as much as I love Wahpeton, and once again felt it as the world around me changed and I headed into western North Dakota, toward the farm where my Aunt Judy and Uncle Tom have lived since 1969.
Brief aside: While I was parked in front of Lakota Lutheran Church (see above), I called my Aunt Judy to make DARN SURE that the gravel road to their place was FIRMLY PACKED and FREE OF MUD HOLES. While we were on the phone, I could hear another phone ringing in the background. "You did what?" I heard Judy say. "Oh," I also heard her say, "so that's why the power went out here in the house." Then Judy tells me, "Kerry, I have to let you go. Tom just hit a power pole with his disc. The power lines have dropped on his tractor and he needs help." With that our conversation was over and I left for the five hours it would take for me to get there, wondering the whole time if there would be an Uncle waiting for me when I arrived. Again, I can't make this stuff up! THIS is what you run into on long motorcycle trips. Look closely and you'll see the broken power pole that was propped up by the power company guy who then freed my Uncle from his tractor.
The closer I got to the farm, the more evidence I saw that the Bakken oil field is dramatically changing both the landscape and lives of people out here in this particular corner of God's creation. Tom and Judy are involved in all of this as well. Here is one of the oil pumps on their land. Liquid gold. Texas tea. (I wonder if North Dakota Nectar might make that list.)
Two more of my cousins and their families came out to say hi. One drove 50 miles from Montana to be here. On and on we talked into the night until finally it was time to go to bed.
This place is very special to me. Many times my Mom would pack the four of us kids in the car and we would drive out to Tom and Judy's. They are wonderful people. And how cool it is that my remaining relatives embody the life and times of the two sides of this great state of North Dakota. A state that does, in fact, exist.
And check out the tractor that took out the pole!
No comments:
Post a Comment