NORTH DAKOTA
Twenty-some miles across the border sat Bowman, the first town one arrives at driving north on Highway 85. The town of 1650 in population (keep that number in mind) had a city-operated campground by the name of Butte View Campground. This was a larger city-operated campground than most I come across with fifty-four sites most all having electrical hook-ups. The fee was thirty dollars a night. I came for the reported showers. I found the restroom building, a weather worn wood rectangular building which left me wondering what the showers inside would be like. I wasn’t choosy. I have used some pretty disgusting showers in the past. Stepping inside I was impressed. All the walls of the entire restroom were covered in blue ceramic tile, the floor a brick-red pavestone and all the fixtures were in top-notch shape. Oh, this will do nicely. There was a sign by the shower: SHOWER FREE FOR GUESTS − $3 FOR NON-REGISTERED USERS. I’ll gladly pay three dollars. I went back to the RV to gather my shower backpack and suddenly someone was pounding on the door.
“Can I help you?” asked the grizzled old camp host.
“I came to use the shower.”
“Well you have to pay if you’re not staying here.”
“Yeah, three dollars I see.”
“You can pay the lady over there in the motor home.”
“Will I be able to get some water too along with the three dollars?”
“No. That’ll be five dollars to fill up.”
I looked over at the huge class A coach. “Okay” and I turned my back on Grumpy saying I didn’t need water that bad.
I walked over to the coach with backpack slung over my shoulder. Grumpy was standing on the bottom step looking up inside at the woman, most likely his wife. As I approached he turned and left without a word. I took his place at the bottom of the steps. All I could see was a pair of bare feet at eye level.
“Hi, I came to give you three dollars for a shower.”
“Thank you” she said and a dog appeared behind the lady.
“I just came up from a Forest Service camp across the border in South Dakota, Picnic Springs. I’ve been sick there for four days and am looking forward to feeling human once again.” The two feet stepped back. “It wasn’t COVID; something I ate.” The two feet resumed their former position. By now a long-haired black and white cat came to investigate stepping down to behind the screen door to see me. “Oh, you have a kitty. I have a kitty too. Would you like to meet my kitty?”
“No she wouldn’t” the lady said.
I left to go take my shower, and it was good.
After putting on fresh clean clothes and hanging up my towel and wash cloth inside to dry I went back over to see the woman.
“I feel better now, thank you. You have a real nice facility there. It is very clean.”
“Why thank you” she said. Now I could see all of her for she had opened the door and screen when responding to my knock.
“Do you know if there is a place in town I can get propane?”
She replied there was at the Cenex gas station. I said I driven by real slow and didn’t see one. She said that it was around in back. I also asked about the nice looking grocery store and she agreed it was nice. I could get most anything I needed there. I thanked her and we left Butte View Campground.
The gas station I passed by coming in was an Exxon, not Cenex. No wonder I didn’t see the propane tank. I pulled into the Bronson’s grocery store lot. “I’ll be right back Beans.” There were only like a half a dozen shoppers inside the fancy upscale clean store. I needed to replace my produce. A head of lettuce was $3.69. A bag of make your own salad was nearly five dollars. I stood there looking around. Nope, I don’t need anything that bad and left the store.
I followed Claire’s instructions to the sad part of town, their business district and the Cenex gas station, a well used dirty place half of which was packed with big diesel rigs parked off to the side. As slow as I went by I still saw no propane tank. Around in back she said. I wove through the parked big-rigs and turned onto a dirt alleyway that squeezed behind the convenience store and garage. Just before coming out onto the side street I saw a propane tank sitting up high on a cement loading dock. Is that it? There is no way to get near that. What? I park in the alley by that big tin shed? I parked on the side street and went on around inside the convenience store. A tall young kid stood at the counter waiting to help someone. That would be me.
“I would like to get some propane.”
“Sure, go through that door and tell the guy in there” He pointed to a side door marked NO ADMITTANCE − EMPLOYEES ONLY. I pushed opened the door and stepped into the closed four-bay service center garage. In the office in back I found a big burly red bearded man. I asked about propane.
“Oh yeah, I’ll meet you out there.”
“So I just park in the dirt alley?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. I’ll have to drive around the block again to get there.”
Back outside I looked up the street I had parked on. To hell with driving all the way around, I can back on up and turn in backwards from the street here I bet. I backed up into the alley like the pro I am at backing up. Redbeard was unlocking the tin shed. We got filled up and he said he’d meet me back at the office.
“So I pay you, not the kid at the counter?”
“Yep.”
I left the RV blocking the alley, walked around the block, into the store, pass the kid still standing at the counter waiting to help someone, anybody, then through the NO ADMITTANCE door back to Red’s office. He was struggling with a Windows 95 program to input the sale of my propane. With that completed I asked if there was a Subway sandwich shop in town.
“Oh you can get a sub sandwich there in the store. They make a real good one.”
I paid the kid then paused at the small food center off to the side where some sort of pizza was their primary product. I looked up at the menu board seeing nothing about sandwiches. The young girl behind the counter had her back to me working on something, probably a Cenex pizza. I gazed over the counter at the makings for sandwiches. I didn’t see much. I left. I pulled out onto their main street, passed in front of the station again which now the side lot was clear of all of those big rigs. Where did they all go?
I had consulted Claire for a fast food place in town. She came up with nothing. Well after all her information is fifteen years old. I slowly drove through their dead business district. I drove all around. This town barely had a pulse. Not one fast food place was to be seen, not even back out where I turned in off the highway passing that same Exxon station. Unbelievable! For a town of this size not even a McDonalds which I would probably have went to out of sheer desperation. All I saw were two bar and grill places and a closed diner. I parked alongside the road and made my own sandwich washed down with a small Dr. Pepper. I left Bowman shaking my head. What a dismal sorry looking town it was.
We headed north on Highway 85 for Dickinson. Along the way we were hit with another one of those Kickapoo Casino thunderstorms that nearly blew us off the road in a blinding rainstorm. We made it to a dirt farm road intersection where I pulled over with the flashers blinking. I sat there calmly trimming a broken fingernail. I must be getting used to these sudden weather outbursts. We had only a few miles further to go then a turn east onto Interstate 94 for twenty miles to Walmart in Dickinson, a big store. I needed things now rather than doing a morning shop as I usually do. So I pressed myself to do it and get it over with. Then I could relax with my cup of tea.
Inside the store was, well, not like I normally see for a Walmart. Many of the shelves were empty of items. Carts loaded with boxes of food stuffs to be shelved were scattered everywhere. There seemed a good amount of chaos going on. I eventually decided by observing the help that they were severely understaffed. Another thing I noticed was a large amount different ethnic people. There were a lot of Hispanics. I felt like I was back home in California. There were a large number of black folk too. I hadn’t seen any black people since leaving the southern states. There was a sprinkling of people dressed differently (Middle Eastern?) talking a language I didn’t understand. Lastly the white people were like a whole different culture in appearance and mannerism, maybe due to the large Scandinavian makeup of the population in the north; all of this here in North Dakota no less. I didn’t have a problem with any of this. Everyone was kind, respectful and friendly always saying “excuse me” with the white shoppers sounding like the Swedish Chef on Sesame Street.
The self-checkout was the largest I had ever seen in a store having at least twenty stations. It wasn’t until I was ringing up my last item I realized I forgot milk. Drat! That was the main reason I did this shop now instead of the morning. Well I wasn’t going back. I had checked out the roasted chicken section coming in finding the bin was empty. I had a hankering for some chicken. Maybe I was too early. I decided to check back later. I would then get the milk.
This Walmart had a no overnight parking policy. Some have that due to city ordinances. This one I didn’t know why. Reviewers said they had stayed and weren’t bothered but that was only a few. I saw a good spot on the end at the corner. I would stay and take my chances. I had a prepared story to tell if I got the dreaded midnight knock. Later I went back inside, still no chicken (this store needed help) but I got my milk plus a frozen chicken and mash potato dinner. We were undisturbed all night.
Rather than retrace our route back on the Interstate we left Dickenson heading directly north for thirty-two miles then west another twenty before I had to stop for a bite to eat at a lonely truck stop in the middle of the North Dakota oilfields. Our route would take us by Theodore Roosevelt National Park, one of the few national parks I had yet to visit. This park was divided into two parts; we’d be near the North Unit. I decided to check it out and maybe even stay if a camp spot was available. Why I may even buy myself a souvenir t-shirt. Only a few miles in from the highway I flashed my old person’s card at the young lady in the kiosk booth and got in for free. The ranger girl said I would have no problem getting a campsite. Cool. Directly across from the kiosk was a trailer set up as their visitor center. I may as well look now and then I can think about which shirt to get while I stay here. Inside was only a smattering of gifts to be bought. As for a visitor center, where I stood in the front portion of the trailer was it. I could see it all without having to take more than two or three steps. I looked at the shirts. No, not what I’d want. Well maybe I’d get a sticker for the wall inside the RV. I selected a round one about the size of a silver dollar. At the register, $4.75! Geez! For just a little sticker? “I didn’t bring in that much money” I told the mask wearing ranger guy (and I really hadn’t). I think he smiled but who knows what goes on behind masks? I put the sticker back and selected a Roosevelt N.P. postcard for fifty-three cents.
It was five miles in to Juniper campground where I immediately lost the cell signal as soon as we pulled away from the visitor trailer. Curses! Cell service never returned. Could I live without cell service? The campground indeed was nearly vacant. The only bad thing besides having no cell service was all the spots were quite close to each other. Hmm… I pulled into one camp spot and parked for lunch to think about it. Across the narrow camp road the sites had been blocked off due to the erosion to the riverbank of the Little Missouri River. Well no one will be camping over there across from our lunch site. I can do this. I walked over through the grassy field to pick up an envelope to pay for one night at seven dollars, the half-off price for a camp.
The campground eventually sort of filled up by the end of the day but no one pulled into the spots behind or ahead of us. People wandered by on their walks which was good for Beans as she needed to be around people more. She did try to pick a fight with a large black dog though that walked by. Beans leave the dog alone.
The sun never came out all day and that evening delivered a short heavy rain. We left in the morning stopping off at the dump station on the way to top off the water tank. Nearby a large bison was rolling around in the turf. He ambled off as I pulled in waiting for me to get done so he could return to his wallowing. I stopped to view a geological feature along the way. From there a two mile trail led to a prairie dog town but with no sun, a blustery wind and a muddy gooey trail I passed on a short hike. I stopped along the way out to finish my breakfast. We arrived at the visitor center and cell service once again. I had missed nothing. In fact it was rather nice not having service. Five years ago I watched my last TV. A year ago I quit following the news. Gee, could I even give up cell service and live? If it weren’t for me always looking up something to answer a question I come up with, yes, I think I’d be just fine. After all, I lived fifty plus years without internet okay. Well…there is the blog and publishing these eBooks to consider.
About thirty-seven miles north of the park was the little town of Alexander. There was supposed to be a small city-operated RV park there. I pulled off the highway and followed directions to the spot. Driving by it looked all like a vacant lot between two metal buildings. Is that it? I pulled in. Yep. I could see tracks left behind by others before me who had parked between upright electrical connection boxes. A few spots were well shaded. Looking around it appeared to be at one time a developed park with twelve spots, water faucets (now turned off) and even sewer connections hidden within the tall grass and weeds. With a little care and rehab this campground could be quite nice for the traveler to stay at. Still, this was fine for us to dry camp and all for free. Across the street was a lovely green city park with a fancy new children’s play area a lot like what Burke had. Ah but like Bowman, there was not a single place to eat except one lonely bar and grill. It could be forgiven for that as Alexander had only three hundred fifty in population, not sixteen hundred fifty.
While we were in Alexander enjoying fine weather Hurricane Elsa had moved across the south eventually spawning small tornadoes near St. Marys, Georgia where an RV park was hit flipping trailers and motor homes over. There is no reason to not think we could have been caught up in any of this turmoil had we continued on with our tour through the southern states. Nope, not ready to die just yet.
We continued on north the next day for Williston where I fueled up and worked at finding a little spot to pull over to have a bite to eat. We finally turned west for Fort Buford a half hour away toward the western border. This was a North Dakota historical site at the confluence point of the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers. An army encampment existed there from 1866 through to 1895 when it was then disbanded. Today, little remains. The buildings today are reconstructions of the originals and of them there are only a half a dozen. Even the cemetery is a “reconstruction” for nearly all of the one hundred and sixty-one buried there had been reinterred at the Little Big Horn Cemetery. Non-original wood plank tombstones now marked who was buried where and how they died, many by disease. There were a few “murdered”, killed by Indians, died accidentally, and a couple of suicides which was understandable given the amount of flies and mosquitoes constantly buzzing around plus the biting red ants underfoot. The site included a shady grassy camp spot beneath large cottonwood trees. The traveler could stay for up to four days for free. We took advantage of this. Peaceful and quiet it was a nice place to recuperate at for those four full days.