It rained all night and it rained all morning and it rained while I broke camp and rode away. Within a mile or two, the rain had worked its way under my rain gear and I was wet and cold again. It continued to rain as I encountered an unexpected climb out of St. Mary, Montana. At the top, as if St. Mary herself ordered it, the rain stopped and I even saw a hint of sunshine. But what REALLY caught my eye was the indescribable view to the east of the Great Plains which will be my companion for the next few weeks. True, it is indescribable, but it is my duty to try. Picture endless rolling green hills, dotted with a few trees and many black cows. That's as good as I can do.
My adventure buddy, J., once told me that cows are the dumbest animals on the planet. As I rode past a herd of maybe 40 cattle, I saw something that may or may not prove J.'s point. Every single one of those cows were facing the same direction--south. As I rode by them, every single one of them stopped grazing, raised their huge heads, watched me pass, and then went back to stuffing their faces.
I am spending the night in the Blackfeet Indian Reservation town of Browning. I had been warned at least four times recently to just ride on through the Rez if I wanted to avoid trouble--just keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and ride.
Being the rebel I am, I checked into a motel in Browning and walked around the town. Immediately you notice the extreme poverty . . . and the many, many dogs that run freely all over the town. Two times as I walked, I heard small groups of young native American men let out what I interpreted to be war-whoops. Sometimes I make jokes about stuff like that, but in this case I am dead serious. I went back to my motel and securely locked the door behind me.
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