"Lewis & Clark Expedition" - Pacific Northwest
	Day 3:  Monday, May 13, 2002

Again, the boy set the alarm, but the boy failed to respect the alarm.  After some fiddle-farting around the room, and around town looking at oddities (other than the adult bookstore next to the motel), we finally set tire on the interstate at 6:48am.  Oddities in Billings include the 85.5 octane gas here, Junga Juice (looks like the other juice place, huh?), and the women's prison, downtown, and one block from the visitors' center.  (The dilemma in the delay is Travel & Tour Coordination explicitly designs my trips around a very cohesive schedule to ensure maximum visit time before moving to the next tour stop.)  

For those of you following along via cell phone, it's not you.  We have not had signal since we passed through Livingston, Montana, and even now in central North Dakota, nothing.  The hope is that by mid-afternoon tomorrow we'll be in a town large enough to begin our regularly scheduled broadcasts, but no guarantees, regrettably.) 

And, I would like to thank Kathy for the ADORABLE Davy Crockett 'coon skin cap -- it's just cozy, and perfect for this trip.  Thanks!

So anyway, we're on the road and heading down to the Little Bighorn Battlefield.  (Not to be dense, but isn't "little big" like having a "large small" or two negatives, where they sort of cancel each other out?  Wouldn't it just become then Horn Battlefield?  Granted, that doesn't sound nearly as historic.)  We got there around 7:50am, but since the place didn't open until 8am, we puttered around the small little town.  My favorite, of course, was the casino that looked like a third-rate roach motel.  

At 7:55am, though, we opted to approach, and found their clocks were 6 minutes fast, and they were more than happy to wish us a happy visit and take $10 for their helpfulness.  We drove through most of the seven miles of the battle sites, but the cows and horses there were just as much a sight as the various placards and the hundreds of marble markers scattered across the landscape.  All but a few were generic markers; it seems only a handful of soldiers (mostly officers) were identified, even though the burials occurred only perhaps three days after the battle ended (and the battle itself was only two days, June 25-26, 1876).

We started out that the memorial, and learned that the headstones were where the soldiers died and were originally buried, and several years later, were moved and reburied in the single, mass grave at the site of the memorial.  (As we drove through the park, it was awe-inspiring to see groups of two, three, or more marble markers everywhere.)   and stopped at the national cemetery before heading off toward the next stop.  We did pop in and snapped one of the Lewis & Clark Trail signs along the freeway, which were first spotted at 7:14pm last night.  

For an early lunch and to feed the car, we stopped in Miles City (and a poor shot of downtown)  The members of the travel party partook in the new chicken strip things at McDonald's - they were quite tasty, I must admit.  And I'm not normally a huge fan of anything of the bird family, but tasty is tasty.  With that, we were full speed ahead to the North Dakota state line, which we reached around 12:30pm (Mountain Time).  About seven miles in is Home on the Range, and naturally, I'd expected to see deer and antelope play.  Nope.  I'd seldom heard an encouraging word of such playing; drat.  The town itself is dinky, and the welcome sign wordy.  Naturally, we didn't register, but when several people began getting into their cars, we figured we'd overstayed our welcome, and got back on the highway.

Along the highway we did get some nice views of the place, though.  We stopped briefly in Dickinson, before realizing the dinosaur museum wasn't large enough to house much more than a gift shop, so we did a tourist routing out front (here and here), and moved ahead.  The scary reality of running late, and of crossing another time zone, set in with the possibility that the Lewis & Clark museum may be closed before we got there, so stops and photos aside, we pushed ahead at reckless speed to the museum by a 5pm (Central Time) target.  We blew through Bismarck, just long enough to see what the place looks like when you're waiting (patiently, of course) at a red light.  And while this isn't Roswell, New Mexico, the Space Alien Grill & Bar was serving new appetizers, which was just as interesting.

We arrived in Washburn for the Lewis & Clark museum in time to get in and wander around, briefly.  It wasn't as long as we'd liked, but I had the boy get some reading in while he drove (long, boring, straight roads with no one around for miles), so I feel we're fairly informed as to how things were for those two during their expedition in the 1804-1806 period.  And we were off again, this time to Minot.  This place proved to be mostly a place to turn from a northern direction to an eastern one.  We did the usual town sign, downtown shot, and even took a look at an oddly named lounge and casino.  Now, I'm thinking, if one was in that circumstance, how much gambling would a duck be doing?  

And off toward our final resting place for the night - Rugby (named for Rugby, England).  Rugby is known for being the geographic center of the North American continent.  So, it's still daylight, and Sir Thinks-a-Lot decided we should take a trip up to the U.S.-Canadian border.  Please note, right here, that the rest of us were not as keen on the idea.  Not so much as the 40 or so miles (each way) we'd still be in the car, but once we got there, what then?  Take a picture, he suggested.  Good golly, you'd think this boy was designing rocket ships with that sort of forward thinking.  But, he had the keys, so to the border we went.  We also passed an adorable turtle made of car tire rims, but since our picture was hideous, so I would suggest you visit this picture of it instead:  http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/images/nd/NDDUNturtle.jpg 

We arrived there around 8:10pm or so.  He drove cautiously toward the border stations, and figured that since we couldn't see anything, we'd drive around the back of the building, stop and get a picture, and off we went.  Customs Officer Feight was outside (reading a book) and looked up.  Thinks-a-Lot tried to do a summary explanation of the turn-around, but apparently this wasn't going to fly.  He asked for photo identification for all involved, and at least one little duck doesn't have such a thing, which didn't help matters.  He asks where we're all from, where the boy works, asks the robin bird the same questions, and then asks to check the car.  

After opening the hatch, and he apparently realized he can't effectively search a fully loaded sports utility vehicle in a cursory manner as he apparently had intended, and we were directed to park.  None of this derailed a poor quality picture of the point of entry area, of course.  (And of course, the questions of if we all were here on business or vacation, and the boy told him it was my U.S. Tour.  Dude asked if the boy collects stuffed animals, like I'm some sort of plush amusement for grown men.  Whatever, copper.  The boy tried to explain my whole tour concept, but the connection wasn't getting made, so we opted to abandon the conversation.)  So, we park.  Thus far, the humorlessness of this chap is not lost on us, particularly considering there was nothing else for them to do, and best of all, the guy watched us approach, and a few seconds later, emerge on the side to enter the U.S. from the neutral zone.

Well, we sit quietly in the car for maybe five minutes before Officer Chuckles returns and asks us to step inside and to the right to fill out a form.  We are greeted by two additional officers, Lachbrook and a guy who made seldom an effort to rise from his seat in the back.  Feight announced each of those who have ID (ducks excluded) must fill out a Customs Declaration form 6059B (for how to fill it out, which the human types didn't get there in person, try here).  Feight then donned his flashlight and disappeared to search the car for drugs, weapons, livestock, undeclared alcohol or other excessive consumer goods.  We remained inside, with the much more pleasant Lachbrook bloke.

He shared with us he's from the Miami area, but up here on a 60-day rotation (apparently there's a bit of an overtime drain going on along the U.S.-Canadian border).  His ex-wife now occupies his homes in the Florida Keys and Coral Gables; he previously worked as an Air Traffic Controller, but went out on strike during those days during President Reagan, and later was fired when Reagan cleaned house.  He's been with Customs for eight years, but all of the drug enforcement stuff with Columbians and drug detection caused him to seek the short change of pace up in these parts.

He was born on April 30th, remembers when soft drinks were called "pop", and recounted the story of having moved down to Miami when he was ten or so, and going to the refreshment stand and asking for a "pop".  And, of course, he recalls being mocked for his use of the term.  He commented New Yorkers call 'em all "sodas", whereas others refer to the generic term of 'Coke.'  He, of course, prefers to order a Dr. Pepper, or a Coke, or a Pepsi, by name.  Of interest, the folks up in these parts all call 'em "pop," so there's that feeling of being in a time warp, apparently.

The boy mentions the intent of simply making a U-turn.  The nice chap explains it happens all the time.  Why then, I wonder, don't they post a sign that vehicles passing this point (post sign there) are then subject to declarations and search?  Seems to make sense.  Well, that launches the story of Wednesday night parties.  Youths from the North Dakota towns escape into Canada, to a town about 60 miles north of the border, to drink and party.  (The drinking age in Canada is 18, but 21 in North Dakota.)  They have their designated driver, but of course, they are unaware of the North Dakota state law that prohibits youths from becoming intoxicated out of state, and entering the state drunk.  So every Wednesday, the state trooper waits at the border and gives them all tickets as they come home.  Strangely enough, we thought the story was rather amusing.  And completely true.

At long last, Feight is done, and we're fee to return to Rugby.  Lachbrook has politely shown us the door, and was mentioning that after dusk (roughly 9:30pm up here), the wildlife tend to cover the roads, and urged us to be careful.  As it was only 8:35pm (yup, only 25 minutes later), there was still plenty of sun to get us home.  Lachbrook knew one of the officers up here who'd hit a moose and totaled his rental car; the boy assured him we'd be careful, and we were off.  (The boy had toyed with saying we'd fire a couple of warning shots as we drove, but said he thought better of it before he said that aloud to the officer.)  Upon returning to Rugby, we checked into to the nicer of the two motels we saw (EconoLodge being that "nicer" option), and after a quest for food, we settled down for the night around 10pm... except I, again, am up writing while those human types have been asleep for at least an hour.  But in the greater scheme of things, it all seems okay.