Odyssey 2004: Journey of Discovery
Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail

Journals for Odyssey 2004

Thursday--May 13, 2004
Trail Day--1
Trail Mile--21
Location--Lewis and Clark Memorial, Hartford/Wood River, Illinois

What a fitting place to begin a journey west -- Gateway Arch -- to all in America, the symbol of westward expansion.  Rising from the riverfront in St. Louis it looms majestic for miles, presenting such a striking and powerful presence.
Two centuries ago tomorrow, the men that set others dreaming about such expansion departed from Wood River, at the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers just a short distance from here.  Up the Missouri River they struggled, over the rugged Bitterroots and down the Columbia River -- and into history.
Those men were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, charged by President Jefferson with the task of searching for and finding the Northwest Passage, a route to the Pacific, thought by Jefferson and many others to surely exist.
Today, this very moment, I depart on my own quest in search for that elusive passage.  With me, for a couple of days, and continuing his world wanderings by biking o’er the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, will be Jim Dragon’s Breath Damico.
At the Museum of Westward Expansion, Jim snaps my picture with Thomas Jefferson, William Clark and Meriwether Lewis, and we’re on our way.
Most of the trek today is along bike paths.  First, the North Riverfront Trail, then the Great River Road Bikeway, which leads past the Lewis and Clark Memorial, all the way to Alton.
We head out in a drizzle, which continues as we pass Clark’s grave in Bellefontaine Cemetery.  On the way to the old US66 Chain of Rocks Bridge, which takes us into Illinois, the heavens open and the deluge begins.
Our destination today is the Memorial.  I’m tired, but I’m in by seven-thirty.

 The object of your mission is to explore the Missouri River...as, by its course and communication with the waters of the Pacific Ocean, whether the Columbia...or any other river, may offer the most direct and practicable water-communication across the continent... [Thomas Jefferson]


Friday--May 14, 2004
Trail Day--2
Trail Mile--22/43
Location--Mechen Road, Katy Trail, Mechen, Missouri

 It’s pouring down rain.  All events at the Lewis and Clark Memorial and Interpretive Center have been canceled.  I head out alone in the cold wind and rain, down the road to the Lewis and Clark State Historic Site at the banks of the Mississippi, directly across from the mouth of the Missouri River.  Eleven columns were placed here, each representing one of the states through which the Corps of Discovery passed.  But alas, arriving, I find no columns.  Since reading about them, all have been swept away by the flooding waters of the mighty rivers.  It is amazing there is no one else about on this day, such an historic day, for today represents the 200^th anniversary -- 200 years to the day the Corps of Discovery began their journey up the Missouri.  A small pedestal facing toward the mouth of the Missouri suggests I try imagining that dreary, rainy day when the Corps departed.  Ahh yes, imagine indeed!
The hike today takes me across Clark Memorial Bridge, which leads from Alton Illinois to West Alton Missouri.  Near the bridge, I stop at #26 Lock and Dam, the US Army Corps of Engineers building, to view more beautiful Lewis and Clark exhibits.  After another deluge in the afternoon, the rain finally relents as I approach the bridge.  The West Alton Trail, which runs for over two miles is mush.
Jim has opted to go on up the river on the Illinois side and take the ferry across, a much better choice for biking.  We’ll get together again this evening in St. Charles.
This has been a long, hard day.  I think my legs are going to come back.  A few more days should tell.

 Rained the fore part of the day...I Set out at 4 oClock P.M, in the presence of many of the neighbouring inhabitents...a heavy rain this after-noon.  [William Clark, Wood River, May 14, 1804]


Saturday--May 15, 2004
Trail Day--3
Trail Mile--12/55
Location--Frontier Park, Katy Trail, St. Charles, Missouri

Jim can cover sixty miles a day easily on his bike; I must hammer hard to do much over twenty.  He’s been slow-pedaling, lolling with me, patient to a fault; but it’s time for him to move on.  So this morning, after he promises to run point and scout ahead for me as he pedals up the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, we bid farewell.
The sun is back, the makings for a great day, and I’m out with the least limp.  This will be a short day along the northern/eastern extent of the Katy Trail, which is now under construction.  More mush, but great views across the wide Missouri from the high ground that is the trail.  I see mallards, geese and turkey.
There is much revelry and celebrating in St. Charles in commemoration of the Corps passing.  I arrive before two.

 at 9 oClock Set out and proceeded on 9 miles...saw a number of Goslings to day on the Shore...a fair afternoon. [Clark, May 15, 1804]


Sunday--May 16, 2004
Trail Day--4
Trail Mile--21/76
Location--Katy Trail, Defiance, Missouri

It was just too confusing to me, too hectic in St. Charles, so I hiked a little further on.  I should have known or at least suspected.  Wall-to-wall people.  At the bronze twice lifesize Lewis and Clark memorial, kids were jumping on Seaman’s head (Clark’s Newfoundland dog) and swinging from Lewis’ arm.
This morning it’s different, Sunday morning at seven forty-five.  No one’s around except the grounds keeper -- and Lewis and Clark, and Seaman.  I get my picture with the three of them.
I’m out to another beautiful, blue-clear day as I head on up the Katy Trail.  Lots of folks enjoying the trail, especially families with kids.  I hug the right grassy edge to keep out of their way.
There are many beautiful wildflowers along today; I count over twenty species, many very small and delicate.  I see a large graceful fox, many turtles, all kinds of waterfowl -- and peacocks in a pen.  The river is rolling.
Folks have commented that the Corps of Discovery was a journey mostly by water; so the question continually comes: why are you hiking?  Well, so it seems, Lewis was much more the hiker than a boatman and spent the better part of the day on the lands along the river -- me too!
My legs are a little stiff but they finally loosen up.  I’m into Defiance by three-thirty.

Lewis preferred the freedom and solitude of the river banks and was the better hunter and naturalist. [Paul Russell Cutright, Lewis & Clark: Pioneering Naturalists]


Monday--May 17, 2004
Trail Day--5
Trail Mile--19/95
Location--Loretta’s Place, Katy Trail, Marthasville, Missouri

Another cool, clear day beside the Missouri, along the Katy Trail.  More turkey and geese.  And today I see three goslings, just like Clark described, one of the few things still the same after 200 years.
The river has changed.  Oh yes, it’s changed; in some places the river’s moved as much as three miles from its location 200 years ago.  The countryside all around, that’s changed completely, too.   Yet, here today, do I see these tiny helpless creatures -- as did William Clark.
Today I pass the Corps May 23^rd and 24^th 1804 campsites to end the day by their May 25^th site at Marthasville.  At this point in the journey the Corps passed the last white settlement.  From here to the Pacific and back they saw only Indian villages.  Cities such as Kansas City, Omaha, Portland, all the grand cities of the west we know today, none existed.  There were no states west of the Mississippi in 1804.

Camped at the mouth of a Creek called River a Chouritte [La Charrette], above a Small french Village of 7 houses...[Clark]


Tuesday--May 18, 2004
Trail Day--6
Trail Mile--24/119
Location--Katy Trail, McKittrick, Missouri

It’s easy enough to understand why I’m making better headway than the Corps did.  I’ve a casual walk along, the least weight on my back, following a perfectly smooth, level path -- no need to haul a 55 foot keelboat loaded with thirty tons of provisions upriver against a 5-7 mile-per-hour current!  On the 24^th, Clark wrote: The Swiftness of the Current Wheeled the boat, Broke our Toe rope, and was nearly over Setting the boat.
Just back a ways I passed Femme Osage Creek.  Hereabouts was the home of the legendary frontiersman, Daniel Boone.  Whether Lewis and Clark or any of the Corps ever met Boone is not known.  However, one fact is known: those brave souls leading our nations quest to press ever westward toward the horizon, those with that insatiable, fire-in-the-gut thirst for adventure, on May 25^th, 1804 that torch changed hands forever.

Great as were the material obstacles in the path of the United States, the greatest obstacle of all was in the human mind.  [Henry Adams]


Wednesday--May 19, 2004
Trail Day--7
Trail Mile--21/140
Location--Katy Trail, Steedman, Missouri

During the first number of days upriver, some of the most difficult, the Corps managed only 12 to 14 miles per day.  Shaking everything down, getting into some semblance of routine took time.  Aside from all the menial tasks, there was the need to hunt for fresh meat.  Each man was consuming as much as eight pounds of fat meat per day.  The river was running fast from spring runoff; pushing against it constantly proved physical to say the least, a seemingly impossible task, but they were a tough lot.  Lewis and Clark chose only the very best men.  They had chosen well.
This morning, and across the river, I pass one of the first large tributaries to the Missouri, the Gasconade.  One of the orders given by President Jefferson was for Lewis and Clark to accurately fix the location of major geographic sites.  On May 28^th, Clark wrote: I measured the river and found the Gasconnade to be 157 yards wide and 19 foot deep.
I am hiking well today, so thankful for my good health and stamina.  When the Corps passed where I am passing now, Clark became ill.  He wrote that he suffered from ...a verry Sore Throat and am Tormented with Musquetors and Small ticks.
There’s a neat bar and grill in Portland.  I was much looking forward to stopping in, but alas, today they’re closed.
A large fox crosses the trail ahead of me in the afternoon.  Many squirrel and rabbit today.  The geese are nesting on the cliff ledges all along.  When mom nudges these little guys from their nest, they’ve got one shot at flying.
Steedman makes up for the Portland grill being closed.  I’m in early at the SOB (Steedman’s Only Bar!)


Thursday--May 20, 2004
Trail Day--8
Trail Mile--22/162
Location--Katy Trail, North Jefferson, Missouri

Today, as I pass, another major river enters from the far bank, the Osage.  In the past two hundred years the mouth of this river has moved over three miles downstream.  From a point of rock high above, Clark was able to view both the Missouri and the Osage.  Now there is but a long peninsula -- and dry land below.  Earlier this year I managed to scale the bluff to that very point, there to try visualizing the scene described by Clark.  It is said that men from the Corps carved their initials in the rock, but the wind, rain, ice and sun have worked relentlessly.  I saw only faint etchings.
There are few travelers on the Katy Trail today.  One is Jim Fogle, biking his way to Ft. Clatsop on the Pacific.

The party is much afflicted with Boils and Several have the Decissentary, which I contribute to the water which is muddy...Some with eight or ten of these Tumers.  [Clark]


Friday--May 21, 2004
Trail Day--9
Trail Mile--20/182
Location--Katy Trail, Easley (Cooper’s Landing) Missouri

The view of the Missouri Capitol across the wide, rolling river is striking.  Atop a grand bluff, it stands on the horizon, commanding the lands about for many a mile.  So much has changed since the Corps passed here 200 years ago, so much.
Along this section of the river, Lewis made plant and animal discoveries.  Clark wrote: Several rats of Considerable Size was Caught in the woods to day.  Capt. Lewis went out to the woods and found many curious Plants & Srubs...
Spaghetti dinner at Cooper’s, and a fine evening fire attended by many out for the annual river cleanup tomorrow.

 Lewis, who had learned the rudiments of herbal healing from his mother, lanced the boils and applied a mixture of elm bark and cornmeal to the sores.  Following Dr. Benjamin Rush’s instructions, he bled his patients frequently.  And he freely dispensed some of the six hundred pills the doctor had sold him: laxatives so powerful that the men called them Rush’s Thunderbolts.  [Dayton Duncan, Out West]


Saturday--May 22, 2004
Trail Day--10
Trail Mile--17/199
Location--Katy Trail, Rocheport, Missouri

The river swings a wide, serpentine path from bluff to bluff across its floodplane, a width, generally of some two to three miles.  At times it meanders along the far bluff.  Today it spends considerable time right here next the old railgrade.  The river is up, just as it was when the Corps ascended 200 years ago.  The turbulence, the speed at which whole trees are swept along is dizzying.  It’s hard to even imagine how the men were able to make any headway at all.  Along this bank a major mishap occurred.  The mast of the keelboat became entangled in the branches of an overhanging sycamore and snapped in two.  An elementary mistake this was not.  Sgt. Ordway was at the helm.  To avoid the swiftest of the rushing current necessitated steering near the riverbank.  To stray away spelled certain disaster, especially if the boat became forced broadside into the current, so to have prevented the mast from becoming entangled would certainly have presented even greater danger.
Today I pass Clark’s Cave where faint petroglyphs can still be seen.
It is my pleasure to have the company of Josh, grandson of my lifelong pal, Donnie.  Josh is working to earn his merit badge for hiking, toward becoming Eagle Scout.  He’s done over 50 miles with me these last three days.  Today I also have the pleasure of the company of three of the Amos sisters, Lylis, Dwinda and Linda.
It’s been one fine hiking day!

.....our mast broke by my Stearing the Boat near the Shore the Rope or Stay to the mast got fast in a limb of a Secamore tree & it broke verry Easy... [Sgt. Ordway]


Sunday--May 23, 2004
Trail Day--11
Trail Mile--11/210
Location--Katy Trail, Franklin, Missouri

This will be my last day on the Katy Trail.  Can’t say I’ll miss it.  But on the other hand, considering what lies ahead -- the long roadwalk clear to the Pacific, these eighteen-wheeler-free days will, no doubt, be long remembered.
After experiencing all the tunnels I passed through during my 2002 transcontinental trek, I gave little thought to the one on today’s hike.  It’s right out of Rocheport, and it’s a dandy!  Indeed, this entire eastern section of the Katy Trail, the near 200 miles I’ve hiked these past nine days, is dandy.  The only problem: this sort of treadway is just better suited for biking than it is for hiking.
The river’s moved back over to the far bluff again, leaving behind rich bottomlands turning green with corn.  The old railbed continues hugging the near bluff, which is literally filled with caves.  I quit counting after ten.  Clark commented about the numerous black bear his hunting parties had taken along this stretch of the river.  No wonder; if all of these caves were bear dens, then it’s easy to see why this was great bear country!  He also commented about the beauty all about.
At a little past one, Josh and I reach the Franklin trailhead, right next the river bridge to Boonville, the beginning of the Santa Fe Trail.  Here I bid Josh farewell. It’s been a joy hiking with you, son.  You’ve got your twenty-miler and your five ten-milers all done now; another scout merit badge completed as you continue progressing toward becoming Eagle Scout.  We did all these seventy-plus miles together -- and I’d just like to say that it gives me a feeling of pride to have been along.  Just as your grandfather and I’ve been lifelong friends, I know that we, too, are now bonded in friendship.
Today I bring closure to my hike along the old Santa Fe Trail.  During my 2002 transcontinental trek, and as part of that journey, I followed the Santa Fe Trail, through Missouri, Kansas, the Oklahoma Panhandle, and New Mexico, all the way to the Plaza at the Palace of Governors in Santa Fe.  Problem was: I picked up the trail at Arrow Rock, not in Franklin.  The Santa Fe Trail began in Franklin Missouri, not across the river in Arrow Rock.  So today, I hike those first beginning miles along the old Santa Fe Trail -- out of Franklin.

 The Countrey about this place is butifull on the river rich & well timbered on the S. S.   about two miles back a Prarie coms which is rich and interspursed with groves of timber,   the count[r]y rises at 7 or 8 miles Still further back and is rolling. on the L. S. the high lands & Prarie coms. in the bank of the river and continus back, well watered and abounds in Deer Elk & Bear. [Clark]


Monday--May 24, 2004
Trail Day--12
Trail Mile--20/230
Location--SR87, Glasgow, Missouri

 The roadwalk begins.  Lots of winding and climbing, traffic whizzing.  Gotta get into the road mode.
First little town along is Boonesboro; a little crossroads with a mom-n-pop store right at the crossing.  In I go for sausage biscuits and eggs.  These old general stores are so neat.  This one’s got everything from PVC pipe to peanuts, coffee to crowbars.  The health department’s been by.  They’ve put a notice on the bathroom wall instructing us on how to properly wash our hands.  Six steps are listed.  The first directs us to turn the water on, the last, to turn it off.  The other four are even more helpful.  Ahh, how would we ever make it on our own, how, indeed!
Although I’m up in the hills now, dodging oncoming traffic at every dip and bend, I have a much easier go of it today than the Corps had down below on the river 200 years ago.
Working their way upstream against strong current the boat struck a snag, turning it sideways, causing a

 ...disagreeable and Dangerous Situation, particularly as immense large trees were Drifting down and we lay imeditely in their Course. [Clark]


Tuesday--May 25, 2004
Trail Day--13
Trail Mile--27/257
Location--US24, Brunswick, Missouri

What a great time in Glasgow; neat trail town, right on the river.  Lots of history.  Kit Carson was born near here.  Cantrell and his raiders came through.  Legend has it that the Glasgow sheriff put out a reward for Cantrell.  When Cantrell found out, he and his boys beat it back to town and collected the reward themselves!
New owner at The Keg.  It’s now Pappy’s Keg.  Nice old fellow, Pappy.  Ditto for waitress Rhonda, and locals, Steve and Woody.  Great subs; cold beer.  Yeah, neat little trail town, Glasgow!
More and more, when I leave the river and venture beyond, the hills are taking on the appearance of the plains.  The Ozark Highlands, my home, are now behind.  The river -- and me, we’ll keep on climbing, deep into the Bitterroots.
I’ve decided to take a shortcut to Brunswick, a zigzag of gravel roads to Price Bridge to cross the Chariton River, then onto the railroad grade through Dalton to US24 just east of Brunswick.  This’ll save five or six miles and make the distance a manageable 27.  I do fine until I hit the gravel.  A nice lady by a farm, Lanie, she gets me going right again.  “Look for indigo bunting around the corner.  We always see them around the corner.” she said, pointing the way.  Yup, indigo bunting, just around the corner.  Two train tracks.  Lots of trains running.  I just switch tracks and wave when they go by.  I’m in town by four.
On June 8^th, 1804, the party met fur trappers coming downriver near present day Brunswick.  Among them was Pierre Dorion, Sr., who knew Clark’s older brother, George Rogers Clark, a revolutionary war hero.  Dorion agreed to travel back upriver to the Yankton village and act as interpreter.  The most feared of the Indians were the Sioux, and to be able to converse with them was of great benefit.


Wednesday--May 26, 2004
Trail Day--14
Trail Mile--22/279
Location--US24, Carrollton, Missouri

A beautiful night, last, calm and warm, not a cloud anywhere.  I pitched my little Nomad without the fly and rolled in.  While working my journal entries, and thinking back, came to mind the last time I pitched without my fly.  It rained during the night and I got soaked.  So thinking better, and before nodding off, I rigged my tent fly.  Right decision; during the night came this storm, buckets of rain.
This morning, the storm has moved on east.  It’s cool and clear.  Perfect hiking day.  I’ve got a 22 to knock out along US24 into Carrollton.  I’m in by one-thirty.  This is my first maildrop, and my bounce box is right here waiting.  Good meal at the little mom-n-pop right on the square -- and the library’s open.


Thursday--May 27, 2004
Trail Day--15
Trail Mile--23/302
Location--SR10, Hardin, Missouri

Hard rain on my tent shakes me before six.  By seven, the day turns fair.  I break camp and am out to another glorious Missouri morning.  Both Lewis and Clark spoke of the beauty of Missouri and of days like these now, except back then there was no place called Missouri; then, Missouri was only a small part of the greater Louisiana Territory.  What folks of that time called “The Territory” exists now as many mid-western and western states.  Obviously unknown to the Corps at the time, they ventured through eleven states on their journey to the Pacific Ocean and back.
First stop this morning is at Casey’s, a local convenience store in Norborne.  While motorists are gassing up, I get my tank topped off with an egg and cheese biscuit.  And to wash it down, two pints of whole milk, compliments of Kevin and Gerry, delivery men for Anderson Erickson Dairy.  Happy milkmen, they.  Thanks, fellows!
We never speak of the men of the Corps of Discovery as pioneers, or trailblazers, or even frontiersmen, but in the traditional and truest sense, they were all of these -- and more.  While fulfilling Jefferson’s mandates, they served not only as brave soldiers, boatmen, naturalists, cartographers, but also, statesmen of the highest order.
Others soon followed their path, along the Oregon Trail, the California Trail, and the most famous of all, the Santa Fe Trail.  We think of the events of westward expansion happening during a time long, long ago, no more than shadowy, past moments in history, events to memorize for exams, then forget.  I’ve found my link to all of this through my mother and father.  These times are alive in me, right now, today.  For, my mother was alive then, though merely an infant, when the last wagon train lumbered west, to cross over South Pass in 1912 -- and into history.  I recall my father oft showing me an old stone hitching post once used along the Overland Trail/Pony Express route that passed through our little village in the Ozark Highlands of Missouri.
Across the river just south of me, where I’m passing now, are the remnants of the old Santa Fe Trail, ruts in the sod that have survived the ravages of time, testimony to those brave, courageous souls that followed the Corps of Discovery -- to open the West.  Along the trace of that old historic trail did I struggle my way during “Odyssey 2002, From Sea to Shining Sea.”  I have, and am blazing my own trail west, bound on my own “Journey of Discovery;” my quest separated from theirs -- only by time.

Friday--May 28, 2004
Trail Day--16
Trail Mile--24/326
Location--SR210, Excelsior Springs Junction, Missouri

Seems there’s at least a gallon of water on my little tent, from the overnight dew.  Having a detachable fly makes it easy to shake most of it, but I can certainly feel the extra weight as I shoulder my pack.  In awhile the sun warms the morning, so I stop and drape everything over a fence, including my soggy down bag.  In no time everything’s fresh and dry.
Folks, there’s been something nagging at me for over two weeks now -- stuck in my craw -- time to get it out.  It has to do with the treatment dished out to another intrepid who’s on the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail.
This year there are may folks taking this journey.  Most are using some form of mechanized transportation.  As I hiked out of St. Charles, an absolute train of rolling palaces whizzed by me, their little cabooses tagging along.  There are at least three fellows I know of that are biking the trail.  Two other friends are canoeing down from Three Forks.  There’s the celebrated modern-day Corps of Discovery with their keelboat and pirogues.  And then there’s Neil Rosenblad, who’s kayaking the Lewis and Clark - up river.
If you recall, I departed the memorial at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers on the morning of May 14^th, 200 years to the day the Corps began their expedition.  It was a miserably cold, rainy morning.  I had the place entirely to myself.  No one else was about.  Had I waited until four that afternoon, the story would have been different, as four o’clock was the exact hour the Corps departed on that cold, rainy day in 1804.
So what’s the rub?  Well, seems Neil wanted to depart at four o’clock from the memorial, but so did the modern-day Corps, atop their boats, all decked out in parade dress, feather plumed hats and all.  So something had to give.  And what gave was Neil, who was told he had to depart an hour earlier, and for security reasons, I believe was the excuse given, from another place.  When I heard about this, it really irked me.  Folks, I’ve never met Neil Rosenblad; I don’t know the man.  But I still haven’t gotten over this after two weeks.  I’m still mad.  More tomorrow.


Saturday--May 29, 2004
Trail Day--17
Trail Mile--21/347
Location--NW Barry Road, Barry, Missouri

What a joy to be on this journey, reliving history in such a physical, down-to-earth way.  What an exciting time to be following the paths of men (and one woman and one child) who changed America forever.  Indeed, “There is no land discovered that can’t be found anew.”  The Corps of Discovery remained undaunted in their quest to discover the Northwest Passage.  I, too, am searching!
The Corps of Discovery ascended the mighty Missouri under their own power, polling, rowing, and dragging their boats, loaded to the gunwales with food, gear and other essentials.  Mine is an easy task by comparison.  I’m making much better time.  It’s hard to believe, though, as the autos, motorhomes and bicycles whiz by, that there’s someone on this journey that’s progressing at a slower rate than the old Nomad, but it is true.  Neil, in his kayak, is lucky to make twelve, perhaps fourteen miles a day.  Just keeping up with the Corps from day to day is a challenge for him as he fights the current and dodges the steady stream of flotilla coming at him from upriver.  I recall sitting on the bank of the wide Missouri, along the Katy Trail, near where the keelboat’s mast struck that sycamore, watching whole trees being swept along at such alarming speed, wondering in amazement how anyone could possibly make any headway against such unrelenting force.
Coming north along the Mississippi from the Lewis and Clark Memorial, and from the bikeway at Wood River Creek, I looked down from the bridge there to see a white pirogue moored below.  Two gentlemen in colorful, formal expedition era garb, members of the modern-day Corps no doubt, were busying themselves in preparation for departure upriver.  I stopped to meet and encourage them, but they were too preoccupied with their tasks of greater importance to have any time for me.  While there, however, I did take a good look at their boat.  It certainly appeared authentic enough, but a fairly large hump in the bilge, a stowage compartment I suppose we’re to believe it be, gave away the boat’s true identity -- a motorboat, not a rowboat!
America loves pageantry, the colorful pomp and circumstance of grand, historic celebrations.  And, so, this pirogue, and no doubt the keelboat and the other pirogue, will progress upriver, undoubtedly under full power, as Lewis and Clark and the Corps of today stand in full parade dress, to be greeted by cannon and musket fire, signaling and saluting their arrival at each succeeding, celebrated reenactment.
This is all fine, a way for families with children to take part in the 200^th anniversary of such an important event in American history.  But I (and my trudging) am not about such grand celebrating, and neither, I doubt, in his struggle upriver, is kayaker Neil.  What we are about (by paying our dues, hopefully) is to learn and know the hearts and minds of Lewis and Clark and the Corps of men.  In attempting to break that barrier of time, the 200 years separating us, we seek to become part of the daily struggle that so identified that remarkable adventure, the Corps of Discovery.  Ours is about the daily grit and grind of it, the toil and tribulation that comes only with the constant task of facing the unknown.  We are about dealing with those challenges, hopefully undaunted, as were they.
I am blessed, as no doubt were all the Corps, to have the Angels of Goodness and Mercy astride my shoulders.  Be they with you also, Neil.  I look with great anticipation to the day we meet, perhaps at Three Forks before ascending the Bitterroots.
Shut those engines down fellows.  Get out of your neatly pressed officer’s uniforms.  Remove your feather-plumed hats.  Stow it all.  Get into your Corps work clothes; pick up the oars and poles.  Man the gunwales and put your backs to the task for just one mile of it.
Although you were not permitted to depart from the Memorial at four o’clock on the 14^th, Neil -- yours is a much more noble quest.  There, I feel better now!

Sunday--May 30, 2004
Trail Day--18
Trail Mile--21/368
Location--SR45, Beverly, Missouri

Yesterday, at day’s end, what a joy to be greeted by dear friend, Dwinda, and just as during Odyssey 2002, to be collected up and whisked away to spend the evening at her daughter’s home in Olathe Kansas, only a short distance across the river.  Thanks, Mark, Julie, Jennifer and Jamie; I had a great time!
Dwinda has me right back this morning and I’m out to a cool, clear day as I roll up and down and zigzag along country backroads toward the river.  I’ve got Kansas City behind me now.
Above the mouth of the Kansas River, the wide Missouri isn’t so wide anymore, as the Kansas is also a mighty river in its own right.  On June 26^th, 1804, the Corps reached the mouth of the Kansas River, future site of Westport Landing, an important and noteworthy site in the history of westward expansion.  From Westport, in the early and mid 1800s, thousands of pioneers and merchants equipped their wagons for their journeys west along the Oregon and Santa Fe Trails.  At the Kansas River, a big bend in the Missouri changes the river’s course from predominantly west-east to north-south.  Here, the Corps was at the mercy of the heat of summer.  They suffered violent storms and the near-flooding rage of the river.  The biting insects were an unmerciful and constant problem.  This past month there have been over 600 tornadoes recorded in the Midwest.  I’ve been fortunate enough in my travels to have dodged them, but I’ve not been so fortunate as to have escaped much of the pounding!
Late afternoon, what a surprise to hear a vehicle slow behind me.  Glory be!  It’s my dear childhood buddy, Larry.  He lives in Virginia.  He and wife, Mary, took me into their home for a number of evenings during Odyssey 2002.  He’s out west now, across the river at his sister, Jeannine’s place in Winchester Kansas, doing some fixer-upping -- mending her porch.  They’ve taken the day to track me down, and now to take me back to Winchester for the evening.
I tell you, folks, this hike is really turning tough!

Mosquitoes and Ticks are noumerous and bad. [Meriwether Lewis]
Some hard showers of rain this morning prevented our Setting out until 7 oClock...the atmispr. became Sudenly darkened by a black and dismal looking Cloud...and the opposit Shore, the [bank] was falling in and lined with snags as far as we could See down... [Clark]


Monday--May 31, 2004
Trail Day--19
Trail Mile--24/392
Location--US59, Rushville, Missouri

Larry has me back on the “trail” by eight-thirty, a blustery but so-far, clear day.  Thanks, Larry, Jeannine (and granddaughter, Sharon) for a very enjoyable evening.  Pizza and a few cold ones -- yup, Larry sure knows the tricks in the proper care and treatment of the old Nomad!
I take a shortcut along the railroad tracks into Weston, the bluffs and river, beautiful beyond description all along.  The bluffs then give way to glorious, green rolling hills that open to announce the beginning of the high plains prairie.
This will be a hammer it out day, along SR45 into Rushville.  Many trains pass today, hauling coal and new vehicles up the Missouri Valley floodplain, coal for the power plant just south, and autos to keep America rolling.  Lewis and Clark could only have dreamed in their wildest dream, such.  On the morning of June 30^th, 1804: a verry large wolf Came to the bank and looked at us [from near] a gange of turkeys. [Clark]
On my journey today, US59 crosses the river into Atchison Kansas.  The Corps camped here on July 4^th (the nation’s 28^th birthday).  They celebrated by firing the swivel cannon.  They named Independence Creek, and the captains gave the men an extra ration of whiskey.

one of the most beautiful places I ever Saw in my life, open and beautifully Diversified with hills & vallies all presenting themselves to the River... [Ordway]


Tuesday--June 1, 2004
Trail Day--20
Trail Mile--17/409
Location--St. Joseph, Missouri

US59 is a busy highway, but its wide shoulders provide room from the oncoming crush.  I move over to the tracks and dodge the trains awhile for a little diversion.  This highway is straight as an arrow, the eighteen-wheelers blending to a dot on the horizon.  Days like this take patience.
The floodplain here is nearly five miles wide, and the river has meandered its way across to the far bluff.  At this point in the expedition, the captains were becoming the least anxious about meeting the Sioux, the most feared of all the Indians they expected to encounter.  Taking no chances -- assuming they were being watched from shore, and to prevent surprise by better securing their camp, they pitched on islands in the river.  On the night of July 11^th, Private Willard fell asleep on guard.  Because his negligence endangered everyone, he was sentenced by the captains

 ...to receive One hundred lashes on his bear back, at four different times in equal propation.


Wednesday--June 2, 2004
Trail Day--21
Trail Mile--23/432
Location--SR7 Sparks, Kansas

Two states behind me now, Illinois and Missouri, nine more to go.
What a good time in St. Jo.  Lots of history, 150 years of it.
Only 22 years after the Corps camped on the banks of the river, St. Jo became a major Indian trading post.  Many early wagon trains headed west from St. Jo, and when gold was discovered in California, more ‘49ers were equipped for their journey in St. Jo than in any other river town.  In 1860 the Pony Express was established to carry mail to Sacramento, and although it lasted only eighteen months (the telegraph line did it in), the Pony Express made St. Jo a legendary frontier jump-off.  And there were other legends -- Jesse James lived here -- and was murdered here.
I get a picture of the beautiful bronze Pony Express statue, then visit the Pony Express Museum.  At the St. Jo Museum, I enjoy a splendid interactive Lewis and Clark commemorative exhibit.
The hike across the Missouri River Bridge into Kansas is exciting.  The wind, which gusts at times to 35 mph, whips at me most all day.  I manage to dodge the afternoon storm as it visits, thence to dump on the river.  The darkness then moves on as swiftly as it approached, bringing a welcome calm all about.
On July 14^th, Clark wrote:

the Storm Sudenly Seased and the river become Instancetaniously as Smoth as Glass.


Thursday--June 3, 2004
Trail Day--22
Trail Mile--22/454
Location--US159, Rulo, Nebraska

During Odyssey 2002, “From Sea to Shining Sea,” it seemed I’d never get through Kansas; I hiked nearly straight across -- during July and August.  This journey, Kansas proves much different as I pass through what I will of it, the northeast corner, in only one pleasant, cool day.  So, that’s it for Kansas.  Three states behind me now, eight to go as I head on up the Missouri.
SR7, which runs along the river, is little used, hardly any traffic.  Ditto for whatever it changes to in Nebraska; I never saw a road sign after White Cloud and the Iowa Indian Reservation.
The Iowa Tribal Reservation is the first of many reservations I’ll pass through during this odyssey.  I suspect there won’t be much celebrating by any of the Indian tribes as the 200^th anniversary of Lewis and Clark arrives their lands. Here’s what the Superintendent of the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail for the National Park Service, a full-blood Mandan-Hidatsa Tribal member has to say:

If we look at the overall experience since then [1804], and think about what has happened to those tribes [of Nebraska, the Oto, Missouria, Ponca, Pawnee], it is not a pretty story.  But, if we look at the Indian people themselves, we still see the pride, and some of the way of life that the crew saw in the early-1800s. [Gerard Baker]


Friday--June 4, 2004
Trail Day--23
Trail Mile--42/496
Location--Peru, Nebraska

I didn’t hike 42 miles today; just been hiking past the locations listed in my itinerary the past few days and am about a day ahead now.  Last night I actually stayed in Falls City.  What a neat trail town.  Old hotel right on the square.  Cheap and clean.  Restaurant and bar.  Library next door.  Post office right down the street -- yup, neat trail town.
I’m back on the railroad tracks again today.  The roads don’t go where I want to go around here; they all run the sections, either north-south or east-west.  If you want to go some other direction, like northwest, you’re out of luck -- but the railroad goes that way -- so, I go the railroad.  Had to dodge a freight train and a dragline cleaning out trash at one of the bridges.  Off the tracks, it’s another hammer-it-out day on the straight-aways that are the highways here.
I’ve decided not to go into Auburn, but rather, to head back to the river at Brownville.  As I bumble my way along and as I go, I’m learning about what’s ahead.  Turns out there’s an old railgrade from Brownville to just south of Nebraska City that’s been converted to a rail-trail -- the Steamboat Trace Trail.  It runs some 21 miles.  So Brownville’s where I’m headed.
When the expedition went through here on July 14^th, 1804, they saw elk.  Clark went ashore and shot one for supper.  The next day, south of Brownville, Clark hiked a ways up and beside Little Nemaha River in search of more elk.  What he saw as he hiked was near endless prairie, and a grand array of cherries, grapes, plums and many other berries.
A short stop in Brownville for a cold one, and I’m on the railtrail to Peru.  I get in before dark.  Neat trail and another neat little Nebraska village.  Wide brick streets.  Old downtown buildings still open for business.  One’s a restaurant, another’s a bar.  I hit ‘em both before pitching for the evening next the pavilion at the trailhead.
The tarmac really got cookin’ today, but with these great New Balance 806s, we’ll be handling the feet/heat fine.
It took the Corps of Discovery nearly two months to get upriver from the southeast corner of Nebraska to the northeast corner.  Looks like I’ll manage the same distance in around nine days.  Coming downriver in 1806, the Corps covered the same distance in one week.


Saturday--June 5, 2004
Trail Day--24
Trail Mile--21/517
Location--US75, Nebraska City, Nebraska

The dawn light of the new day brings me about and I’m treated to a breathtaking sunrise.  Red sky in the mornin’, ahh, sure enough, two hours into the hike today the storm hits.  Poncho on, I trudge into it.
The Steamboat Trace Trail follows the bluff, and yesterday afternoon, with the sun playing just the right angle, I was treated to a front seat show -- the bluff carvings -- remarkable artwork in the limestone cliffs (done a number of years ago by a local fellow, I’m told).  First, there appeared the face of a tiger glaring at me, then an intricate coat of arms, and finally, the seal of the great state of Nebraska, all in stunning relief.  In between, for some light humor, appeared a skull, fully sculpted, complete with a dismembered skeleton, a headstone, and a natural crypt.  Oh, and I also had the pleasure of meeting the Jay Devine family out picking mulberries.
The Steamboat Trace Trail peters out at the power plant south of Nebraska City, so I move over once more to the tracks and stumble along and on in.  The day’s hike is done by noon.
The expedition didn’t reach this area, now Nebraska City, until the 18^th of August 1804.  Consequently, the grand 200^th anniversary celebration scheduled here won’t begin until late July.  I’ll miss seeing the keelboat and the pirogues as they come motoring up, with Lewis and Clark waving to everybody.  Fortunately, I’ll miss that.  Unfortunately, I’ll also miss the grand opening of the Missouri River Basin Lewis & Clark Interpretive Trail and Visitor Center, which will be displaying the over 300 scientific discoveries of flora (178 plants) and fauna (122 animals) documented during the two years of the expedition.


Sunday--June 6, 2004
Trail Day--25
Trail Mile--27/544
Location--CLR31 and US34, near Pacific Junction, Iowa

I want to hit all the states the Corps passed through, so today, instead of heading on up beside the river here in Nebraska, I’ll cross over the SR2 bridge into Iowa, there to dodge I-29 by hiking side roads, then CL31 north to the US34 bridge back across at Plattsmouth.
From the bridge at Nebraska City I get a grand view of the river.  It’s really moving here.  Apparently it hasn’t slowed down much in 200 years.  Clark made this journal entry near here on July 18^th, 1804:  Measured the Current and found that in forty one Seconds it run 50 fathoms.
My planned route works fine until the little-maintained road I’m on plays out.  I keep going, right through the cornfield.  That’s when I find out why the road quit -- a good-sized canal cuts across.  So it’s backtrack time for a couple of miles.  No problem though, for while in the cornfield I managed to kick up two beautiful pheasants I would not otherwise have seen.
Another blistering-hot day.  The tarmac is bubbling.  No relief from the sun, which cooks it out of me.  I never seem to carry enough water.


Monday--June 7, 2004
Trail Day--26
Trail Mile--21/565
Location--S13th St., Omaha, Nebraska

Another state behind me, Iowa.  Seven to go to reach the Pacific.  I’m back in Nebraska again.  This state’s taking awhile.
The old box-frame bridge across the Missouri at Plattsmouth, built in the 1930s, is a narrow, rusty excuse for a bridge.  It was to be paid for with money from toll fees.  Guess it’s still not paid for, as motorists are still paying to cross.  No vehicles permitted over 15 tons.  I can see why.  Crossing is shaky -- and scary.  I find a quarter.  The old geezer running the toll booth recalls riding his bike across when it was whiz-bang new.  He looks a lot older than me -- but not as old as the bridge.
Today I cross the Platte River, known to run a mile wide and an inch deep.
On July 21, over six hundred miles and sixty-eight days upstream from the Mississippi, the expedition reached the mouth of the Platte River.  According to Stephen Ambrose, author of the book, Undaunted Courage,

 This was a milestone.  To go past the mouth of the Platte was the Misouri riverman’s equivalent of crossing the equator.

 Lewis wrote a five-hundred-word description of the Platte.  And of the Platte tallgrass prairie area, Clark recorded:

 Capt. Lewis and mySelf walked in the Prarie on the top of the Bluff and observed the most butifull prospects imagionable, this Prarie is Covered with grass about 10 or 12 Inch high.

 August 1^st was Clark’s thirty-fourth birthday.  To mark the occasion,

 I order’d a Saddle of fat Vennison, an Elk flece & a Beavertail to be cooked and a Desert of Cheries, Plumbs, Raspberries, Currents and grapes of a Supr. quallity. [Lewis]


Tuesday--June 8, 2004
Trail Day--27
Trail Mile--29/594
Location--US75, Blair, Nebraska

This is going to be a long day as I hammer the miles.  Omaha is one big city, at least to walk through.  From in to out takes me over five hours.  In the little community of Ft. Calhoun, I stop to get off my feet for just awhile.
At this point in the expedition, the Corps had traveled 640 miles up the river and had not seen a single Indian.  All were out hunting buffalo on the prairie.  But on August 2^nd, 1804, an interpreter came to camp with six Oto and Missouria chiefs.  The next day, council was held at Council Bluff.  This Council Bluff is not the city we know today, but is just across the river from Ft. Calhoun.  The meeting lasted only a short while before the Corps

 ...Set out and proceeded on five miles on a Direct line. [Clark]


Wednesday--June 9, 2004
Trail Day--28
Trail Mile--35/629
Location--US75, Decatur, Nebraska

Had a funky sort of day yesterday, but I know I’ll be rollin’ again today.  Out at seven, fine breakfast, then it’s bang it out on the old tarmac straightaway.  The wide shoulders have disappeared, but not the “wheelers.”  There’s lots of eighteeners (cattle, hogs and fertilizer haulers, a few tankers, and lots of regular boxes).  Some twentytwoers (side-dump gravel barges).  And to keep the mix interesting, a parade of twentyfourers (standard twelve wheel dumpers with tag-along twelve wheel long-nosed trailers).  All give me a full lane when no one’s coming up behind.
The day looks to be setting up for hot, hot, hot.  But by two, some thank-you-Lord clouds roll in, a pleasant nudge-me-along breeze comes by and the day turns perfect for the old Nomad to knock out some miles.
The Missouri is just east of me, a mile or two, or five, as it meanders its way back and forth across the floodplain.  Corn is king here, and it certainly rules -- as long as the bugs don’t get too hungry.  To make sure they don’t, farmers all about are running their pregnant-tanked spray machines up and down every row.  And what machines they are.  Tractors today aren’t anything like the little Farmalls and Fordsons from my days around the farms back home.  When these farm boys have to move one of their two-story-high air-conditioned giants from one field to the next, they take up the whole road -- and most of the shoulder.  I move waaaay over!
Many offers for rides, and the sweet lady from the little store in Ft. Calhoun stopped the other day, gave me ten bucks - “I want to buy you lunch,” she said.  Introduced me to her boys, then hurried on her way.
The captains, along about here, were set to frustrating with what appeared a desertion, fellow named Reed.  They’d sent another of the crew, La Liberty, out to find him; neither had returned.

a man who went back to camp for his knife [supposedly] has not joined us. [Clark]


Thursday--June 10, 2004
Trail Day--29
Trail Mile--19/648
Location--US75/77, Winnebago, Nebraska

The task today is to get through the tribal lands of the Omaha Nation, which stretches some twenty-two miles from just north of Decatur, to just north of Winnebago.  I strike camp and am on my way by six forty-five.  The day starts iffy, then turns to gentle rain.  Not a problem.  Sure beats the blazing sun, which there’ll be plenty of in the Dakotas and Montana.  I make very good time and am nearing Winnebago by two.
Just then, and to the shoulder before me pulls this SUV towing a camper.  Out pop the driver and passenger, arms a’waving.  Oh my, I can’t believe this.  They’ve succeeded in finding me again, just like during Odyssey 2002; it’s Honey and Bear, dear friends of mine from The Cabin in East Andover Maine.  They load me up and take me to lunch.  Then it’s off to the nicest campground, right on the Missouri River in South Sioux City.  The evening is spent talking about so many, many mutual friends.
Lewis and Clark spent their day near here talking to three of the principal Oto chiefs.  On August 18^th, 1804, the Corps camped near Winnebago.  Reed, the deserter, was brought in.

Cap L. Birth day  the evening was closed with an extra gill of whiskey and a Dance until 11 oClock. [Clark]


Friday--June 11, 2004
Trail Day--30
Trail Mile--17/665
Location--US75/77, South Sioux City, Nebraska

Boats on the river, the casino just across, lots of racket, no problem.  I slept just fine - until two.  That’s when the hailstorm roared through.  First came the low, rumbling roll of thunder.  That woke me to the lighting show, which came flashing, as if projected through a strobe.  I managed to pull my tent vestibule down just in time.  The frightful racket, resulting from the rain, thunder and hail, lasted the better part of half an hour.  Sleep came easy after.
Bear is up before six, coffee hot.  That gets me up and moving.  By eight, they’ve treated me to breakfast, and have me deposited back in Winnebago to continue my hike toward South Sioux City.  Before two, I’m in.  Honey and Bear are right there to fetch me once again.  Then it’s off to a great Mexican feast before returning to the campground.  Another grand day on the road, and another memorable one with two wonderful friends.
For the Corps, the next two days, August 19^th and 20^th, 1804, were agonizing.

 Sergt. Floyd was taken violently bad...and is dangerously ill we attempt in Vain to relieve him... [Clark]

Captain Clark stayed by his side most all that night.  Next morning they once again set out upriver, but at noon they decided to stop and

 …make a warm bath for Sergt. Floyd hopeing it would brace him a little... [Clark]

 As they administered to him, Floyd died

 …haveing Said to me...that he was going away. [Clark]

 It is generally agreed that Sgt. Floyd died of a ruptured appendix, which at that time was not understood. 

His grave is across the river here, just south of Sioux City Iowa, where

 …he was buried with the Honors of War much lamented... [Clark]


Saturday--June 12, 2004
Trail Day--31
Trail Mile--19/684
Location--SR12, Ponca, Nebraska

Practice does not always make perfect, especially when it comes to the unhappy task of saying good-bye.  That’s one thing I’ll never get good at, no matter.  And this morning, though I’ve had plenty of practice saying good-bye to these dear friends before, I muff it again.  Sorry, Honey.  Sorry, Bear -- I just can’t hide these feelings of the heart -- no matter how hard I try.  A hug from each, a wave as they pull away -- and they’re gone.  I dig holes in the tarmac, jamming my sticks in for the next two hours, but it does little to relieve the funk that’s descended over me.
The road is climbing steady now, the prairie more open and rolling.  Lots of tallgrass.
I’m in Ponca before two.  A few cold ones, then a grand feast, and I’m able to lay down my head.

By August 23, the expedition was almost at the ninety-eighth meridian, the generally agreed-upon eastern border of the Great Plains of North America.  The sense of being in a Garden of Eden was strong.  There were fat deer and elk and beaver and other species in numbers scarcely conceivable.  That afternoon, Lewis sent Private Joseph Field on a hunt.  A few hours later, Field came rushing down the bluff to the bank and hollered out to the boat to come ashore.  When it did, he breathlessly announced that he had killed a buffalo. [Ambrose]


Sunday--June 13, 2004
Trail Day--32
Trail Mile--29/713
Location--SR12/S14B, Wynot, Nebraska

The road undulates much today, the wide open country rolling to the horizon.  Distance is deceptive; trying to estimate it is folly.  Vehicles first appear as no more than slowly moving dots.  Where I first spot them, it’s a two-hour hike away.  When storms are about, it isn’t unusual to see two or three at the same time, their curving veils of rain brushing the prairie as they move across.  Late morning, one comes to visit, then swiftly passes.
It has been a long, hard nine hours on the road today.  As I approach Wynot, my destination, a pickup slows behind.  “You okay; you need a ride?” asks the fellow.  “Got a cold one for you here, too, if you want,” he says, holding the can out the window.  I decline the offer, thanking him kindly, then suggest we have a cold one together at the bar in Wynot.  “See you there,” he replies, as he hurries away.
Turning from the highway, the little village in sight now, comes another pickup.  Passing slowly, passenger window down, the driver gives me a nod and tells me to go to the second bar, the Wynot Bar and Grill.  “You go in there” he says, “They’ll take good care of you!”  Oh yes, into the Wynot Bar and Grill I go, there to be greeted by barmaid, Celine.  “Where you been?  We’ve been waiting for you.  Pete said to take care of you -- what’ll it be?” she exclaims with a beaming smile.  “Who’s Pete,” I ask.  “Pete, Pete Snyder,” she says, “The fellow who stopped to talk to you on the road.”
Well, folks, a row of cold ones down, in comes Pete and wife, Krif to buy me dinner.  I’ve also met Johnny and Marlyce Colgate and their five kids, Josh, Amanda, Katy, Angel, and Gunnar.  Come to find out, Johnny wants to hike the Appalachian Trail -- seems some of the kids do, too!
Katy’s been walking around all evening with my pack on, pecking away with my Leki sticks!
What a neat little town, kind, gentle folks here.  It’s late now, an impending storm on the horizon; and so, the Colgates insist on taking me into their home for the night.
On the 27^th of August, 1804, near present day Yankton South Dakota, where I’ll be tomorrow, the Corps entered Sioux county.  Here, they set the prairie on fire, the customary method at the time for calling council.  Came in three young braves, an Omaha and two Sioux.  On the 29^th, council was held with the Yankton Sioux.  That council went well compared to what was to come with the Teton Sioux.


Monday--June 14, 2004
Trail Day--33
Trail Mile--20/733
Location--US81, Yankton, South Dakota

What a grand time in Wynot yesterday afternoon and evening.  Thanks, Pete and Krif, Celine and Jeff (it was Jeff, Celine’s husband that directed me to Wynot Bar and Grill), and to the Colgate family for taking me into their home -- and making me feel truly part of their family.  Thanks, all for your kindness and generosity.
My route, from Wynot to the river at Yankton, is a zigzag one, over gravel backroads that follow above the river floodplain.  From here to Yankton, this section is considered the least changed during the past 200 years.  I get a few glimpses from the road.  Not much traffic, a blessing for a change, for sure.  But folks do stop to inquire as to my well-being and to offer assistance.  Steve offers me a ride, and when I decline, invites me to stop by his home for a bite to eat.  “By the time you get to my place, I can have a cheeseburger ready -- I make a really good cheeseburger,” he says.  I thank him again for his kind offer.  But before I’ve gone two miles, he comes by again, with his crewcab truck full of kids.  “Wanted them to meet you,” he said.  “Here, take this bag of fruit.  You can sure use that.”  So I talk to his children -- and take the bag, with an orange, banana, apple and strawberries.
By four, I’m crossing the double-decker bridge to Yankton.  Another state behind me, Nebraska.  Five down, six to go -- nearly half the states, but only a forth of the distance.
During the two and one-half years spent in the wilds, the Corps shot around 260 bison.  The first, just a few days back.  The tongue and hump were most preferred.  A special recipe prepared by Charbonneau, boudin blanc, was Lewis’ favorite.  According to Craig Oldsen, a Lewis and Clark historian:

 It consisted of about 6 feet of the lower bowel, which was stripped of its content, turned inside out and knotted at one end.  This receptacle was then stuffed with a mixture of finely minced tenderloin, kidney suit, a small quantity of flour, salt and pepper.  The open end was then tied off, rinsed off in the river, well boiled in a kettle of water, and fried until brown in bear’s oil.
I go for the chicken dinner, downtown Yankton; thank you very much!


Tuesday--June 15, 2004
Trail Day--34
Trail Mile--28/761
Location--SR50, West of Tyndall, South Dakota

At Yankton, the Missouri is flowing ever down from an elevation of 1168 feet.  I’m going upriver for sure now.  From here to where the Missouri collides with (and takes over) the Mississippi, it drops over 700 feet.  Before I get out of the Dakotas, the Missouri will be rolling down from above 1800 feet.
A thunderstorm is brewing a little west of me as I hike northwest this morning.  Although it is slowly moving northeast, the tail end of it whips around and dumps on me for half an hour before moving on.  However, the day clears nicely with a gentle breeze moving in behind me.
In awhile I hear the whirring sound of bicycle spokes.  Looking across, who comes up but none other than Jim Fogle.  Jim is a friend of Jim Damico.  Both are from Kansas City.  I met Jim Fogle on my second day out, in Wood River at the Lewis and Clark Memorial.  We’re all doing the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, and we’re all bound for trail’s end at the Pacific in Oregon and Washington.  Jim’s the one that told me about Neil the kayaker and how he was treated his first day at Wood River.  Jim had taken a week off recently, so I’d gotten ahead of him -- again.  But it didn’t take him long to catch me -- again.  What incredible luck that our paths cross once more; for as Jim walks his bike along and we get caught up on how our separate adventures are going, we arrive in moments at where he turns.  He’s heading up the trail through Springfield. The route I’ve chosen takes me through Tyndall.  Have a safe and fun-filled trip, Jim.  So long, my friend; hope our paths cross again.
I find it most interesting how different little towns take on different personalities.  Who one meets, how they greet and treat you forms immediate impressions, and those impressions stick and make all the difference.  The city streets can be neat, the homes well-kept.  Or the whole place may have seen its better days.  None of this really matters or seems to make much difference one way or the other.  It’s the people one meets; it’s how they greet and treat you.  All the catchy, colorful, fancy-painted welcome signs at the city limits can’t make up for one or two grouches, especially if the grouches are the very folks one meets.  Now I’m not looking for any favors from anyone, any special treatment.  I’d just like to be treated as one person to another, with civility, with a degree of kindness and respect.
Okay, here’s where I’m going with this.  Remember the other day, how I was greeted and treated in the little, not-so-fine-n’-fancy village of Wynot!  Amazing, the kind and gentle folks there, amazing.  In contrast, take the neat and clean little town of Tyndall, my destination for today.  The business district is a half-mile off the highway -- neat, well-kept homes, lawns groomed all along.  I’m headed for the local bar and grill.  I’ve done nearly a thirty today; I’m hot, tired an thirsty.  Downtown now, I find a bright, clean and neat establishment, the local bar and grill.  As I enter, removing my hat and sunglasses, the barmaid interrupts her conversation with a customer at the bar to glance my way, then quickly turns back to her conversation.  That was my greeting.  I pick a table right next, unload my pack and have a seat.  The conversation the two are having has to do with an album the barmaid’s just put together, how special and beautiful her kids are -- you know the album, we’ve all got one.  She pays me no heed, continuing the conversation.  Waiting, I reluctantly open my water bottle and down the last swig of hot water I’d saved.  Man am I thirsty.  The lady finally picks up a menu, along with her order pad and pencil, then comes around to my table.  Dropping the menu in front of me, she stands, blank stare, pencil and pad at the ready.  I greet her, no response, then tell her I’m not really interested in anything to eat right now.  Well friends, what happens next is amazing.  Before I can say another word, she sweeps up the menu, makes a perfect, military about face, and she’s immediately back to her beautiful kids-album conversation with the other lady at the bar.  Talk about getting the bum’s rush.  I’ve endured it in many different forms, but this one -- this gal’s strictly pro!
Well, I hit the toilet, fill my water bottles, shoulder my pack, and leave. The barmaid turns her back to me as I bid her good-bye.  There’s a return on the door, so I can’t slam it.
The thing to do now is get this neat-n-clean little town with all its welcome signs behind me.  Heading west, I find an old abandoned house.  Bad storm coming.
Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery were treated most kindly by the Indians hereabouts.

 We then brought out the presents and gave all Some small articles & 8 Carrots of Tobacco,  we gave one small Meadel to one of the Chiefs and a Sertificate to the others of their good intentions. [Clark]


Wednesday--June 16, 2004
Trail Day --35
Trail Mile--27/788
Location--SR50, Wagner, South Dakota

Folks had been telling me yesterday that a storm was coming.  More of the stuff, I guess, that hit Sioux Falls with six inches of rain, causing flooding.  I wasn’t hanging around Tyndall after the reception I received there, so I hiked on west another four miles.  Along the way, I was looking for a place to get in, assuming the pending storm would bring hail, not a good thing to deal with in a silicone nylon tent.  As luck would have it, on my right came up an old abandoned farmhouse.  No posted/keep out signs, so over I went.  The door was hanging on one hinge; no problem getting in.  The accommodations weren’t five star, but the floor upstairs was level, and when the storm started pounding and the hail came, the roof didn’t leak.  Is the old Nomad charmed, or what!
I take my sweet time getting up and moving this morning, as it’s turned cold, the rain is still coming in sheets, and the wind is gusting to at least 35.  By nine, the storm seems to be passing.  I’m getting restless to go, so out into it I head.  Wrong decision.  I no more get cranking than the wind starts howling again, driving bitter-cold rain laced with shotgun shell pellet-sized hail.  My fingers turn numb, so I cuff my trekking poles, letting them drag and bump along while I stuff my hands in my pockets.  Am I ever happy to reach Avon and the cafe/bar there.  By the time I’ve had lunch, got warmed up and dried out, the storm has passed through bringing a fine day.
Mid afternoon, I decide to get off busy SR50, so I hit the gravel into the little village of Dante.  Neat old town.  Neat old Mike’s Bar.  Leona tends.  We have a good chat.  She and Mike moved here in the 70s, the youngest couple at the time.  Now she’s close to being the town matriarch.  Five kids.  All have stayed nearby, except the youngest.  He’s in Iraq.
By six I’ve got the 27 knocked out and I’m in Wagner.
The Corps of Discovery were discovering many new-to-science plants and animals as they continued their journey upriver.

 Lewis was fully aware of the magnitude of the discoveries and greatly excited by the opportunity to be the one to note and describe plants and animals new to science.  He spent hours examining and describing his finds...As the men laboriously moved the keelboat upriver, Lewis, in the cabin, weighed and measured and examined and recorded...He took his responsibility seriously, but he had a lot of fun doing it, and he had a never-flagging sense of wonder and delight at seeing something new. [Ambrose]


Thursday--June 17, 2004
Trail Day--36
Trail Mile--30/818
Location--SR50/1804, Geddes, South Dakota

My chosen route takes me back toward the river today.  Climbing the ridge above Lake Andes provides a spectacular 360 for miles.  In one direction, power line towers marching in rank to the horizon, over rolling fields of grain.  And in the other, the hill country/river canyon.  I can see the water tower in Geddes, my destination this evening -- yet a four hour hike away.
Off busy SR50 and on a parallel gravel road again (this whole country is blocked off in EW/NS mile squares, gravel roads all sides each) I’m closing in on Geddes.  It’s due north of me.
The lady at the convenience store in Lake Andes told me about the bar in Geddes, complete with rooms for rent upstairs.  Yes-siree, that’s where I’m headed.  I pass the beautifully manicured wrought-iron-fenced cemetery.  Appears there’s more people here than in town, still a half-mile ahead.  At the bar, Dan’s Place, I meet Dan.  He’s got a room for me.  Doo Dah!
Dan is dearly trying, along with others, to keep the little village of Geddes alive.  That’s a hard task now-a-days, this being a time-passed 19^th and 20^th century farm-to-market town.  I mentioned to Dan about passing two or three abandoned farmsteads, in just the last six miles, on my way in.  His reply: “Yeah, and you didn’t see the ones they’ve already dozed down.”
Eighty, perhaps 120 acres was all a farmer could tend to fifty to a hundred years ago.  Now, a single farm can take in thousands of acres.  With the speed and efficiency of modern machinery, one farmer can do the work previously done by ten.  Back in the Ozark Highlands of Missouri where I’m from, the soils support only mixed farming, a blessing perhaps.  So the farms have remained small.  Consequently, many of the old homesteads still exist, occupied by the sons and daughters of pioneers past -- and jobs are to be had nearby in Jeff City, Missouri’s capital, to supplement the meager farm income.  Up here in the wide open rolling breadbasket of America, seven to ten-thousand acres are not all that big a place -- and it’s a long, long way to “town.”  Good luck, Dan, and all dear folks working diligently to keep your school and the little village.

In late August, 1804, describing the plains of present day South Dakota, Clark wrote:

 The surrounding Plains is open Void of Timber and leavel a great extent, hence the wind from whatever quarter it may blow drives with unusual force over the naked Plains and against the hill...

 Near here (today’s Yankton Sioux Reservation) on September 8, 1804:

At 9 I went out with one of our men, who had killed a buffaloe and left his hat to keep off the vermin and beasts of prey; but when we came to the place, we found the wolves had devoured the carcase and carried off the hat. [Sgt. Gass]


Friday--June 18, 2004
Trail Day--37
Trail Mile--26/844
Location--Junction SR50/1804 and SR44

Recent rains have really been a blessing to South Dakota farmers.  Winter wheat is tall and lush, same for oats.  Corn and soybean crops are coming up nicely, too.  And the mowers, rakes and balers are running full tilt in the alfalfa fields.  Yes, it is a blessing.
Walking through a winter wheat field the other day, I kicked up the first coyote I’ve seen in quite awhile.  He jumped straight up, then went bounding away.  In only seconds, his ears and tail were all I could see.  On August 12^th, 1804, near here, what Clark called a “Prarie Wolf” was spotted.  The Corps were the first Americans to see a coyote.
Hiking the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, I’m able to see and experience many things much as did the men of the Corps -- like seeing the coyote, and like living the daily demands, the constant, exhausting toil.  One can read about the physical struggle each member endured.  However, riding along in air-conditioned comfort, one cannot experience what their quest was truly about.
The disadvantage, of course, is the limitations due to walking.  I simply cannot see all the historic places along the river, like the Floyd monument, Spirit Mound, Blackbird’s grave, and the “Volcano.”  But you can read about them elsewhere, if you wish.
On September 7^th, 1804, the Corps saw their first prairie dog, called “barking squirrels” in their journals.  As to other wild game, here’s a quote by Bernard DeVoto from his book, The Journals of Lewis and Clark:

 Wild game, which had been plentiful from the beginning, had now become remarkably abundant.  They had seen their first antelope, which they usually called goats. Clark wrote: Great numbers of Buffalow & Elk on the hill...I saw Several foxes & Killed a Elk & 2 Deer & a Pelican...a great number of Grous & 3 Foxes...vast herds of buffaloe deer Elk and Antilopes were seen feeding in every direction as far as the eye of the observer could reach...8 fallow deer 5 Common & 3 Buffalow killed to day...Muskeetors verry troublesom.


Saturday--June 19, 2004
Trail Day--38
Trail Mile--30/874
Location--Junction 344 Ave. and 258 St. south of Chamberlain, South Dakota

The Missouri flows a much narrower, but still serpentine course now, with canyon walls looming along the south face.  When the road I’m hiking rises the least bit or nears the river, I’m offered breathtaking views.
Folks stopping to check on me today all ask if I’m lost.  In the little village of Academy, I get some much-needed water, and again at Platt Colony.
Platt Colony is an interesting place.  It is, indeed, a colony - descendants of German immigrants, living in barrack-like dwellings.  They dress like the Amish do, but differ from those folks in that they use modern machinery, practice state-of-the-art agricultural methods.  A sign pointing to their colony says, “World Leader In Sustainable Agriculture.”  They have no television sets or radios.  Not a bad idea, considering the pure garbage we’re fed by the major networks these days.
North of Bijou Hills, and along a little-used dirt road, another fellow stops to ask if I’m lost.  A few cordialities and the usual questions answered, the old codger shows much interest in my story.  So I drop my pack and we chat.  And so, here, today, I meet Albert Delany, beekeeper, farmer, rancher, auto dealer, avid conservationist.  When I mention the beauty of the area, Albert asks if I’d like to see “a really pretty place.”  After he promises to bring me back here, I hop in and we’re off.  Up, and up some more we go, toward a place on the river called Twin Buttes.  We bump along seldom-used dirt tracks, pass through fields, then a grassy =ath.  In a short while we reach the top -- of a rim overlooking an enormous canyon, formed and flanked by the two (twin) buttes.  The canyon wall drops off precipitously to depths exceeding 700 feet.  The rim around, a distance every bit of three miles.  And below, and to the river, which forms the canyon door, the most beautiful tree-dotted meadow, perhaps 2000 acres in all.  I stand in total and bewildered awe.  “This is exactly the way I got it, and this is the way it’ll be passed on.  Lewis and Clark both climbed that butte over there.  I think it’s a pretty place,” says Albert.  “This is yours,” I ask.  “It’s mine for now, to care for for awhile.  Been offered double-digit millions, but I’ll not sell it.” he says.
Albert takes one DAV in, a different one every year, to hunt deer.  “The Vets deserve it.  One fellow brought out a buck the other year with a rack that missed Boone and Crocket by only two points.” he remarks, proud smile.  “Don’t you have a problem with poachers coming in from the river?” I ask.  “They know better’n to come on my land,” says Albert.  I didn’t ask why, but I think I know.
Back where he picked me up, I linger with the kind, old gent awhile longer.  “If you’re ever back this way, I’ll show you the Indian stash I found in there, two five-gallon buckets of arrow points, knives and spear tips.  And there’s a cave up there, too -- outlaw hideout.  We’ll go in, spend the day.”  Another big smile.  This is tough, but -- “So long for now, Albert Delany.  Dang betcha I’ll be back.  We’ll spend that day, for sure!”
The rain has held off all day, but it’s trying again --and it’s turned quite cold.  I find a cedar thicket to pitch for the night.  Two cackling, fluttering pheasants keep me company.


Sunday--June 20, 2004
Trail Day--39
Trail Mile--13/887
Location--Business I-90, Chamberlain, South Dakota

The coldest night yet.   Hard to believe that the end of June it could get down in the 40s.  Sure glad I’ve got my Feathered Friends Rock Wren sleeping bag along.  It’s a three-season sleeper, yet so lightweight, I carry it even in summer -- good thing!
It’s a straight shot to town today, past fields of grain and cattle feedlots, up paved 344 Avenue.  One feedlot sign boasts “custom feeding.”  I don’t know what that might mean.  Guess it’s what they put in the cows.  I can sure tell you this, though: what comes out isn’t custom, it’s standard.  P-uuUU!
I can see the Chamberlain municipal water tower three hours before I get to it.  Plod, plod, plod -- isn’t patience such a wonderful virtue!
A Brule Deputy Sheriff stops to chat a few minutes.  “Where you going, anyway?” he asks.  Said he got a phone call yesterday from someone concerned about me tripping along out there so far from any main road.  I show him my maps, then we have a little geography and history lesson, about Cape Disappointment and the year 1804.
On September 14^th, 1804, Clark commented on seeing the first pronghorn and the first jackrabbit.  Of the pronghorn: they are all Keenly made, and is butifull.  And of the jackrabbit: I measured the leaps of one...and found them 21 feet.
On September 15^th, 1804, just south of present day Chamberlain, South Dakota, the Corps reached the mouth of the White River

 ...and so passed the long escarpment called Pine Ridge and entered a new geographical province, the Missouri Plateau.  Geographically, this is the beginning of the Upper Missouri. [DeVoto]


Monday--June 21, 2004
Trail day--40
Trail Mile--29/916
Location--SR1806, south of Lower Brule, South Dakota

Chamberlain is a fine trail town.  Four motels right in and it’s only a few blocks to the post office.  Same for a number of eating joints, including fast-food.
On my way out this morning, two blocks and I’m on the Missouri River bridge.  The river here bears no resemblance to the Missouri of 1804.  Fort Randall Dam took care of that.  On September 17, 1804, the Corps camped on the west bank here, below American Island, Passed an island about the middle of the river 1 mile   this island is about a mile long and has a perpotion of Red cedar on it. [Clark].  Clark was speaking about American Island, a stopping place for explorers, trappers, traders and steamboat men for over a century and a half.  All of this is, indeed, history now, as the island is submerged, thirty feet under Lake Francis Case.
I’ve decided to hike the west side of the river from here up to Pierre.  In a mile or so, I jump the fence to head cross-country over to Lower Brule cutoff road.  My map shows I’ve got a short hike up to the ridge, then a twotrack from there to the cutoff.  Well, the short hike to the ridge ends up being a mile, and the twotrack is little more than a cow path through a farmer’s pasture.  That runs for over four miles, passing some out buildings before ending at a gate right behind the farmer’s house.  Oh boy, now what?  The lady of the house is probably home alone, and when her dog sniffs me out (all farmers have at least one dog), she’ll come to check the commotion.  When she sees this old hiker bum coming through her back gate, she’ll certainly head for the phone -- to call the sheriff.
Okay smart guy, now what?  Well, the decision, to avoid meeting the sheriff today, the decision is to cut a forty-five across the field behind the house, from the farmroad over to Lower Brule cutoff, which is right there.  This plan works fine until I get about a quarter-mile into it.  That’s when two fellows on quad-tracks come riding up.  Looks like I’ve had it now -- caught trespassing.  Perhaps this day, maybe even this hike, is done.  I’m relieved to see broad smiles on the faces of both young lads.  The front rider is Zane Reese.  The other chap smiles and nods but I don’t get to meet him.  They’re out spraying thistle, big tanks strapped to the backs of their machines.  They’re not out here to track me down as I had feared.  It’s only coincidence we meet.  Both are intrigued by my story.  Both wish me well.  They continue spraying, and I continue hiking - fast, on over to Lower Brule cutoff road.  Whew, doesn’t it seem, from time-to-time, that the old Nomad can get into some really natty (as a thistle) situations!
The hike through the upper pasture, then later today, along another grassy easement, provide grand, panoramic vistas.  The skies appear so deceptively low here, no doubt because the lands all about are so incredibly expansive and wide.  Many stop to inquire of my well-being today.  One, John Blum, who lives next the Reeses, tells me about his bad hips and knees.  “What a distance you’re walking,” he says.  “I couldn’t make it from here to my road, right up there.”  He’s 66, same age I’ll be this year.  What a blessing -- my good health and stamina.
The wind must be biting and severe here in winter, bringing below zero double-digit wind chill.  To protect their livestock from the frigid blast, farmers have erected high wind barricades in their fields.  I see the first today on John Blum’s ranch.
Lots of game and wildlife today.  A skinny little yearling buck in velvet prances across the knee-high cornfield, paying me little heed.  He won’t have to worry about getting behind the woods barricade this winter if he doesn’t change his habits real soon.  Mallards are along the ditches and I flush numerous pair as I proceed along.  Lots of larks, swallows and other birds in the fields. Also, prairie dogs, hundreds and hundreds, and their boroughs.
On that same day, September 17^th, 1804, one of the men killed a magpie, until then, unknown outside of Europe.  That same day, near present day Chamberlain, Lewis wrote:

 Having for many days confined myself to the boat, I determined to devote this day to amuse myself on shore with my gun and view the interior of the country...One quarter of a mile in rear of our camp...passed a grove of plumb trees loaded with fruit and now ripe,   observed but little difference betwen this fruit and that of a similar kind common to the Atlantic States...this plane extends with the same bredth from the creek below to the distance of near three miles above parrallel with the river, and it is entirely occupyed by the burrows of the barking squiril [pririe dog] heretofore described; this animal appears here in infinite numbers...a great number of wolves of the small kind, halks and some pole-cats...this senery already rich pleasing and beatiful was still farther hightened by immence herds of  Buffaloe, deer Elk and Anelopes which we saw in every direction feeding on the hills and plains.  I do not think I exagerate when I estimate the number of Buffaloe which could be compre[hend]ed at one view to amount to 3000...


Tuesday--June 22, 2004
Trail Day--41
Trail Mile--29/945
Location--SR1806, Cedar Creek Recreation Area, near Ft. George Butte, South Dakota

My camp, last, on the cedar-crowned hill overlooking the Missouri, from there and across the lake, such a remarkable sunset.  A peaceful, quiet place.  I could visualize the keelboat and the two pirogues moored for the night, just below.
It’s a short hike into Lower Brule here on the Sioux Reservation.  First stop, the casino (and restaurant).  I head right in for biscuits and gravy.  At Sioux Boy’s convenience, I load two day’s supplies (hot dogs and buns complete with a Ziploc of mustard), and I head on upriver on a cool, clear, but blustery day.
Next stop is the tribal council hall.  All whiz-bang new.  I’m permitted to take pictures in the beautiful council chamber.  Many colorfully painted buffalo skulls grace the hall.  A huge buffalo hide adorns the chamber wall behind the council table.  The Bruel Sioux are the Lakota (peaceful people of the Great Plains), but they are the buffalo people, first, last, and always.  Buffalo roam the prairie all around the council hall.  It is, indeed, a magnificent sight.  Ahh, but the Lakota are Americans, too!  Both flags, that of our American Nation, that of the Sioux Nation, both fly at half-staff before the hall, honoring the week of tribute to President Reagan.
Today, I meet Percy, Leonard, Larry and Pat of the Sioux Nation.  The Lakota Sioux are a quiet, dignified and peaceful people.  We talk much of times past, and days present.
Certainly, we do not condone vandalism, in any form.  But I must tell you this amazing thing I see today: The letter “O” in the word “No,” (maybe 3”x 4” in size), of a “No Passing Zone” sign, the center nearly shot out by a clustered bullet group, perhaps eight or ten rounds, all within the yellow of the “O.”  Drouillard, spelled and pronounced “Drewyer” by both Lewis and Clark, was a half-breed, (half Indian, half French).  He was by far the best marksman and hunter of all the Corps.  This fellow who shot out the “O” in the “No Passing Zone” sign was an obvious marksman, but probably no match for Drewyer with his 1795 smoothbore flintlock musket.  To qualify with the Corps, each man had to be able to fire fifteen rounds in 3¾ minutes.
I pass the “Big Bend” in the river today.

we proceed on to the Gorge of the bend...the Distance of this bend around is 30 miles, and 1¼ miles thro. [Clark]


Wednesday--June 23, 2004
Trail Day--42
Trail Mile--34/979
Location--SR1806/US83, Fort Pierre, South Dakota

Pitched by Cedar Creek, last.  Was able to get water from one of the small streams feeding the creek.  A pair of pheasants (they are literally everywhere out here) kept me company again in the evening.
More Lakota Sioux stop to talk with me today.  First, Johnny, from Fort Yeates, a ways to the north, who’d come to see his father, Doug, a teacher at the Lower Bruel school.  Then later in the day, I have the honor of speaking with another passer-by, Michael Jandreau, Lakota Chief, Lower Bruel Tribal Chairman.  This chance meeting, with such a kind gentleman, caught me completely off guard.  Lewis and Clark were ready for such -- they had beautifully struck medals from President Jefferson to present to the tribal chiefs all along their journey.  I have nothing to present this tribal chief.  Forgive me, Michael.  Toward evening, totally out of water, I stop at a small arena/stables right next the road.  Chris comes from the corral to greet me and to offer me water.
Ahh, folks, the joy, the continual, unexpected rewards of walking.  Does all this not amaze you!
Here at Fort Pierre, where the Teton (Bad) River meets the Missouri, the journey of the Corps of Discovery could easily have ended, changing history forever.  For here, finally, the Corps met the Teton Sioux.  And what a near-ill-fated meeting it was.  But for the steady control of fingers to trigger and to bowstring -- but for a split second on at least two occasions, had a shot been fired or an arrow launched, all would certainly have ended.

Throughout...four days the tension was so great that Clark did not sleep.  It rose to extremity twice.  On September 25, in the first moment of pressure, the young men, always the most belligerent and foolhardy, strung their bows, equivalent to loading and cocking a rifle.  The white man’s nerve was intended to fail right there.  It did not...With rifles trained on them from the keelboat, the Sioux did not notch their arrows.  Again on the 28^th when an attempt was made to prevent the final departure, the furious Clark, barely controlling himself, seized ‘the port fire,’ prepared to discharge the swivel...Indian bluster immediately collapsed...the career of the Sioux as river pirates ended here. [DeVoto]
.....justures were of Such a personal nature I felt My self Compeled to Draw my Sword...Most of the Warriers appeared to have their Bows strung and took out their arrows from the quiver. [Lewis]


Thursday--June 24, 2004
Trail Day--43
Trail Mile--18/997
Location--SR1804, near Okobojo Creek, South Dakota

Great time in Ft. Pierre -- Wagonwheel Steakhouse and Bar.  Met Chris, the local piano tuner.  He told me about the epic film, “Dances with Wolves,” starring Kevin Kostner, which was filmed nearby.  Chris works some for Kevin’s brother, who liked the area so much he moved here and bought a marina.
I’ve decided not to go into Pierre, but to stay this side of the river and cross at Oahe Dam, a pile of dirt and rock.  I don’t get across until nearly five, but it’s okay, because today I’ve had the opportunity to meet and talk with two very interesting people.  First, Caleb Gilkerson, who owns and operates Dakota Adventures, a guide service for canoeing, kayaking and backpacking, out of Pierre.  He stops, gets out of his car, then crosses the road to greet me.  Caleb shows great interest in my journey, and I gain much information about his services.  Second, I stopped at the Choteau Trading Post, owned and operated by Scott Matteson.  His card reads “Collectibles Old and New -- Rocks, Antiques and Good Stuff.”  Well, the card’s an understatement.  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen so much “Good Stuff!” -- like Indian artifacts -- projectile points, fulcrums, drills, knives, scrapers, awls, pottery shards, pipes, beads.  His personal collection is most astounding.  Some of the pieces are over 15,000 years old.  Steve showed me a point he believes predates the Clovis period.  If this is true, it will prove problematic for some experts and their theories.  Ahh yes, time well spent!
On September 26, 1804, speaking about finally departing the Bad (Teton) River, Sgt. Gass wrote:

 We set out early, and proceeded on four miles.  The bank of the river on the south side was covered all the way with Indians.


Friday--June 25, 2004
Trail Day--44
Trail Mile--36/1033
Location--Junction, SR1804 and US212, South Dakota

Today I’m following SR1804 as it notches a ninety north, then a ninety east, then back north and east some more.  The northerly excursions aren’t so bad, but I’m looking to get to the Pacific Ocean, and going east won’t get me there.  The Corps must have had the same feelings of frustration, probably more so, because the river channel touches all points of the compass with predictable regularity.  But I am following the river, and to follow the river, I must go east for awhile.
The river here -- and the historic places along, such as the Corps campsites, Indian lodge sites, and later, trading post sites and settlements, all are now buried beneath Lake Oahe -- in 150 feet of water.
Late evening now, a vehicle pulls to the shoulder.  Out jump two young men.  Here I meet Joe and Chad, Marines just back from Afghanistan.  They open the rear hatch, invite me to have a cold one -- to sit and talk.  They can’t get over what I’m about, this odyssey.  They try relating my hiking with their combat training marches -- with sixty pounds of gear -- in combat boots.  They can’t believe my ten pound pack and lightweight shoes.  What a joy talking with these two young men.  Thanks fellows, for your dedication to freedom and democracy, for sacrificing your time to defend us.  Young Americans, these.  The kind of great young folks that will carry on the noble traditions of our great nation.  They give me money for my dinner at Bob’s, and pay for my stay at the campground there.  Thanks fellows, thanks for stopping.  Dang, if you guys aren’t the kind of young people this country needs more of -- thanks, especially, for that!
On October 1^st, 1804, the Corps reached the mouth of the Cheyenne River, opposite a trading post operated by Jean Valle.  Much was learned from him about the people of the Cheyenne, their land, game -- and the Black Hills.  On the 2^nd

 a frenchman came over to us this morning, we found him to be Mr. Valley, the Trador among the Sioux nation he could talk English. [Ordway]
The Cheyenne Nation has about 300 Lodges hunt the Buffalo, Steel horses from the Spanish Settlements... [Clark]


Saturday--June 26, 2004
Trail Day--45
Trail Mile--35/1068
Location--SR144, Akaska, South Dakota

The only objects out here to break the wind are the power poles, and their absence is becoming common.  Trees are fewer and fewer now and more of the fields about are equipped with roundy-roundy irrigation systems.  I am reaching the northwest extent of the Tallgrass Prairie.
When the wind comes from the north, northwest, it’s usually fair weather, at least that’s been my observation.  It’s hard to push against 25-35 mph wind all day, and those are the conditions I’ve had to deal with the past number of days.  Today, however, the wind is calm - a blessing for sure.
I can see Lake Oahe from the higher vantages as the prairie rolls along, and as I zig a ninety, then zag a ninety -- still north and east.  I’m on rural (very rural) roads all day.  Few houses out here, few anything out here, save game.  I see more deer and pheasant than autos.  I quit counting pheasant at fifty.

we proceeded under a verry Stiff Breeze from the S. E. [Clark]


Sunday--June 27, 2004
Trail Day--46
Trail Mile--29/1097
Location--SR1804/US12, Mobridge, South Dakota

The little village of Akaska -- another neat trail town.  Linda’s Supper Club.  Last night was Karaoke.  Many happy people singing and dancing.
Fishing and hunting, sportsmen coming in from every direction, provide a much needed boost to the economy here.  Fishing’s the sport right now, and walleye’s the fish to catch in Lake Oahe.  A gentleman from Minnesota, here fishing for walleye, bought my dinner.  I met Jim at the campground, where I showered.  Then I was permitted to stay in the city park for the night.  Thanks, Linda, Cindy and Wilma at Linda’s Supper Club -- for your caring kindness.
More rural countryside today.  Villages are becoming fewer and farther between.  More pheasant, their explosive rising jangling my nerves as I flush them all along.  I hustle the 29 miles on into Mobridge, at the mouth of the Grand River.

As autumn 1804 came on, the Corps of Discovery moved rapidly upriver and into today’s North Dakota.  Days grew shorter and nights colder, but the men ate well because game was plentiful and fat for winter...On October 8, at the mouth of the Grand River, the Corps came to three villages of the Arikara, farmers who traded produce such as corn, beans, squash and tobacco to the Sioux...Clark wrote that this visit was “all Tranquillity.” [Along the Trail with Lewis and Clark: Travel Planner and Guide (2002-2003) Barbara Fifer]


Monday--June 29, 2004
Trail Day--47
Trail Mile--26/1123
Location--SR1806, Kenel, South Dakota

Fine stay at Eastside Motel last.  Stoked up this morning at High Plains Restaurant before tackling the narrow bridge across the Missouri.  And it is narrow, indeed, less than standard width lanes with less than two feet each side between the white line and the rails.  Not so much traffic, which is moving slow.  Everybody waves; I get across fine.
In just awhile there’s another mile-long bridge across the Grand River, and I’m soon back in the hills again -- hiking not so much east today, but still mostly north; I’m happy.
There’s been little rain north and west of here, runoff that normally keeps Lake Oahe Reservoir up to level.  So the lake is very low, so low in fact, all the public boat ramps are closed, there being a quarter-mile of downslope mud and silt between the ends of the ramps and the water.  Not good for tourism; not good for the local economy.
Once across the Missouri, I’m in the Standing Rock Indian Reservation.  It’s a vast place.  I’ll be in here the better part of four days.
Many Indians stop to make sure I’m okay, to offer rides.  A young lad, Tony, is insistent.  “Okay, so you’re walking the Lewis and Clark Trail -- but couldn’t you ride just a little of it?  Let me take you up to Fort Yeates.” he says.  When I decline his kind offer again, he warns ,“just look out for the rattlesnakes; they’re moving right now.”
Two hours and a little over seven miles into my hike today I have a blowout.  First foot problem in a long time.  The tarmac is really starting to get hot.  I pull off under a cottonwood and make repairs, a little taping, more powder, and I’m back out again.  Oh, that feels much better!
Late evening I’ve made it to Kenel.  Bad news, the little store here closed less than an hour ago.  No water.  I was counting on the store for water.  To my good fortune, however, up drives Brian and Delina Marshall.  Delina has a big container of tea and offers it to me.  I think they’re both surprised to see the amount I chug down.  “Did you go out to Fort Manuel Lisa,” asks Brian.  When I tell him, “no,” he expresses disappointment.  “Come on, get in,” he says, “You gotta see the fort.”  So I load, and we go.
Hey, this is quite an impressive place.  Brian jumps out, pointing to the stockade.  “I built that; I put all those posts up myself!” he exclaims, beaming with pride.
One of the significant historical aspects of the original Fort Manuel, which was built nearby in 1811, and that has to do with the Corps, is it is believed Sacagawea, the Shoshone guide for Lewis and Clark, died at Fort Manuel in 1812.  Her nearby grave is now protected and guarded by the Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux.
Brian and Delina invite me to spend the night with them.  I set up camp in their yard.  She fixes me supper.  In the evening, Chief Charles Holy Bear pays a visit.  I learn much about the history of the Lakota Sioux and of their leaders of long ago.  Two who had great influence within the Sioux Nation -- and on that of the white man too, were Sitting Bull and Rain in the Face.  Brian, a full-blooded Sioux, is a direct descendent of Sitting Bull.  Charles, a full-blooded Sioux is a direct descendent of Rain in the Face.  What an honor and privilege to meet these men, to become their friend.

Sorry [several] Canoos of Skins passed down from the 2 Villages a Short distance above, and many Came to view us today,  much astonished at my black Servent, who did not lose the opportunity of [displaying] his powers Strength...this nation never Saw a black man before. [Clark, October 9, 1804]


Tuesday--June 29, 2004
Trail Day--48
Trail Mile--31/1154
Location--SR1806, north of Ft. Yeates, North Dakota

A memorable time in Kenel.  Thanks, Brian and Delina, for your kindness and generosity.
A brief stop at the little Kenel Store and I’m out to a perfect day.  Soon, many riders come up behind me, fifteen in all, a group of bicyclists touring the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail under the guidance and support of Timberline Tours.  I meet Irwin, Tom, Dick and others.  Most whiz by.  Their journey will last fifty days, cover a little over 3,200 miles.
Holy Bear stops for a moment on his way back from Ft. Yeates and wishes me well.  A while later comes his son, Charles, Jr., who gives me a bundle of sage, a symbol of friendship.  When set afire, the smoke from the sage is used by the Sioux for spiritual cleansing.
I am offered many rides again today.  Dorla, from Cannonball, gives me two bottles of Gatorade, and of course, offers me a ride.
At two I enter North Dakota.  A foot-square stone post in the ditch the only marker.  Six states behind me, five yet to go.

A fine day.  Above the mouth of the river, great numbers of stone, perfectly round, with fine grit, are in the bluff and on the shore.  The river takes its name from those stones, which resemble cannon balls. [Clark, October 18, 1804]


Wednesday--June 30, 2004
Trail Day--49
Trail Mile--33/1187
Location--SR1806, Huff, North Dakota

Most every reservation has its casino.  The Standing Rock Tribe has theirs.  It’s on a high place overlooking the Great Plains of the Upper Missouri.  Prairie Knights Casino and Resort by name.  A lavish, most impressive place.  I stop in for the breakfast bar.
We find there’s mostly good in every nation; it is true.  As in ours, so too, the Sioux Nation.  But there’s also that other element among us no one understands - that somehow can’t be fixed no matter.  Brian and Delina told me about theirs.  While we were riding last evening, Brian’s truck quit.  It would start, run awhile, then quit again.  Looked like we weren’t going to make it.  We were out in the country, but not so far out that we couldn’t get a ride, or walk back if it came to that.  Brian, however, became quite upset and apprehensive. “Easy, Brian,” I said with reassurance, “We can walk back; we’re in no hurry.”  “No, no, you don’t understand,” he replied with urgency.  “I can’t leave my truck out here; they’ll burn it.”
Oh my goodness, now I understand.  Yesterday I passed a burned-out hulk, rims resting on the pavement shoulder.  Now I understand what happened.  I also now know what all the charred spots along the road came from.
Well, of that ilk, I meet up with those of the Lakota today.  A car-full; they scare the Holy-beJesus out of me.  Coming at full tilt, and just before reaching me, the driver veers to the shoulder, straight at me.  Where a split second earlier there’d been asphalt, comes now only bumper, headlights and hood.  Just as quickly, and before my flight reflexes kick in, they swerve back -- then pass in a flash.  As they do, I hear loud jeers and laughter.  I jab my sticks down, then lean on them for support -- till my legs quit wobbling.  Thank you -- Lord!
As I pass through this place, homeland of the Lakota, there rises within me a hollow, melancholy feeling of sadness.  We all know the Sioux weren’t farmers; they were hunters, true nomads.  Where the buffalo went, they went.  They roamed the vast plains.  Game was plentiful.  Oh, but do not the lands of