Medora Bison

Even though she stood alone, the rest of the herd would be near and I approached her slowly, relatively quietly. She grazed by the roadside and when she heard the motorcycle, the music I had forgotten to turn down, she merely looked up from the ground, non-threatening, just curious. Obviously, she had become accustomed to cars, motorcycles, people, just another day. I kept the motorcycle in gear, ready to leap away, if she made any move towards me. Being a fully grown cow, she tipped the scales at 1,100 lbs., could hit nearly 40 MPH at a full charge. An even-toed ungulate, she could hit full charge faster than I could speed away, having the torque advantage from the start.

But she didn't charge and I felt comfortable enough to get within a few feet of her and then after a moment glided away, off again on the thirty mile loop of road, some rough, that meandered through Theodore Roosevelt National Park in Medora, North Dakota.

The wildlife was plentiful, bison, wild horses frollicking, groundhogs, snakes crossing the roads, various birds, mostly predatory, living their lives in the Badlands. The scenery reminded me of how a mite would see the human skin, a battery of magnificent undulations, angry blisters, warts, the crags of which would allow many hiding places, gullies to climb, layers of sloughing skin. It felt nearly extraterrestrial, the heat in the 90 F range, in the valleys, deciduous trees lined the sparse river, at elevation the conifers jutting almost by sheer force of will. The native Americans moved away from the Badlands during the summer for good reason, a beautiful, inhospitable land.

Nestled against the park is the town of Medora, mostly wood buildings dolled up to give an early Western cowboy feel. Not much goes on in Medora, tourism mostly, the locals preferring to live in the hills. It's shoulder season, still a week or two before Medora gets into full swing.

I eat at Little Missouri Dining Room & Saloon, a quiet place with a looping track of old Country songs. I order a burger and a Rusty Beaver wheat beer, mostly because it's called "rusty beaver", and it was hoppy with a bitter finish. I chose Glacier Ale next, not really happy with the wheat beer, and the ale was darker but not a stout, full-bodied and quite good. The waitress asked what sides I wanted with my burger.

"How's the potato salad?" I asked.

"It's fantastic, the best."

I asked her if she had seen Quentin Tarantino in  Once Upon a Time in Mexico. She hadn't and I encouraged her to watch it first before saying that anything was the best.

Across the street is another bar, Boots Bar & Grill, and after my meal at Little Mo's, I trundled into the place. Unlike Little Mo's, Boots was full tilt, plenty of locals and tourists, eating and imbibing. I sat at the bar, had another beer from the tap, something forgettable, watched the second period of the LA Kings versus the Blackhawks. The Kings had come back from a 3-0 disadvantage against the San Jose Sharks to win the playoff series and I figured they were the team to beat. When I left, tired from the day, the Kings had scored to move ahead in the game 4 to 3. The Blackhawks would come back to win 5 to 4 but by that time I had returned to the hotel to prepare for the next day's ride to Bozeman, Montana.