Day 20
   
   5/17/01
   Mile 2083
   Near Danvers, MT
   
   I said goodbye to the Larsens at 6:30am, since they had a long day of
   driving to do and were also off to an early start.  I stopped at the
   grocery store to pick up a few supplies, and hit the road, heading due
   north.
   
   I've been noticing the songs birds make all along the trip.  Most, I
   was surprised to find, were ones that I heard as a child while growing
   up in Ohio.  But one I heard this morning was so different and original
   it caught me off guard. What was that, I wondered.  I'd have to ask a
   local to find out, if possible.
   
   Prairie dogs are everywhere here, sticking their heads up out of the
   grass as I come near, then usually scurrying into their holes when
   they perceive this bike of mine has rolled too close.  I sometimes wonder
   what I look like to the mind of an animal, cows or whatever, in my strange
   getup: with my yellow-and-black-striped jersey, giant dark goggle
   eyes, and spindly bicycle, I must look like a giant insect.
   
   Passing me was an enormous, noisy motor home - one of the largest,
   sporting a satellite dish and pulling a large trailer - and behind
   that, also pulling a car.  Looking more like road train than an RV, the
   contrast was deafening.  Here I was on a bike, at a thousandth the
   weight, probably going farther than they were.
   
   It is my solemn belief that being overloaded with material possessions
   poisons the soul.  At a minimum, it inhibits growth and experience.
   Would they have heard the songbird, or experienced the nuances of the
   prairie dogs?  Could they have watched the movements of stars and the
   slow progression of planets across the heavens from night to night, while
   cocooned inside their metal shell?  They were experiencing a movie
   channel, not channeling a moving experience.  The only satellite I
   watch is the moon.
   
   The day will come, of course, when I will no longer be able  to travel
   as I do now.  I can only pray that these lessons I learn will carry me
   then, and perhaps others too.
     _________________________________________________________________
   
   Word of the day: flunky.
   
   During the days of the old west, a "roundup outfit" would be put
   together to gather the cattle from the vast ranges that they grazed
   on.  These teams of men would include a cook, who drove the chuck wagon,
   and the cook's assistant, or "flunky", who drove the bed wagon.
     _________________________________________________________________
   
   The day continued on through endless hills.  This part of Montana is
   essentially a field of ridges a few hundred or so feet tall, a field
   that extends for hundreds of miles. These ridges are cataclysmic remnants
   of one of the greatest floods ever known, when an ice dam broke many
   thousands of years ago and created "waves" in the surface.
   
   It's a beautiful area, almost entirely ranch land, with patches of
   pine trees and rocky buttes.  It was hard to simply power my way down the
   road; I'd been up late talking with the Larsens, and trying to stay
   focused proved difficult.  I'd frequently notice that my speed had
   dropped because I wasn't paying attention.
   
   By the time I got to Lewistown, it was 6pm.  I ate and got groceries,
   filled all water bottles and got an extra bottle - it was nearly 100
   miles to the next town I could guarantee would have water, and I'd
   have to camp too.
   
   I left town and pedaled to near the end of light, about 9:15pm.  I'd
   been searching for a place to pitch the tent without success, and
   finally happened across a long-abandoned house, which undoubtedly had seen
   no inhabitants for decades.  I would need only my sleeping
   bag and pad.  Dilapidated, weathered and without windows or doors, but
   more than adequate for my purposes, it once more housed a person for
   the night.

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