140 miles - Total 1935 miles
Windless. Sunny. North Dakota prairies. Traffic: almost non-existent. My
condition: superb. Best day of the journey so far.
If I could use a time machine one of things I would love to witness would be the herds of bison (or American buffaloes) move through the Plains during the change of the season.
Just imagine this: "Suddenly a cloud of dust rose over its crest, and I heard a rushing noise as of a mighty whirlwind, or the charging tramp of ten thousand horses. I had not time to divine its cause, when a herd of buffalo arose over the summit, and a dense mass, thousand upon thousand, galloped, with headlong speed, directly upon the spot where I stood. . . . Still onward they came—Heaven protect me! it was a fearful sight". A writer noted that "immense numbers, countless numbers, countless thousands, dense masses, one great mass, herds that blackened the plains, bulls roaring like distant thunder or like a river's rapids, bison in such numbers that they drink a river dry or the ground trembles with vibration when they move." This very land where I am letting my wheels spin is where the bison used to roam freely and where the Natives used to thrive before they got killed. The few that exist are tamed, confined, quite. This is the land of the disappeared. It was a clash of civilizations, cultures and ways of life. Sound familiar? I don't mean to get all political on you now but this land bears witness to the tragedy of the extermination of the bison, which in my humble view remains one of the crucial, most complex chapters in American history. The U.S. government pursued a policy to eradicate the buffalo and thereby extinguish the Indians' very sustenance. But it was not until the rail roads went west and the white man expanded to the west that the numbers decreased. The buffalo was first and foremost of utmost significance to people of the plains and prairies. In a very different way, its crucial standing was underscored by native people. With the bison in the way, Native Americans and their way of life could not be eliminated, with the bison, there would be no railroad, no drilling, no crops, no oil, no magnates, no There Will Be Blood's Mr. Plainview. He is the embodiment of the worst part of the 20th century, the worst part of us. The greed of today. The extermination of the true inhabitants of these lands may find an explanation in economic greed, personal fears and blatant misunderstandings. It paved the way to a whole new different form of government and way of life. Once the grass along with the bison and the Indians had been cleared, the railroad brought thousands of farmers that planted the land and grew wheat. The rest is history.
I keep postponing my rest day which was supposed to happen in Fargo. And this morning the weather forecast was more than promising: no wind or at worst a 5mph East wind! I am not going to waste the chance. I leave the hotel after a quick breakfast and as soon as I put Bismark in my rear-view mirror I enter the enchanting, and I do not use this word lightly, prairies. Literally, as soon as I cross the Missouri river the land becomes arid and rugged. This is the semi-arid land of ND where locusts and Buttes dominate. With no wind I cycle beautifully for most of the day, stopping to take photos and just breathing in the air of this incredibly fascinating landscape. It exceeds my own expectations, the image of the prairies of Dakota that I had in my mind is easily eclipsed by the real thing. At times I enjoy a completely solitary ride with no vehicles so I can just cycle on the faded yellow line in the middle of the road, the old Highway 10. I love it and it gets me quite emotional as I am thinking that Washington DC is a long way from here. Today was so blissful that I feel I could even end my bike ride here because I don't have to prove anything (else). I can just savor the air, the smell of the prairie, the sky, the boundless land, the beautiful desolation that feeds my body and soul at every yard.
I ride on old highway 10 and then 139 which takes me all the way into Dickinson. This place must be the ugliest town I have ever seen. Traffic, auto repair shops, junk yards, garages and nothing else. I grab something to eat before getting back on the bike. The sky turns quickly and blue hues disappear and it takes on a dark deep blackish charchoal color and by the time I enter highway 94 a storm breaks off. It comes down so hard that I can hardly see 10 yards in front of me, all I can do is hope vehicles won't run me over and maybe a good samaritan will stop to assist me. A park ranger car takes pity on me as I plough along in the shoulder under a pelting rain. He offers me a ride into town. I am drenched and rain is running down my face, my arms and legs. it's was only 10 miles to my destination but this last-minute ride might have averted something bad. He drops me off at the hotel in Medora where I can dry off and take a long rest.
I will take a day off tomorrow and I will ride around the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Tamed and confined... yes but I will see the bison nonetheless.
If I could use a time machine one of things I would love to witness would be the herds of bison (or American buffaloes) move through the Plains during the change of the season.
Just imagine this: "Suddenly a cloud of dust rose over its crest, and I heard a rushing noise as of a mighty whirlwind, or the charging tramp of ten thousand horses. I had not time to divine its cause, when a herd of buffalo arose over the summit, and a dense mass, thousand upon thousand, galloped, with headlong speed, directly upon the spot where I stood. . . . Still onward they came—Heaven protect me! it was a fearful sight". A writer noted that "immense numbers, countless numbers, countless thousands, dense masses, one great mass, herds that blackened the plains, bulls roaring like distant thunder or like a river's rapids, bison in such numbers that they drink a river dry or the ground trembles with vibration when they move." This very land where I am letting my wheels spin is where the bison used to roam freely and where the Natives used to thrive before they got killed. The few that exist are tamed, confined, quite. This is the land of the disappeared. It was a clash of civilizations, cultures and ways of life. Sound familiar? I don't mean to get all political on you now but this land bears witness to the tragedy of the extermination of the bison, which in my humble view remains one of the crucial, most complex chapters in American history. The U.S. government pursued a policy to eradicate the buffalo and thereby extinguish the Indians' very sustenance. But it was not until the rail roads went west and the white man expanded to the west that the numbers decreased. The buffalo was first and foremost of utmost significance to people of the plains and prairies. In a very different way, its crucial standing was underscored by native people. With the bison in the way, Native Americans and their way of life could not be eliminated, with the bison, there would be no railroad, no drilling, no crops, no oil, no magnates, no There Will Be Blood's Mr. Plainview. He is the embodiment of the worst part of the 20th century, the worst part of us. The greed of today. The extermination of the true inhabitants of these lands may find an explanation in economic greed, personal fears and blatant misunderstandings. It paved the way to a whole new different form of government and way of life. Once the grass along with the bison and the Indians had been cleared, the railroad brought thousands of farmers that planted the land and grew wheat. The rest is history.
I keep postponing my rest day which was supposed to happen in Fargo. And this morning the weather forecast was more than promising: no wind or at worst a 5mph East wind! I am not going to waste the chance. I leave the hotel after a quick breakfast and as soon as I put Bismark in my rear-view mirror I enter the enchanting, and I do not use this word lightly, prairies. Literally, as soon as I cross the Missouri river the land becomes arid and rugged. This is the semi-arid land of ND where locusts and Buttes dominate. With no wind I cycle beautifully for most of the day, stopping to take photos and just breathing in the air of this incredibly fascinating landscape. It exceeds my own expectations, the image of the prairies of Dakota that I had in my mind is easily eclipsed by the real thing. At times I enjoy a completely solitary ride with no vehicles so I can just cycle on the faded yellow line in the middle of the road, the old Highway 10. I love it and it gets me quite emotional as I am thinking that Washington DC is a long way from here. Today was so blissful that I feel I could even end my bike ride here because I don't have to prove anything (else). I can just savor the air, the smell of the prairie, the sky, the boundless land, the beautiful desolation that feeds my body and soul at every yard.
I ride on old highway 10 and then 139 which takes me all the way into Dickinson. This place must be the ugliest town I have ever seen. Traffic, auto repair shops, junk yards, garages and nothing else. I grab something to eat before getting back on the bike. The sky turns quickly and blue hues disappear and it takes on a dark deep blackish charchoal color and by the time I enter highway 94 a storm breaks off. It comes down so hard that I can hardly see 10 yards in front of me, all I can do is hope vehicles won't run me over and maybe a good samaritan will stop to assist me. A park ranger car takes pity on me as I plough along in the shoulder under a pelting rain. He offers me a ride into town. I am drenched and rain is running down my face, my arms and legs. it's was only 10 miles to my destination but this last-minute ride might have averted something bad. He drops me off at the hotel in Medora where I can dry off and take a long rest.
I will take a day off tomorrow and I will ride around the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Tamed and confined... yes but I will see the bison nonetheless.
Look at this flag, motionless. In North Dakota, am I dreaming?? I am not, so I take the bike and fly West
Missouri river. West of it it is a whole new landscape. And I love it.
You know it is going to be good when you see this!
Desolation in this semi-arid prairie. The view is incredible, the silence is inebriating and cycling here is one of the best experiences
These pictures don't do justice to the rugged beauty of this land
An old piece of farming machinery sits in the middle of the field
The open prairie and an abandoned farm
All alone cycling as happy as I have ever been, can you see me there?
A creek near the town of Hebron, population: 747
Downtown Hebron
Right here the strong and well organized Sioux annihilated the 7th Cavalry of Gen. Custer on June 25, 1876.
By 3pm the sky begins to darken but I have already cycled more than 100 miles so I will not get soaked today!!
North Dakota sky
Approaching Medora, the sky looks bad...a thunderstorm would break out in less than an hour
Close to my destination for the day, I do get soaked but I am happy with the ride today
Sempre piū vicino alla meta, ci sei quasi. Salute Ambrogio
ReplyDeleteGreat Job Luigi!! Keep spinning! Waiting for you to come back to DC!
ReplyDeleteVai Luigi!!!!! Sei grandissimo!!!!! Non vedo l'ora di sentire le tue storie al ritorno, Alessandra C.
ReplyDeletenon devi provare niente...davvero :) capisco perchè apprezzi il silenzio e la possibilità di andare, attraversando paesaggi selvaggi e senza troppi elementi antropici...la quietezza interiore è un valore non misurabile:) Carla
ReplyDeleteHi Luigi, you are amazing! I just read about your story. I admire your courage and great spirit in taking on such an adventure. Keep going and stay strong, you are truly an inspiration. Let's have coffee and catch up when you get back, in the meantime I'll join the ranks of your fans and follow your blog :) Cheering for you from DC, Melissa.
ReplyDelete""Nessuno m'ha mai detto "Volerai". Nessuno m'ha promesso "Non morirai". Eppur senz'ali ho già volato tanto e "ora" senza alcun rimpianto, di promesse mancate, di cose incompiute, senza pena aggiunta o tolta mi preparo a volare un'altra volta.""
ReplyDeleteE' una frase di T.Terzani che nei momenti bui mi ha sempre dato la forza di rialzarmi per ...volare un'altra volta...appunto!!
Ti stimo veramente molto per quello che stai facendo al punto da commuovermi per il tuo infinito coraggio, vola Luigi, vola sulle ali dei tuoi pedali...un forte abbraccio Roberto
Ciao Luigi,
ReplyDeleteI Bisonti, tuoi grandi alleati, con la loro massa eccezionale, hanno fermato il vento per te ! Avanti così !
Leandro
Luigi, I just came across your blog and had to go all the way back and read about your amazing ride from before you began. I will be cheering for you and following your journey through your blog. I dedicate the following lines from Lord Alfred Tennyson's Ulysses to you and to those whose spirits won't be beaten by phyical illness.
ReplyDelete"Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
Lots of good wishes & prayers.
God be with you Luigi. Stay safe. Cheering amd praying for you, Maribeth
ReplyDeleteComplimenti Luigi! Valeria
ReplyDeleteThink of bicycles as rideable art that can just about save the world. ~Grant Petersen
Un saluto e un abbraccio dall'Abruzzo. Ciao caro!
ReplyDeleteGiorno n. 19: NELLA TERRA DEI BISONTI
ReplyDeleteBismark - Medora, North Dakota 225 km
Totale km 3.115
Vento: assente. Sole. Praterie del Nord Dakota. Traffico: quasi inesistente. Mie condizioni: eccellenti. Finora il giorno migliore del viaggio.
Se potessi usare la macchina del tempo, una delle cose a cui mi piacerebbe da matti assistere sarebbe una migrazione stagionale dei branchi di bisonti (o bufali americani) attraverso le Pianure.
Provate a pensare a questo: “...All'improvviso si alzò una nuvola di polvere di là dal crinale e udii un rumore impetuoso come di un poderoso turbine o degli zoccoli di una carica di diecimila cavalli. Prima che avessi il tempo di immaginarne il motivo, un branco di bisonti emerse al di sopra della sommità della collina e una massa compatta, migliaia e migliaia, galoppava tumultuosa diritto nella mia direzione... Avanzavano – Dio mi protegga! Fu uno spettacolo spaventoso”. Questo era Philip St. George Cooke; un altro annotava “...numeri immensi, infiniti, infinite migliaia, un'enorme moltitudine, branchi che annerivano le pianure, rombavano come un tuono in lontananza o come le cascate di un fiume, bisonti in quantità tali che possono prosciugare un fiume quando bevono e il suolo trema e rimbomba quando sono in movimento”.
Qui, proprio in questa terra dove lascio girare le mie ruote è dove i bisonti si muovevano liberi e dove i Nativi prosperavano vivendo a modo loro. Sono tutti morti ora e i pochi esistenti sono domati, confinati, placati.
Fu uno scontro di civiltà, di culture e di modi di vivere. Vi ricorda qualcosa?
Non voglio buttarvela in politica ora ma questa terra testimonia la tragedia dello sterminio dei bisonti che rimane, a mio modesto parere, uno dei capitoli cruciali e più complessi della storia degli Stati Uniti. Il governo americano seguì la politica della cancellazione dei bisonti e, come risultato, della distruzione di ogni possibilità di sostentamento per gli Indiani. Fu solo, però, quando la strada ferrata arrivò e i bianchi dilagarono a ovest che la quantità di capi di bestiame diminuì sul serio.
Il bufalo era innanzitutto di estrema importanza per le genti delle pianure e delle praterie. In maniera del tutto differente, il suo ruolo cruciale fu evidenziato dai nativi.
Con i bisonti di mezzo non sarebbe stato possibile eliminare i Nativi Americani e la loro cultura, con i bisonti non ci sarebbe stata ferrovia né trivellazioni o raccolti e neanche petrolio e magnati, non ci sarebbe stato nessun Petroliere, nessun Mr Plainview. Questi è l'incarnazione della parte peggiore del XX secolo, la parte peggiore di tutti noi. La rapacità di oggi. Lo sterminio dei primi abitanti di queste terre può trovare una spiegazione nell'avidità di denaro, in paure profonde, in macroscopici equivoci. Ma ha spianato la strada a nuove forme di organizzazione sociale, a nuovi stili di vita. Una volta cancellata l'erba insieme con i bisonti e con gli Indiani, il treno ha portato coloni a migliaia che hanno seminato la terra e coltivato il grano. Il resto è storia.
(SEGUE)
Ciao Luigiiiii! Sei quasi a Vancouver! Beh...quasi. 20giorni, 2000miglia? Incredibile!!
ReplyDeleteSei forte! Continua cosi!
Fabio B.
Hai gia' provato di essere un grande solo con l'idea di questo viaggio. Enjoy m
ReplyDeleteSEGUE:
ReplyDeleteContinuo a rimandare il giorno di riposo che prevedevo di fare a Fargo. Stamattina le previsioni del tempo promettevano più che bene: niente vento o, al massimo, vento di 8 km da est! Questa possibilità certamente non la spreco.
Lascio l'albergo dopo una rapida colazione, esco da Bismark e mi addentro nelle incantevoli – e non è parola che io usi alla leggera- nelle incantevoli praterie. Letteralmente appena varco il fiume Missouri il terreno diventa secco e accidentato. Questa è la parte semiarida del Nord Dakota dove regnano le locuste e le Butte, le colline piatte in cima. Non c'è un alito di vento e io pedalo a meraviglia per la maggior parte della giornata, fermandomi a fare foto e semplicemente respirando l'aria di questo paesaggio incredibilmente ammaliante. Supera le stesse aspettative che mi ero creato. A tratti mi trovo a correre così magnificamente in solitaria che posso stare proprio sopra la scolorita linea gialla sbiadita al centro della strada, la vecchia statale 10.
Mi piace moltissimo e un po' mi commuove perché penso che di qua Washington è lontanissima e sento che potrei anche terminare la mia corsa qui perché non ho niente (altro) da dimostrare, posso limitarmi ad assaporare l'aria, il profumo della prateria, il cielo, la terra sconfinata, la splendida desolazione che mi nutre nel corpo e nell'anima.
Domani mi prenderò un giorno di riposo e mi farò un giro per il Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Addomesticati e confinati... sì ma i bisonti comunque li vedrò.