Monday, 5-27, Memorial Day, I biked from Medora to Beach, N.D. (pop. 1,019), the westernmost city in North Dakota on my route. It was only a 25-mile trip, but it felt much longer than that. I will explain momentarily.

First, I thought I would launch this post by sharing some words of wisdom painted on the wall of the kitchen in my motel in Beach, the Buckboard Inn. I might add to the end of this: “and hopefully we are still breathing after experiencing them.”

I took my time leaving the Rough Riders Hotel in Medora–after all, it shouldn’t take long to ride 25 miles, right? I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the hotel, where I met Yue and Alan, two young men from China (PRC) who currently live in Fargo and New York City, respectively. Yue asked how old I was, and seemed quite flabbergasted that I was taking a bike journey like this. Alan offered to show me around Shanghai if I’m ever there once he is back in China. Nice! Thanks, Alan.

I crossed the Little Missouri River on the western edge of town.

There was a strong headwind, but the day seemed perfect for being on a bike, with temps in the low 60’s. I’ll share some photos that show the interesting terrain and a few sights along the way.

But then, around 2 p.m., the drama began. The strong headwinds got even stronger and colder, and suddenly, and unexpectedly, it began to rain. And then the rain turned into something resembling sleet, which then turned into hail. First the hail was quite tiny, but then it got as big as maybe an eighth to a quarter of an inch in diameter. I could hear the hail clattering on my helmet. Yes, it stung a bit, but I had nowhere to go, so I pressed on.

The storm only lasted about a half hour, but when it was over, I noticed some small bruises on my arms that resembled measles. They didn’t hurt, though, and were mostly gone by morning.

About 15 miles into my ride, I stopped to rest in Sentinel Butte (pop. 56), where things were pretty quiet, due in part no doubt to the Memorial Day holiday.

The gas station/greyhound bus depot/convenience store in town was closed, but I found a folding chair out front and sat there for about a half hour to rest and eat some snacks I had in my bag. The strong wind and hills had worn me out a bit, but I felt a lot better after this break.

Right next to the gas station is a memorial to the expedition led by General Custer in 1876 in his battle with the Sioux. General Custer crossed the site of Sentinel Butte on June 3, 1876, and had camped nearby during a snowstorm from May 31 to June 2. From this site, Custer and his cavalry proceeded into Montana, where he and a portion of his calvary were annihilated by the Sioux on June 25, 1876.

On this Memorial Day ride, I couldn’t help but think about the many conflicts our country has experienced over time, and those who have sacrificed their lives in them. The brief onslaught of hail I endured hardly compares to the dangers that our veterans and active military have faced and continue to experience. I feel an enormous debt of gratitude for their service.

I arrived in Beach, N.D. around 4:30 p.m. Yes, my ride was only 25 miles long, but it was a challenging one.

P.S. I thought I might address the question my friend Sheri posed in commenting on Sunday’s blog post–i.e., “what would you do differently if you were just starting out knowing what you now know?” I can think of a couple things. First, I would consider starting the trip earlier than I did last year. I didn’t get on the bike in Maine until June 30, which didn’t leave me enough time to get all the way across the country last year as planned. I can think of some advantages to splitting the trip into two years, however, so things might be turning out for the best. Second, I might also have considered getting a different bike, more of a hybrid bike that would allow me to ride upright–this would help I think with the stiff neck and shoulders I get after a few hours biking. I knew I was getting old when the bike I am riding, my steel-frame Trek Tourmalet Lamond road bike, which I bought new 30 years ago when I was middle-aged, is now considered a “vintage” bike. I am somewhat sentimental about such things, though, and there seems to be something appropriate about an old guy riding an old bike. I am making this journey on a bike that has become an old friend to me.