Peeking an eye open, the tent glows with soft early morning light. Rolling onto my back, I stare straight up. Listen to the familiar sound of cows mooing. The steady shuffle and call of a moving herd. I’m either on grazing public land or accidentally camped in someone’s pasture. Either way I best get up and out of here as quickly as possible.
Sun climbing over the canyon wall, we bounce along the gravel road. Weave towards the bottom. Slowly approach the river.
Seeing a house on the other side, I get excited. We must be getting close.
Slowing along the bank, I stop next to a large mailbox. Read a sign instructing me to take out the radio and call for ferry service. Snapping a picture, I look up. Notice the woman walking down from the house.
A few minutes later, I introduce myself to Susie. Roll onto the boat and prepare for a quick trip across the Upper Missouri River.
She explains how she’s just the alternate, but has ran the ferry for four summers now. Looking us over she adds, You certainly get to meet some interesting people down here.
I nod, look around and secretly dream of someday being the person to run the ferry. Of collecting the stories of all the wacky ferry riders for a year.
Checking out the bike, she asks about the ride from Winifred. Nods in relief when I say it was great. Well, the way out is a bit harder. More gravel and a steep incline. My husband’s done it on his Harley, so you can make it. Just keep going and don’t stop.
I thank her for the tip. Give a goodbye wave and head up and out of the canyon.
Rattling down yet another mile of dirt road, I realize we must’ve missed a turn somewhere. It doesn’t matter really. In the end we’ll hit pavement and make it out of this no man’s land. I’m just hoping it happens before we run out of fuel.
Pasture stretches for as far as the eye can see. Acre after acre of rotational grazing lands, dotted with cattle. It’s been nearly 100 miles and I haven’t seen any signs of human life since we rolled off the ferry.
Without cell reception I can’t pinpoint exactly where we are. Think we’re going in the right direction, but can’t say for certain.
Rounding a bend to the left, I see a truck and trailer, two men sitting horseback. Coming to a sudden stop. I pop open the helmet visor and holler, Is this the way to Big Sandy?
They stare at me, confused and shocked beyond response. A third man hops out of the truck. Points in the direction I’m headed, Yep, go for about 15 more miles and when you hit pavement go right.
I thank them and ride on. Rolling away, I watch in the rearview. Laugh as they exchange bewildered looks. I’m betting this is the first time they’ve seen a girl and dog motorcycling out here.
And really that’s one of my favorite things about riding cross country with Baylor. There’s something special about being able to disrupt the norm and meet people I’d otherwise never know. It’s a lesson I hope to take with me on and off the bike.
Out here on the road I’m learning how even when the world seems to spiral out of control around us, we still have so much power. The power to be kind and connected. The power to look someone in the eye, listen and build community. The power to act any way we choose, and then watch as our own attitude is reflected back.
I don’t have answers for life’s big problems, can’t provide a solution for unrest, but I do know we have a choice and that every decision – no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential – matters. As my Grandpa Bub says, All you can do is work to leave it better for the next generation.
And really I think that’s a pretty worthy goal in life. Just aim to leave it better for the next.
390 days down. Many to come.
