where combines meet oil wells

Coming out of Minot this morning, the landscape changed suddenly. Riding south on the boulevard of the american waistline (they call it Broadway), passing the Dairy Queen, the McDonalds, the Arby's, the Wal-Mart, and everything else you could possibly need to gain 300 pounds, I noticed we were riding uphill. It was a steady climb we had not experienced since leaving Duluth a week ago (though not so steep). Out of Minot, the hills became gracefully rolling, the man-made treelines disappeared to reveal the true beauty of the Western prairie, wheat fields glistened in the morning sun, and oil tankers rumbled anxiously down the country road, nearly running us down.

It was something we had been warned about upon leaving: two riders had been hit by a car on this day last year, the shoulder not wide enough to safely navigate the increased traffic a new economy had brought. We were aware of the oil fields out west, but I was amazed to find a waning farming economy being directly replaced by the riches underneath something called the Bakken Formation. These oil wells, in full drilling regailia, are effectivlely turning western North Dakota into a new sort of Persian Gulf. You should read this really interesting NYT Article put out at the beginning of the year: "Oil in North Dakota Brings Job Boom and Burdens" (1 Jan 2008).

It's an amazingly contradictory landscape, something I cannot even begin to understand. At the same time combines and oil tankers bustle, infrastructure powerful enough to destroy civilizations is not so stealthily contained by the eerie silence of a live-wire fence. And a road sign marking our entrance into the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation shows the bullet wounds of a centuries old cultural and racial conflict.

The hills descend and ascend, without a tree in sight. This was once an ocean, now sandbars have accumulated as a result of the wind. The prairie lingers, the wheat fields and cattle ranches stretch across the horizon, but they do little to conceal the competing values of a country desperately fighting to maintain its status as the hegemon. And we Bike and Build-ers fight to keep our wheels on the road, to keep our mission alive, to show this country that life cannot sustain it self solely on earning a quick buck.

I think I may have found my site for thesis: Parshall, North Dakota, or somewhere thereabouts. New Town may also be interesting, but Parshall is one of those small farming nodes I spoke of in my previous entry, but one that is seeing a sudden transformation of its economy. I'm not sure, I think I want to research this area more. There are many tensions, contradictions, compromises, and whatever, that could make an interesting exploration for architectural production.

Anyway, back to today. So the ride was not as dangerous as we had initially thought. Yes, big oil trucks were whizzing by on a relatively narrow country road, but we had enough shoulder and often enough time to react to avoid disaster. Most often, a truck would pass me without a problem, but there were a few times where I intentionally rode off the road just to be safe, usually when they were about to pass me in both directions. But I was more interested in the amazing scene in front of me. There was one point, about six miles out of New Town, where we came over one of those large sandbars, an oil well directly to the left, and we could see for miles. In the near distance, Lake Sakakawea, formed by the damming of the Missouri River. In the far distance, a large butte of some sort. It was an intense ride.

So New Town. Well, it's a pretty small place in the middle of nowhere. And by nowhere, I mean probably the most nowhere I have ever seen in my life (apparently Montana is worse). Well, except the Australian Outback. We're on a reservation, the majority of the population is Native American, a quarter of the population lives below the poverty line, however they do have a casino. All the Minot locals were talking about it, apparently it's the place to go, if there ever was a place to go in these parts.

We didn't have lunch today, save for a gas station literally in the middle of endless wheat fields. The van managed 18 miles this morning before something went wrong with the shifter/transmission, so the damn thing had to get towed to Minot to get fixed. I arrived around 1:30 or 2, no van. Had some ice cream and fries at Tastee Freeze, no van. Freaked out and went to a rummage sale to look for clothes to change into, no clothes, and no van. It's now 6:00, the van is still not here, and I'm still sitting in my riding clothes, smelling to high heaven. I want a shower, I want clean clothes, NOW.

We're outta here tomorrow, maybe passing by the casino, onto the Badlands, and our first night of camping. We reach Montana on Sunday, and probably find ourselves more isolated than ever after that. Who knows when you'll hear from me again.