Saturday-Sunday, July 3-4, 2011 -- Minneapolis to Billings, Montana
When my two brothers and I were growing up in southwest Wisconsin, we used to watch cowboys on TV and dream of going out West ourselves, to ride horses on the prairies and through the mountains, searching for adventure. Our parents took us to South Dakota and then to Colorado on camping trips, and for a time I lived in western Montana early in my radio career, but we still talked about someday going on a brothers-only trip.
About six months ago, we started talking about it seriously. Why not next summer, my youngest brother Brian asked. Why not indeed? It would be a perfect time; Brian, a high school history teacher in Phoenix, had June and July off. It would be a little tougher for me to arrange for the time off from my job with the U.S. Government, but I secured four days following the Independence Day holiday. Unfortunately, our middle brother Alan, an attorney in Washington state, had an important trial scheduled for the week in question and had to bow out. So, Brian and I went ahead with our plans, and thanks to Sue's efforts at Travel Leaders in securing our air, hotel and rental car, we were able to make our long-time dream become reality.
We planned to meet in Billings, Montana, on Sunday, July 3rd. To get the festivities off to an early start, I drove over to the Twin Cities the day before and joined Sue's brother, Carl Sarff, for the Brewers-Twins game at Target Field in Minneapolis. In front of the largest regular-season crowd in the second-year ballpark's history, the Brewers fell behind 7-0 early but rallied to win, 8-7, scoring four runs in the 9th inning.
In the bottom of the 9th, a classic confrontation: veteran slugger Jim Thome of the Twins faces young Brewers fireballer John Axford. Much to the delight of us Brewer fans, Axford struck him out to clinch the victory.
The next day my flight to Billings arrived at 12:30pm Mountain Time. Logan International Airport sits on top of the "rimrock" ridge that borders Billings on the north. It's not only the largest city in Montana with a population of just under 150,000, but the largest city for some 500 miles around. Fueled by the oil industry, the Billings economy is booming. For someone used to the lush hills and farmlands of Wisconsin, eastern Montana presents quite a contrast with its vast prairies, rocky buttes and endless "Big Sky." With a few hours to kill before Brian's flight arrived from Phoenix via Salt Lake City, I picked up our rental car and checked into our hotel, the Crowne Plaza in downtown Billings, the tallest building in the city and probably the entire state at 23 stories. Brian arrived at 4:30, and we spent a relaxing evening, catching up over dinner and going over our planned itinerary. The next morning we would set out for one of the most famous battlefields in American history.
***
Monday, July 4 -- Little Bighorn National Battlefield, Montana
The Lakota of the northern plains were led by their enigmatic chief, Sitting Bull, who had crafted an alliance of Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho. Numbering several thousand men, women and children, Sitting Bull's village moved over the plains, following the bison that provided them with food, clothing and other resources. Against them was a three-pronged force of U.S. Army soldiers, seeking out the Indian village. The U.S. force numbered about 2400 soldiers, nearly ten percent of the entire standing Army at the time. The first column to make contact was a force led by General George Crook, heading north. On June 17, Crook's force was stopped by the Indians on the Rosebud River, east of the Little Bighorn. Unable to communicate with the other Army columns, Crook halted his advance after suffering 53 casualties in the battle, and eventually he retreated back to a camp near present-day Sheridan, Wyoming. This strategic blunder would have a critical impact on what happened eight days later on the Little Bighorn, where part of General Alfred Terry's west-bound column, the 7th Cavalry led by a charismatic and controversial officer, would meet its destiny.
The clash of cultures in south-central Montana featured two charismatic leaders: Lt. Col. George A. Custer of the U.S. Army, and Lakota chief Sitting Bull. Only one would survive the battle.
Given virtual free rein by Terry to find the Indians and attack, Custer led his men westward over the Bighorn Mountains from the valley of the Rosebud River toward the Little Bighorn. None of the soldiers had ever encountered a village as large as the one they would find. Custer had about 700 men under his command, including Indian scouts and some American civilians. Bringing his men down into the valley, Custer divided his command and ordered Major Marcus Reno to take his battalion into the valley floor and attack the village from the south. Custer would take five companies of men and trek over the ridges to come in from the east, probably hoping to surprise the village and take hostages while the Indian warriors were engaging Reno. Another battalion, under Captain Frederick Benteen, was ordered to scout further west, then rejoin the main force in the valley if no Indians were seen fleeing westward. As he entered the valley, Custer did not know that his troops were outnumbered by about 3-to-1. He soon found out, but by then it was too late.
Brian and I set out from Billings that morning and arrived at the Little Bighorn National Battlefield around 9am. It was Independence Day, but the park was open for business and visitors were already streaming in. It was sunny and hot, not unlike that fateful day just over 135 years earlier. Today, the interstate highway parallels the winding Little Bighorn just west of the river, where in 1876 the combined village of Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho kept their thousands of ponies. Wearing our Western hats adorned with the insignia of the 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry (more on that later), we arrived at the visitors center just in time to catch the ranger's short lecture about the battle. Then we set out to explore the battlefield, on foot and then by car.
Brian (L) and me near the peak of Last Stand Hill.
Reno's battalion engaged the Indians just beyond the trees behind the curve in the river. Quickly routed by the warriors defending their village, Reno and his men retreated through the timber to high ground about 3 miles south of Custer's battalion.
Deep Ravine, a narrow box canyon west of Last Stand Hill, where about 28 soldiers met their deaths in a frantic attempt to escape.
The Indian warriors, led by the legendary Crazy Horse, quickly closed on Custer and his men from all sides. This view of Last Stand Hill is from the west, coming up from Deep Ravine and the village site beyond near the river.
The markers indicate where the men of the 7th Cavalry fell. In the center, the black-faced marker is where Custer's body was found two days later, alongside his soldiers. The view is to the southwest, toward the river.
Further south, Reno and his remaining men fled to the top of the hill that now bears his name. Joined by Benteen and his battalion, Reno made no attempt to reach Custer, despite hearing sounds of gunfire from the north. Against orders, Captain Thomas Weir took a company and advanced a mile north to relieve Custer, but was forced back to Reno Hill. For more than 24 hours, Reno and Benteen's battalions held off the Indians. Desperate for water, several volunteers went down this narrow gulch to the river. The Indians departed on the afternoon of June 26, heading west to escape the soldiers coming from the north. Several hours later, General Terry and his men came upon the unbelievable sight of hundreds dead and the exhausted survivors of the battle.
The battlefield today is a quiet place, for study and solemn reflection. A monument at the top of Last Stand Hill lists the names of the soldiers who died. Custer's two younger brothers, a brother-in-law and a nephew were among the 258 troopers who fell. Indian casualties are estimated to be as high as 300 dead, although most historical accounts say it was less than a hundred. In recent years, markers have been placed on the battlefield to note the spots where Indian warriors fell. A memorial to the tribes whose warriors fought here is located on the east side of Last Stand Hill. Although a tactical victory for the Indians, the battle ensured their ultimate defeat. By 1890, the last Native resistance to Eastern settlement had been crushed.
Brian and I have both studied the battle, and exploring it adds a vital perspective. Looking over the waving grass, seeing the twisting turns of the Little Bighorn and the trees where some U.S. troopers hid, the ford across the river where Reno's battalion fled for their lives, and the many markers from both sides, we could almost hear the crackling of rifles and pistols, the thunder of hooves, and the screams of men and horses. Two excellent books about the battle have been published recently: The Last Stand by Nathaniel Philbrick, and A Terrible Glory by Jim Donovan.
We headed south into Wyoming, to spend the night in Sheridan. There's not much to do in Sheridan on a holiday evening, but we found the local cinema and took in the movie Green Lantern. The next day we would head east, toward the Black Hills.
***
Tuesday, July 5 --- Through Wyoming to the Black Hills
Formed millions of years ago, the Tower is not an extinct volcano, but an igneous intrusion, formed when molten magma surged up from underground through an opening to the surface, where it cooled and hardened. Since then, the surrounding sedimentary rock has eroded away, leaving the original magma, known as phonolite porphyry, similar to granite but lacking quartz. From its base to the summit, the Tower stands 867 feet tall, and the summit is nearly a mile above sea level.
Held sacred by various American Indian tribes, the Tower was first climbed in the 1890s. Today about 4000 people climb the tower every year. Usually it takes about three hours to reach the summit, although the record is 18 minutes. Once on top, climbers rappel to the base. A permit is required, and climbing is discouraged during the month of June to respect Native traditions.
The Tower was declared a national monument in 1906, the first of its kind, by President Theodore Roosevelt under the Antiquities Act. I can't recall reading whether TR ever saw the Tower before his presidency, but it was likely he did, as he traveled widely in the Northern Plains during his years as a hunter and ranchman. His action preserved the Tower from commercial exploitation, one more example of Roosevelt's influence on our lives today and into the future.
There are hiking trails around the Tower, and we took the shorter one, 1.3 miles in length. It was a gorgeous day and we experienced magnificent scenery, saw climbers ascending the Tower and met fellow travelers from all over.
Soon after departing the Tower, we crossed into South Dakota and entered the Black Hills. Exiting the freeway at Spearfish, we headed south to the famous town of Deadwood.
Gold was discovered in the Black Hills in 1874, and a year or so later some prospectors came upon a gulch filled with dead trees. The creek running through the gulch yielded flecks of the precious metal, and within a very short time some 5000 people lived in the town that became known as Deadwood. A haven for prospectors, gamblers, prostitutes and many others, Deadwood's reputation has far outlasted the gold, which fueled the local economy for nearly half a century. Deadwood came alive again on the small screen with the eponymous HBO series that aired from 2004-06. Brian was a fan of the series and was really looking forward to exploring the town. We weren't disappointed.
Deadwood today, as seen from Boot Hill, the cemetery on the town's eastern slope.
Deadwood in 1876, in its gold rush heyday.
Deadwood's gold rush and outlaw days are long gone, of course, but gambling remains a centerpiece of the town's economy. In 1989, gambling was legalized in Deadwood, the first place in the country outside of the state of Nevada and Atlantic City to be so blessed---or cursed, depending on your point of view. As far as Deadwood is concerned, it's been a blessing, and today the town is one of the prime tourist destinations in the region.
Not being gamblers, although Brian has been known to play a hand or two of poker, we bypassed the many casinos and explored the town. Brian was especially interested in the places where Wild Bill Hickok had hung his hat during his Deadwood days. One of the Old West's most legendary characters, James Butler Hickok was born in Illinois in 1837 and found himself in Deadwood 39 years later after a colorful career as a vigilante with the "Red Legs" in pre-Civil War Kansas, a teamster for the Union Army during the war, and a lawman in various towns, with the reputation of a crack shot with the pistol and a sharp at the card table. After killing several men in various gunfights, Hickok was fired as town marshal in Abilene, Kansas, when he accidentally shot and killed his deputy. Wild Bill took to the stage for awhile in a production put together by his old friend, "Buffalo Bill" Cody. That didn't last long and Hickok wandered around the West, making a living at poker tables, eventually finding himself in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where in early 1876 he married 50-year-old Agnes Thatcher Lake, a widow and owner of a circus. Hickok left his new bride a few months later and joined a wagon train heading for Deadwood and the gold fields. One of the "bullwhackers" on the wagon train was a foul-mouthed, hard-living woman named Martha Jane Cannary, who went by the monicker "Calamity Jane." She later claimed she'd been married to Wild Bill but divorced him so he could marry Agnes, but Bill never confirmed that story. Hickok and Cannary would soon become prominent in the legend of Deadwood.
Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok lived hard in Deadwood and today lie side-by-side in Boot Hill.
Wild Bill met his end in Deadwood on August 2, 1876, while playing poker at Saloon Number 10. Unable to take his usual seat with his back to the wall because Charles Rich refused twice to yield it to him, Bill was engrossed in his game when a drifter named Jack McCall wandered by, kibitzed at the table, and then from behind Hickok, drew a pistol and shot him in the back of the head, killing him instantly. The shooting is re-enacted daily in the contemporary Saloon No. 10, just up the street from the original site, and on this evening Brian got himself into the game, playing the role of Rich.
Seated second from left at the poker table, Brian as Charles Rich keeps an eye on Wild Bill.
Even though Brian refused to yield his seat to Wild Bill, there were no hard feelings later, as he's joined by Wild Bill and "Broken Nose" Jack McCall.
We found the site of the original Saloon No. 10 where Wild Bill met his demise.
Deadwood was also famous for its many brothels. Here I am at the site of the Green Door Club. During its heyday there were dozens of "sporting houses" in Deadwood, and the last one didn't close its doors until 1980. And no, I didn't go inside. Today it's a casino, presumably without extra "entertainment."
Gunplay on the streets of Deadwood is almost as common today as it was back then, although today it's just for show. This one re-creates yet another card-table dispute that ended in a showdown on Main Street.
The locals are friendly, but the sheriff was a bit touchy.
Yes, Deadwood definitely has its charms.
It had been a great day but by 9pm or so we were ready to hit the rack at our downtown hotel. The next day would be a big one, as we would be channeling our inner Rough Riders for our first horseback ride of the trip.
***
Wednesday, July 6 --- In the Black Hills of South Dakota
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The weather wasn't too promising, but we were scheduled to ride from Rockin' R Stables near Custer, about 40 miles southeast of Deadwood, at 9am. After a picturesque drive, we found the stable with no trouble but the morning ride was postponed when dark rain clouds approached from the west. With our ride re-scheduled for 3pm, we headed for cover in the town of Custer, a few miles away.
No sooner had we arrived in town and found a parking space when we happened upon General Custer himself, or at least his modern-day re-enactor, strolling the main drag of his namesake town.
Brian and I flank Custer. We are in our Rough Rider uniforms, while Custer wears the buckskin he favored while campaigning in the West, a quarter-century before the Rough Riders were formed.
The town of Custer is not shy about displaying its loyalty to the famed cavalryman.
After spending a few hours exploring the town, including a terrific bookstore, Reader's Retreat, we headed back into the Hills for Mount Rushmore. The thunderstorm had bypassed Custer completely, although on the way to the monument we saw much hail that had fallen. Later we were told that the town of Hill City, just north of the Rockin' R, had gotten hit with four inches of rain and so much hail they brought out snowplows to clear the streets.
Brian and I had visited Mount Rushmore as kids during a family trip, and I'd been there with Sue as recently as 2005, but it's a special visit every time. As we arrived, the last of the rain was passing through, but it let up and we got some spectacular views of the nation's most famous monument.
It's hard to imagine that virtually every American hasn't seen at least a photo of Mount Rushmore. Sculpted by Gutzon Borglum and later by his son Lincoln, the monument was begun in 1927 and finished in 1941. Originally the concept was to feature each president from the waist up, but funding ran dry as World War II diverted the government's attention, and there's been no serious talk about finishing it. Each face is about 60 feet high.
Inside the visitors center is a museum that depicts the history of the memorial, which involved hundreds of workers who had to climb about 700 steps every day to get to the worksite. Despite the risks, no fatalities were ever recorded at the site. Borglum knew he would include George Washington in the carving, and when Congress authorized funding for the project in 1925, President Calvin Coolidge, a Republican, insisted that the three other presidents include two Republicans and one Democrat. Gutzon Borglum himself selected the presidents to be included. From the 29 presidents prior to Coolidge, Borglum chose Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt to join Washington, because of their roles in preserving the Republic and expanding its territory. Today, Mount Rushmore is the biggest tourist attraction in South Dakota, visited by more than 2 million people a year from all over the world. During our visit we not only encountered a family from Wausau, Wisconsin, but a group of visitors from Denmark.
The weather had cleared and so we headed back to the Rockin' R. Brian had never really been on a horse in his life, but I had spent quite a bit of time on horseback during previous visits to the western U.S. and Canada, and I had suggested that our trip had to include some riding, to which Brian eagerly assented. So, we mounted up and set out to explore the Black Hills the way they'd first been explored more than a century before.
We had a fine ride and headed back to Deadwood in the early evening, a bit footsore from wearing our Western cowboy boots all day. Before the trip, I'd procured some replica Rough Rider shirts, as well as insignia for our shirts and hats. The 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry was a regiment raised by Theodore Roosevelt, then Assistant Secretary of the Navy, in 1898 after war was declared against Spain. The unit quickly became known as the Rough Riders, one of the most famous and colorful regiments in American military history, and distinguished itself in combat in Cuba. Brian and I are admirers of all things TR, and so it seemed only proper for us to look the part while visiting TR territory out West. I topped my ensemble with a bandanna I'd obtained when I visited TR's birthplace in New York City a couple years ago.
After one last dinner in Deadwood and a stroll along Main Street, we retired weary but satisfied with our day. The next morning would see us heading north to the Badlands of North Dakota.
***
Departing Deadwood, we headed back to Spearfish and then kept going north on US Highway 85. To say that northwestern South Dakota is remote country would be a bit of an understatement. Going through the town of Belle Fouche, we passed near the geographic center of the nation. Western movie buffs may remember that Belle Fouche was the destination of John Wayne's final cattle drive in The Cowboys. After leaving the town, we continued northward and there were very few signs of habitation, although we did see cattle out in the grasslands and many oil derricks churning away.
When they talk about wide open spaces out West, they aren't kidding.
Stopping in the town of Ludlow, Brian took a look at the school, just in case he may want to move up here someday. I have a feeling he'll pass on this one.
We stopped in Bowman, just across the line in North Dakota, and then continued north, past White Butte, the highest peak in the state at 3506 feet, and through the little hamlet of Amidon, which is the seat of Slope County. Amidon bills itself as the smallest county seat in the country, and we had no reason to doubt it. In fact, there is only one other town in the entire county. Eventually we came to Belfield and I-94 and headed west. Within a few miles we came to our first glimpse of the Badlands, at the Painted Canyon overlook.
It's hard to see in this shot, but there's a bison down alongside the butte in the center.
A few minutes later we arrived in Medora. Today it is a place strictly for tourists with only 112 year-round residents, but in the 1880s Medora was a colorful place indeed, as well as very influential in American history. It was this town in which a young New Yorker named Theodore Roosevelt stepped down from the train in 1883 to begin a hunting trip. Years later, TR would proclaim that his years in what was then known as Dakota Territory would be some of the happiest of his life. He would never have become president, he said, if he had never stepped off that train.
It didn't take us long to explore the town, but the highlight was a production of Bully!, a one-man show on the stage of the town's small theater. The star was Minneapolis native John Kunik, and he was terrific. It was a fine way to cap our day. The next day would be the one we'd really been looking forward to, the day we would walk---and ride---in the steps of TR through the Badlands.
The one-man show featuring John Kunik as TR was bully indeed.
The next day would be the big one: tracing the steps of TR in the Badlands.
***
Friday, July 8 --- Medora and TRNP, North Dakota
Roosevelt was our 26th president, and a strong argument can be made that not only was he one of our greatest, but one of the most interesting. Born in New York City in 1858, by the time he had assumed the presidency in September 1901 upon the assassination of William McKinley, TR had already lived what he called "a strenuous life." Naturalist, big-game hunter, Harvard graduate, New York state legislator, author, historian, linguist, world traveler, New York City police commissioner, federal Civil Service Commissioner, Assistant Secretary of the Navy, U.S. Army officer, governor of New York, vice president, TR did it all before his 43rd birthday. But it was his experiences as a hunter, rancher and cowboy in Dakota that made him even more unique among presidents, past and future, and those exploits had drawn us to this place.
When TR stepped off that train in 1883, Medora was only a few months old. The town was founded by a European nobleman, the Marquis de Mores, and named after his American wife, Medora. Of Spanish, Italian and French heritage, the marquis had come to America to seek his fortune and was determined to find it in the wilds of western Dakota Territory. He became a cattle rancher and built a slaughterhouse, intending to process beef in the West and transport it to Eastern markets aboard recently-invented refrigerated cattle cars, thus cutting out the middleman and retaining about 20% more body weight per carcass than beef shipped on the hoof. Roosevelt came to Dakota to hunt bison, but was intrigued by the prospects of ranching and quickly invested in a herd. He invested in a ranch, the Maltese Cross, just south of Medora, and later built a larger, more remote ranch, the Elkhorn, many miles north of town, deep in the Badlands. TR never actually owned any land; the cattle were all "free range", meaning they simply wandered free, to be rounded up once a year and culled for sale. The rancher's investment was in the cattle itself and hiring the cowboys needed to work the herd, plus of course their horses and equipment and living quarters.
Roosevelt worked hard as a rancher and impressed the tough Westerners by showing that a slightly-built, bespectacled Eastern dude could keep up with them in the saddle. He never lived year-round out here, but spent much time over the next several years working his cattle. His adventures are colorfully chronicled in several books, including the recent Theodore Roosevelt in the Badlands by Roger L. DiSilvestro. Later in life, TR credited his experiences in the Badlands with molding his character and setting him on course for the White House.
The North Unit of the park is the smaller of the two. In total, the park covers 110 square miles. We entered the unit on a crisp, sunny morning and almost immediately encountered some of its larger residents.
The Little Missouri River runs through both units of TRNP. It was along this river that Roosevelt and two partners pursued and caught a group of thieves who had stolen TR's boat from the Elkhorn Ranch.
TRNP is lush with wildlife, including nearly 200 species of birds, which TR would have liked; he was a noted ornithologist. His experiences in hunting the bison and other Western big game developed within him a profound concern for conservation, as he observed first-hand the devastation wrought by unchecked and wasteful hunting, a practice that nearly drove the North American bison to extinction. Today about 750 bison roam the park's two units, and the herd is carefully managed by the Park Service, since there are no natural predators for the animals allowed in the park. They are magnificent animals indeed, and well-suited to the harsh North Dakota climate, with its winter blizzards and summer heat. Later in the day we would see wild horses and many prairie dog villages, but we did not see any of the park's elusive elk or bighorn sheep.
After exploring the North Unit, we drove back to Medora and entered the South Unit, just in time for a tour of TR's Maltese Cross ranch house, which has been preserved and relocated to the visitors center.
Yes, people were shorter in the 19th Century.
TR's bedroom was a Spartan place, but so was his entire life out here. Born to a life of relative wealth and privilege back East, he enjoyed living "the strenuous life" of a Dakota rancher and cowboy.
TR's living room and dining quarters contain his writing desk.
We climbed back into our car and drove through the South Unit, encountering more great scenery, herds of wild horses and of course, more bison.
It was mid-afternoon when we exited the South Unit, and despite the light rain we decided to tour the Chateau de Mores, the home built by the marquis on a hill overlooking the town from the south.
Antoine-Amedee-Marie-Vincent Manca de Vallambrosa was born only a few months before TR in 1858, but in France, where at 21 he graduated from St.-Cyr, the French military academy. Among his classmates was Phillippe Petain, who later would gain fame as a general in World War I and later still, infamy as the leader of the Nazis' puppet government in Vichy during World War II. The marquis served as a cavalry officer in Algeria, then resigned his commission and married Medora von Hoffman, the American-born daughter of a wealthy German-American banker. In 1883 he and his wife arrived in the Badlands, where the marquis purchased thousands of acres of land and started a cattle business. He built the town of Medora and started his meat-packing business, as well as other ventures. The chateau he built for his wife was huge for its time and place, some 7000 square feet. The couple entertained guests from all over the world, including Theodore Roosevelt on more than one occasion.
Inside, the house was rather plain by today's standards but of course was luxurious back in 1880s Dakota. The tour was self-guided, but state park workers were throughout the home to explain things, including the preserved dinner menus and shopping lists. The marquis was not chintzy when it came to providing for his family and guests. Indeed, he burned through what today would be several million dollars of his and his wife's money.
Ultimately, it was a losing venture. The slaughterhouse idea never worked out, not because it was a bad idea, but because the area couldn't provide cattle in high enough volume to make it a profitable venture. Also, the railroads, perhaps influenced by the Chicago-based meat packers, refused to grant him favorable shipping rates. Customers ultimately preferred the corn-fed beef provided by established stockmen rather than the marquis' range-fed variety. The marquis' other businesses, like his Medora-to-Deadwood stagecoach line ($21.50 for a one-way, 36-hour trip) went belly-up as well. His father-in-law withdrew his financial backing and that was that.
The marquis and his wife left her namesake town in 1886 and returned to France, where he re-entered the army. Two years later he was sent to Vietnam, of all places, to oversee an effort to build a railway from the Chinese border to the Gulf of Tonkin. Political upheavals back in France undermined the effort and the marquis was recalled. He fought a duel, one of many in his life, with a Jewish member of the French legislature. De Mores had become convinced that Jewish businessmen had led to his ruin in America, and his anti-Semitism became even more virulent in France. After wounding his opponent, de Mores was sent back to North Africa, where he worked to oppose British influence in the Sahara and planned to meet with Islamic leaders. But on his way to the meeting in 1896, his caravan was attacked by Tuareg tribesmen who shot him to death. His widow lived until 1921, believing to the day she died that her husband's political enemies in France had arranged his murder, a charge which was never proven.
The Marquis de Mores, during his Dakota days.
Another shower moved through town after we exited the chateau, but when it cleared it was only 5pm, with plenty of daylight left for us to make a run for our final destination of the day, the Elkhorn Ranch site. We'd been told by the park rangers that access to the site from the South Unit's northern area was blocked to cars because the Little Missouri was a bit too deep at the ford for us to cross, but we'd been given a map that showed a roundabout route from the west. So it was we journeyed about 15 miles west of Medora on the freeway and then north over dirt roads through countryside even more empty that what we'd seen the day before. Rounding one curve, an antelope sprang in front of us and was gone before we could bring our cameras into play. At the wheel, I was more than a little concerned that the road would prove to be too rough for our Buick Regal, especially when we came to the final intersection and the 2-mile stretch leading down into the river valley to the ranch site. "We can always turn around," I told Brian, "if it gets too bad." He pointed out that there didn't appear to be any way to turn around. We took a deep breath and headed down the road.
The road to the Elkhorn was remote indeed.
After a harrowing drive down into the valley, Brian checked out the map.
At the end of the road, it's another mile-long trek through the bottomland to the site.
At last, we arrive at the site. All the buildings are gone by now, but it's still amazing to be here. Not many make this journey; the sign-in sheet at the end of the road listed only about 20 or so in the past few months.
The Elkhorn Ranch in TR's day. "This is where the romance of my life began," he wrote.
The same view today. TR's nearest neighbors were no closer than 10 miles.
Students of TR's life know full well why a man born and raised in the nation's biggest city would want to come here. Not just to get away from the crowds, but to escape the terrible tragedy that had recently marred his life in the East.
After starting his ranch investment in the late summer and fall of 1883, Roosevelt returned to New York to resume his duties in the state assembly. His wife Alice was expecting their first child. On February 13, 1884, while TR was shepherding important legislation in Albany, he received a telegram informing him that Alice had delivered a healthy baby girl the night before. That afternoon came another telegram, summoning him home. Alice was gravely ill. Not only that, TR's mother, Martha, known as "Mittie," who lived in the same house, was also fading fast. He took the evening train back to the city, arriving late at night. At 3am on Valentine's Day, Mittie died of acute typhoid fever at the age of 48. Martha Bulloch had been a Southern belle, courted by TR's late father, Theodore Senior; her brothers fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War, and the Bulloch plantation is said to have been used by Margaret Mitchell as the inspiration for Tara in her novel Gone with the Wind. Eleven hours later, Alice died of what today we would call Bright's disease. She was 22. Four years earlier to the day, TR had announced their engagement. In his diary for the day, he drew a large cross and wrote beneath: "The light has gone out of my life."
If the Badlands had not been there for TR, one wonders what might've happened to him. Leaving his infant daughter in the care of his older sister Bamie, he sold his house, began construction of a new home on Long Island which stands to this day, and returned to work in Albany. Eleven days after the day of tragedy, he saw this headline in The New York Times:
DRESSED BEEF IN THE WEST---
THE BUSINESS ENTERPRISE OF THE MARQUIS DE MORES.
By the end of May, TR had finished the legislative session, declined nomination for another term, turned down requests to run for Congress, and headed west, first to Chicago as a delegate to the Republican National Convention, and then on to Dakota.
***
Saturday, July 9 --- Back to Billings
With our Friday morning ride rained out, we headed back into the South Unit this morning to Peaceful Valley Ranch. Once again decked out in our Rough Rider gear, which had drawn plenty of questions on the streets of Deadwood and Custer during the trip, we arrived on a gorgeous morning and saddled up for a 1.5-hour ride through the Badlands.
The ranch has some 60 horses, who winter with their owners near a town east of Medora. Peaceful Valley is a seasonal operation, and they said the heavy spring rains had caused this summer's season to get off to a late start. But everything was in fine shape this morning, so we mounted up and headed out. 
Now an experienced horseman, Brian was ahead of me on this ride.
We approach Paddock Creek for the first of two crossings. They look easy on TV. They are not.
After our first creek crossing, we spot a mule deer about 300 yards off.
The ride was a bit more rigorous than I'd anticipated. In addition to the two creek crossings, we crested a high ridge that gave us a spectacular view down into the river valley. Unfortunately, we were on a narrow path with a steep and deep drop to our left, so I thought it best to keep both hands on the reins rather than use one to fiddle with my camera. I wondered what the back-country rides would be like. Well, that's one reason to return to the Badlands some day.
After the ride we reluctantly dismounted and headed back to our hotel in Medora, changed out of our uniforms into casual 21st century summer traveling garb, and checked out. Our destination was Billings, nearly 300 miles to the west, but as our flights home weren't until the following morning, we had plenty of time. There was one final stop on our trail, and that was the town of Wibaux, just across the state line.
In the summer of 1884, TR had returned to the Badlands, this time accompanied by two old friends, Bill Sewall and Wilmot Dow. Backwoodsmen from Maine who had guided TR on his hunting trips to that state, Sewall and Dow had been hired to run Roosevelt's Dakota ranching operations. They set to work building the Elkhorn ranch, using local cottonwoods, although they had to have lumber for the roof shipped from Minneapolis. By August, things were moving along at the ranch, so TR decided to go on a hunting trip to the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. He bought a hunting horse named Manitou from a Medora cowboy known as Hell-Roaring Bill Jones for $75. One day, perhaps out looking for stray ponies, TR rode west from the Maltese Cross and entered Montana, eventually working his way up to the town then known as Mingusville. Hoping to find a bunk for the night, Roosevelt stopped at Nolan's Hotel. He'd heard the sound of gunshots from inside, but there seemed no alternative if he wanted to stay somewhere warm overnight.
Nolan's Hotel in Mingusville became the Stockman's Bar in Wibaux. The bar itself, still with the scars of bullets, was moved years ago to the Gene Autry Museum in Los Angeles.
Inside was a large, ill-tempered man with a pair of six-guns. He'd already shot up the wall clock and now saw a new source of entertainment. Calling him "Four-Eyes," the bully ordered TR to buy a round of drinks for the house. Roosevelt tried to laugh it off and found a seat behind a stove. The armed man followed and ordered him again to buy drinks. In his autobiography published in 1913, Roosevelt described what happened next: My assailant was neither a cowboy nor a bona fide "bad man," but a broad-hatted ruffian of cheap and commonplace type who had for the moment terrorized the other men in the bar-room, these being mostly sheepherders and small grangers. The fact that I wore glasses, together with my evident desire to avoid a fight, apparently gave him the impression--a mistaken one--that I would not resent an injury.
TR, who had boxed at Harvard and would later train in boxing and Japanese martial arts as president, said, "Well, if I've got to, I've got to," stood up and delivered a right-left-right combination to the jaw. The guns went off and the man fell, hitting his head on the bar and knocking himself unconscious. TR collected the guns and the other patrons lugged the man outside and dumped him a shed. Next morning, Roosevelt was pleased to hear that the bully had fled the town on a freight train.
Our last spot of TR history having been located and documented, we hit the road, and after a stop in Miles City for lunch, we arrived in Billings by mid-afternoon. The Crowne Plaza was once again our hotel of choice, and after checking in we headed out for a light dinner and then a movie. Tonight's choice was the new Tom Hanks picture, Larry Crowne, in which our hero proves that even a fiftyish guy with no college degree can wind up with Julia Roberts, if he plays his cards right.
***
Sunday, July 10 --- Billings and home
The last day of a trip is always one of mixed emotions. If you've had a good time, you have regrets that it's over, but at the same time you're looking forward to going home. For my brother and me, this was the end of an adventure we'd been thinking about for many years. Women don't tend to be too fond of the idea of a "road trip," but for guys, it's almost a rite of passage. I had one or two of those in my college days with buddies, but this one was special. Certainly because it was with my brother, but also because of the places we visited and things we saw and did together. This morning, though, it was time to head for home and resume our regular lives. Brian would have a couple more weeks of his summer break before starting his fall semester of teaching high school U.S. history in Phoenix. I would return to work the next day in Rice Lake. I was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things at the office, and getting back into the gym and the martial arts dojo. Fortunately, we'd kept our appetites pretty well under control during the trip and had gotten some exercise in the hotel gyms and swimming pools.
We had separate departure gates at the Billings airport, so we parted ways with a brotherly hug and headed to opposite ends of the terminal. My flight would be delayed a half-hour, but that was okay because the TV screen showed the U.S.-Brazil match in the quarterfinals of soccer's Women's World Cup, and a sizable crowd of travelers gathered to watch our gals rally for a thrilling victory. It was rather ironic; here we were in the midst of what once was America's Old West frontier, and we were watching American women playing a foreign game against Brazilians in a stadium in Germany. All of that would've been incomprehensible to men like Custer and Sitting Bull, although Roosevelt, who had traveled to Europe and Egypt as a child and would later explore Africa and South America, and was an early advocate for women's rights, probably could've related to it.
A few hours later, I was on the ground in Minneapolis and then in my vehicle for the two-hour drive home to Wisconsin. We had put on about 1400 miles on this trip, and while riding in a comfortable, air-conditioned car is certainly better for long hauls than being on horseback, there is something to be said for the latter. As Ronald Reagan once observed, there's nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse. Our time in Montana, Wyoming and the Dakotas had given us a chance to reach back in time, as much as modern men can reasonably do, and touch a bit of our heritage. We walked in the steps of men who fought a pitched battle, some in a heroic but ultimately vain attempt to preserve their way of life, others to safeguard their own people as they pushed into a wild and hostile land. We rode on the path of a true American icon, whose actions over a century ago played such a large part in building the country in which we now live. Best of all, we witnessed much of God's most magnificent creation, and we did so as brothers.
Men like Custer and Sitting Bull, Hickok and Roosevelt, can still teach us something today. We can still debate the ethics of U.S. policy toward Native Americans in the 19th century and how much Custer's ego and thirst for glory played a part in leading his men to disaster; talk about Sitting Bull's stubborn refusal to accept the inevitable, which placed his people in great danger; question whether Hickok was worth all the attention he got back then and now; and discuss Roosevelt's propensity for hunting down the very animals he later tried to save through conservation. What cannot be debated, and what Brian and I discovered anew on this trip, was that these were real men, who lived real lives of adventure among real men and women, and who still have an impact on Americans who live in a country that is in many ways far different than the one they lived in.
In the Black Hills town of Custer, I picked up a book called In Trace of TR, by a modern-day Montana hunter and rancher named Dan Aadland, who set out on hunting expeditions as close to TR's as he could get today. In his introduction, he talks about this remarkable man in ways Brian and I can certainly relate to now, and which could very well apply to Custer and Sitting Bull and maybe even old Wild Bill, too:
So it is as a hunter and as a horseman that I have
met him and that I have come to know him. His time
in the West was a mere sliver of a life so full and varied
that were he a character in a novel we would declare him
beyond credibility...An intervening century prevents my
riding with him, but I have felt under my horse's soft shuffle
the ground over which he rode, smelled his campfires of
pungent pine and acrid sage...I meet him not for an
autograph but for a firm handshake, my gaze meeting his,
our horses restive as the skyline beckons...I have come to
know him better while learning as well new things about myself,
about his time and my time, about the things that endure.
