Alan Phillip (Big Al) Thompson's
Bicentennial Bicycle Retrace of
The Lewis and Clark Trail
from Saint Louis, Missouri, on 06/22/2005
to Astoria and Seaside, Oregon, ~09/01/2005

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Bicycle Road Trip Report 6 of 10, 08/06/2005,
Great Falls of the Missouri River, Montana

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Dear Family and Friends,

      I’m at the Great Falls of the Missouri. In mid June 1805, she almost died here — at the Great Falls. She was so sick, so very sick. Clark had bled her, probably worsening her condition — high fever, very weak pulse, great pain in the lower abdomen. And she with her five-month old infant Jean-Babtiste in her arms. This woman child, Sakakawea, had already proved her worth, if only for the gentle sound of a woman’s voice and the cry of a baby, and how that must have softened the rugged manners of these frontiersmen. Her presence with the Expedition carrying her baby was a sign to the Indian tribes they had encountered that this was a party of peace, not of war. And there were other more dramatic proofs. On May 14, 1805, back down the river, with her husband Charbonneau at the helm of the white pirogue — a place he should not have been — the wind caught the sails unexpectedly and turned the boat on her side, spilling cargo into the river. While Charbonneau panicked and cried to God for mercy (Pierre Cruzatte threatened to shoot him if he didn’t get control and do his duty), Sakakawea, while holding Little Pomp, calmly gathered in important instruments, papers, maybe even the journals, before they could float away.

      And now they were about to lose her. But Clark turned the doctoring over to Lewis who had her drink the waters from a sulfur spring, among other treatments, and she began to recover, much to the relief of the Captains and the rest of the men of the Corps.

      Today the Great Falls are no longer so great — pretty much inundated by dams built at this location for power generation. But 200 years' ago, Lewis called them a “sublimely grand spectacle” and “the grandest sight I ever beheld.” The Mandan and Hidatsa Indians had told them of the falls and that, when they found them, they would know they were following the correct course of the Missouri, and not one of the many tributaries that enter the river. And it would take only a day to portage around the falls, according to the Indians. But to the Corps’ surprise and dismay, tempered by their awe-struck fascination with their beauty, they discovered it was not just one waterfall, but a series of five falls spread out over a distance of 10 miles. They would have to portage their canoes and all their gear, supplies, and cargo, 18 miles over rugged, ravine-cut, buffalo-trampled country carpeted with prickly pear cactus that pierced the bottoms of their moccasins. The “one day portage” would take almost a month of tremendous physical exertion and delay their approach to the mountains, making it a race for the Corps of Discovery to beat the early snows of fall.

      Montana is Big Sky Country, and that is probably an understatement. Eastern Montana seemed to go on forever and ever with rolling plains of prairie grass and sagebrush and views that seemed limitless. I (we – my lady cycling buddies) have had some days out here. Let me tell you about the ride from Fort Peck Dam to the town of Jordan. I was camped at Fort Peck Dam with my other cycling friends (the two retired couples). Fort Peck Dam is an engineering marvel — the farthest upriver of the six dams on the main stem of the Missouri River. It was built between 1933 and 1940 at the height of the depression and was one of the massive projects that was part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s WPA (Works Progress Administration) and CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) programs to put the country back to work. It is / was the largest hydraulically earth filled dam in the world, and it extends for four miles creating Fort Peck Lake, the largest man-made lake in the country.

      I knew I would have to leave the campground at Fort Peck very early, for it would be a 90-mile ride over one of the most desolate parts of Montana — and it was going to be hot, very hot. A Native American lady on the Fort Peck Reservation told my friend, Chris, “If you get in trouble, there is just nothing out there.” How right she was.

      I stirred from my tent at 3:30 A.M. and left before first light, very glad for the integrated lighting system on my bike. I crossed over the giant spillway three miles south of the dam — 16 massive gates that stood like silent sentinels in the half light ready to relieve the lake of any excess flood waters — waters that will probably not come any time soon because of the ongoing drought in these parts (the spillway was last used in 1998). These immense concrete and steel gates were featured on the very first cover of Life Magazine back in 1936. The first 50 miles were like riding in a dream world as the maze of hills and badlands of the Missouri Breaks emerged slowly from the darkness to reflect the first rays of the sun. At the junction of Montana Routes 24 and 200, I ran into Polly, Chris, and Theresa (the new addition to the group) who had taken another route. We turned into a heated headwind that would make the next 40 miles one of the longest rides of our lives. This was the Hell Creek Formation we were riding through which yielded an amazing T-Rex skull back in 1997 — and Hell Creek is a name well deserved. By 4:00 the temperature soared above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, the wind continued to blow hot gusts into our faces, and, with about six miles to go, we were all in trouble – heat exhaustion, sick to our stomachs, and Chris was having an asthma attack. Polly’s cell phone came to the rescue, and the sheriff’s deputy was soon out to bring us the last few miles into Jordan. It still turned out to be my longest day so far — 87 miles.

      After a much needed rest in one of tiny Jordan’s two motels, the next morning’s ride was shorter, but no less hot. And when we arrived in Sand Springs, which consists of a small store connected to a post office, it was closed up tight (Sunday, again). We decided to ride no further and spent the rest of the afternoon in Daisy Duttons’ front yard alternately dousing ourselves with water and dozing on our sleeping pads. Kind and sweet old Daisy arrived late in the evening to open up the store for us.

      But the next morning — what a ride that was. Well rested and in the cool morning temps, we rode before sunup and watched dawn in our rear view mirrors. It was like a tide sweeping over the land setting the hills and ridges around us awash in the rich colors you only experience in the morning and evening lights. My ride from Lewistown to Geraldine was just at spectacular as I rode into the early evening hours (the ladies are behind me now.) The temperatures were ideal and pillow-like clouds set off by deep blue were carried on the breezes — which luckily were from behind me. Mountains are always visible now as I enter western Montana (not actually the Rockies yet), and they were offering me splendid views of sun-dappled ridges and forested slopes.

      I arrived in Fort Benton heralded as the birthplace of Montana, and a neat western town it is. It was the farthest point of navigation for specially designed steamboats up the Missouri, and trails radiated from there like spokes on a wheel carrying the steamship borne supplies to remote mining camps and fur trading posts. While I was in Fort Benton I booked an auto tour to visit a location overlooking a portion of the river that looks much the same as Lewis and Clark saw it. And what a section of river! This part of the Missouri has been designated a National Wild and Scenic River, and will be preserved for future generations. This is the White Cliffs section of the river with amazing white sandstone formations that tower over the river and resemble “elegant ranges of lofty freestone buildings” that feature magnificent columns with capitals and pedestals. It was this part of the river that prompted Lewis to write one of his most famous passages: “As we passed on it seemed as if those scenes of visionary enchantment would never have an end.”

      Well folks, I’m poised to take on the Rocky Mountains. From here it will be up and up and up to Lemhi Pass and the continental divide, down into the Missoula Valley, and then across the Bitterroot Mountains where the Corps of Discovery almost starved and froze in the early fall snows of 1805.

      Until the next time – I am proceeding on.

— Al Thompson