Custer, meet Sitting Bull

Aug. 26, Bismarck-Fort Abraham Lincoln, 14 miles, NW breeze, 80/60; Aug. 27, Fort Abraham Lincoln-Fort Yates, 47 miles, SW breeze, 75/60; Aug. 28, Fort Yates-Mobridge, 70 miles, NE breeze-S wind, 85/55—I left Bismarck in late afternoon for a short ride through Mandan and down the Heart River to Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park. Curious about white military tents on the fort's old parade ground, I found myself among the 2006 version of the 17th infantry garrisoned there in the 1870s. A Ducks Unlimited kind of group had reserved their services.

The laundresses—official fort employees under U.S. Army policy—gave me vinegar pie and cookies. Ken played a corporal in the 17th and also various roles in the Cowboy Action Players of Mandan (they were pulling off a train robbery the next day at a railroad museum). In the rest of his life a Bureau of Reclamation employee, Ken was likeable, talkative and a little sloshed. His wife, Kathy, a laundress who worked for the USDA, was designated driver. Wisely, Ken was leaving that evening's Gatling gun demonstration to his fellow infantrymen.

Next morning I tagged along with new campground friends Ernie, Mark, Rich, Steve, and Dave and toured George Custer's restored house on Fort Lincoln's officer row. In real life, the army quickly discovered that the infantry, stationed to protect the railroad's westward extension, was no match for mounted Sioux warriors. Enter the 7th cavalry, which Lt. Col. Custer commanded for three years until he went west as part of an expeditionary force to force tribes onto their reservations. There he helped Sitting Bull's famous dream of soldiers falling into the Sioux and Cheyenne camp come true at the Battle of Little Bighorn.

Just north of the fort lay On-A-Slant, a Mandan village built on a slope above the Heart River. When smallpox struck the Mandans in 1781 they moved north to the Knife-Missouri river confluence. The Mandan and Hidatsa villages, with populations greater than all but a few eastern seaboard cities, served as commercial center of the northern Plains.

The remainder of the day I rode south into the rugged, unglaciated hills of the "west river," west of the Missouri, where it tends toward dry and brown except in the river bottom. At least it appears to be the river it was until the 1950s: Lake Oahe is at near-record low levels. Beyond the Cannonball River, on the least productive land the U.S. government could come up with, is the Standing Rock reservation of the Hunkpapa Sioux. A sign at the reservation border announced Standing Rock as home of the 1998 state high school basketball champions. That night I stayed at a marina near Prairie Knights casino (Feel Lucky ToKnight!). The boat ramp didn't even come close to the water.

Sitting Bull was buried near Fort Yates, the reservation's main town, after he was killed during an attempt to arrest him in 1890. At Sitting Bull College in Fort Yates I ate lunch in the student lounge and overheard a Lakota language class in the next classroom. During his break I chatted with the teacher, Wilbur Flying By, a 31-year classroom veteran. Some of his courses were attended across the Dakotas by video-conference students.

Via highway 1806 to Mobridge I entered South Dakota (trip miles: 330), and that state immediately proved it isn't flat either, with a series of long uphills and 30-35 mph descents. I liked the western-looking outcrops and buttes, prairie dog towns, and cattle instead of crops, but I'm in for another landscape switch after crossing the Grand and Missouri rivers and arriving in Mobridge.