Rosebud

Sept. 5, Winner-Mission, 47 miles, SW breeze, 85/65—Jack, on his way to deliver cattle feed, gets the ride off to a good start when he pulls his truck over and hops out of the cab with a bottle of cold water. All trip long I've received kindnesses from strangers, and they always brighten my mood. There's little to nothing at Carter, bordering the Rosebud Indian Reservation (and here), home to 20,000 Sicangu (Brule) Lakota. I stop at an Episcopal church in Okreek for lunch. Highlight of the afternoon's riding is a used-implement dealer, where the owner, Joe Assman, shows me his 1923 and 1938 Case tractors. The road to Mission, in other words, doesn't have a lot in the way of interpersonal contact.

Mission is one of the main towns on the Rosebud, though half the buildings in the business district are shuttered. The post office has bars on the door and windows. This reservation has depressingly high levels of unemployment, alcoholism, poverty, high-school dropouts. The large new clinic under construction across from the grocery store is a bright spot.

My bicycle is the perfect conversation-starter, and over the next day I meet lots of people, including Ron and Will, students at Sinte Gleske, one of the best tribal universities. Will is earning a business degree because he thinks the Rosebud casino needs trustworthy tribal members operating it. Ron is in the Lakota language and history program and wants to teach Lakota. He grew up around Spring Creek, and introduced himself by saying that's where Crazy Horse lived. Lakota was his first language. He went to an Indian boarding school in Oregon, attended Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, Kan. for a few years, became a Marine medic (as a group, American Indians have the highest rate—by far—of military service). These days Ron comes to school by tribal bus because his car broke down—now he has to rebuild the engine. His girlfriend lives in Los Angeles, a sister in New York. Having been to Brooklyn and south central L.A., he thinks the Rosebud is tougher.

On the main highway, the unlikely owner of White Horse Herbs trading post is Elva, from Hampshire, England. She married a Rosebud Sioux after running into him twice by chance in Denmark and Rapid City, S.D. She wishes she could live in Valentine, 35 miles south in Nebraska, but her business—shells, beads, herbs, CDs—is geared to the reservation. She has mixed feelings about this place: she likes the dances but doesn't fit in.

At the Sicangu heritage center I'm busy watching Rosebud powwow videos when Don Moccasin comes up and starts pointing out details of the outfits and steps. He's a cultural documentarian at the museum, and an artist who painted the museum signs. Among other duties, he records interviews with elders on the Rosebud. Today he's on his way to buy new tires since he puts so many rough miles on his vehicle. He's a full-blood, his first language Lakota. Don estimates the reservation has about 150 fluent speakers, less than one percent of tribal members.

Every July Don helps organize the Hollow Horn Bear sun dance. The dance, he says, is controversial because it takes Mitakuye Owasin literally (Lakota for "all my relations"), allowing non-Indians to join in pre-dance ceremonies such as cutting the cottonwood pole before the dance. He used to teach at the Grass Mountain demonstration school (excellent article about the school and Rosebud reservation here).

Before leaving the Rosebud I want to see the university's bison herd. I'd passed their range on bike the day before, but none were in view. Unfortunately Tom, the herd manager, is on the road to Winner to sell culled animals, so I'm half out of luck—Carol, in the media relations department, shows me photos of the herd.