Abandoned gas station, Poplar
Poplar is NOT a nice place. It reminds me of Beirut or Detroit. Most of
the businesses are closed and the buildings are boarded up.
The sidewalks are dilapidated and in were in some places removed
for some sort of plumbing problem, but never replaced. While we have boarded-up
buildings and damaged sidewalks where I live, the bombed-out look is pervasive
throughout the Poplar community. It is the overall theme of the town.
What businesses remain, have steel bars on their windows and
metal gates to cover the doors and windows at night. Only the bars are open
after 5:00. There are no restaurants. The grocery and convenience stores
are closed after 5:00 or 6:00.
Last night, I inquired about eateries and was referred to only 3: the Buck
Horn Bar (where I was told they had a "cafe" in the back); a pseudo-Dairy
Queen/Subway with that sort of food; and, a convenience store/deli. At 7:30
PM, the convenience store/deli was closed tight (with a metal gate covering
its solid steel door). I walked downtown to the strip of bars. I couldn't
remember which was the one I was to go to, so picked the one with the most
cars. Mistake! There were a lot of regular boozers, but I didn't see anybody
eating. I had a beer and quickly departed. Because there were no signs on
the Buck Horn's "cafe" entrance, I didn't see it, so ended up
departing the downtown area and walking to the DQ/Sub-like shop on US-2.
My turkey sub was good, as was my chocolate sundae and the place was clean.
This morning, I had no idea where to eat. I didn't want a sub or soft-serve
ice cream for breakfast. The deli was still closed. I inquired of a mechanical
(heating/air conditioning) contractor, who was staying in the room next
to mine, about breakfast options. He suggested the Buck Horn Bar. So, I
walked back downtown. I found the Buck Horn bar, but didn't see any cafe.
Then, I saw a bread delivery truck parked by an unmarked steel side door
(no windows) toward the back of the building, so I tried that. Sure enough,
inside was a relatively normal cafe. As I walked in dressed in my Lycra
bike clothes, the waitress asked if my bicycle was outside. I responded:
"no, why?" She explained that if it was, she would have had me
bring it into the restaurant or it would be stolen. I ate my usual: french
toast. Not bad.
Poplar is on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. It is an example of the worst
failings of our government's trust relationship with the country's Indian
population. From my admittedly limited vantage point, these are broken,
demoralized people. They are poor, without hope and victims of extreme alcohol
and drug abuse. I was told that several years ago, Poplar had the highest
per capita murder rate in the U.S., but that they'd killed each other off
left and right and the town had finally calmed down a bit. Bar traffic was
heavy all night. The place is booming at night; cars drove by in a steady
stream all night long. I was told that Poplar suffers from a serious problem
with fetal alcohol syndrome, which has long lasting implications to the
next generation of Poplar residents. It is all very, very sad. Living in
this environment, the people are bitter and distrustful. No wonder the Indian
on the highway ignored me yesterday and no wonder an Indian on a bicycle
in Poplar last night refused to respond to my plea for directions. There
are no easy solutions to these sorts of problems--if any.
Often when the government tries to make things better, they end up worse.
In the 70's I was Supervising Attorney in charge of the Fairbanks office
of Alaska Legal Services and represented Native Alaskans throughout the
northern half of Alaska. In Kaltag, on the Yukon River, the government (Bureau
of Indian Affairs and Alaska State Housing Authority) thought it would be
better for the Athabascan Indians there to live in modern frame houses,
instead of their traditional log houses with dirt floors and wood stoves,
so government agents signed the people up for a program of "sweat equity."
The people would participate in building their new wood frame house and
only pay for about half the building cost. The program was a disaster. The
construction contractor "ripped them off." Fiberglass insulation
in the exterior walls sagged down to the bottom of the wall cavity, leaving
the upper parts of the walls uninsulated. Worse yet, the new houses forced
the people from a subsistence lifestyle (hunt, fish and grow your own food)
into the cash and credit economy. Where wood stoves only required wood,
the new houses were heated with oil; the new stoves were fueled by propane
(freezes at -45 degrees); and, there was electric lighting and appliances.
People who had never participated in the cash economy were expected to make
house payments and pay for oil, gas and electricity. For the most part,
there is no cash economy in bush Alaska. The Indians failed to make their
mortgage payments and the government instituted foreclosure procedures.
Many of the people abandoned the government houses and returned to what
traditional log houses were still left standing.
I get the impression that life on the reservation it similarly artificial
and impractical. I don't have an answer, but I find it quite appalling to
see people so troubled in their very existence.
Note: On August 17, 1996, I received an angry response via e-mail to what I said above (as with previous e-mail references, I've deleted this sender's identity or e-mail address to protect the writer's privacy and have left all their typographical errors as is).
I'm sure you have probably heard this before, but your information and impressions of the area around the Fort Peck Indian Reservation are grossly misguided. The erosion that you describe IS referred to as the Badlands and that name does not need to be in quotations anymore than the word valley needs to be despite the fact they too are formed by erosion. The Buckhorn Bar in Poplar has had a sign for many years and your lack of noticing it does not mean it does not exist. Although many of the observations you made are to a certain extent accurate, you should be careful of making statements without having facts to back them up. I would gather from your musing that you are or were an attorney and as such, should be acutely aware of the need for facts to back you up. Of course, I have yet to meet any attorneys who are that interested in the truth so your short sighted, informationally inaccurate, grammatically poor, and riddled with spelling errors fantasy makes some amount of sense. You say you enjoyed your experiences meeting people from different areas. Perhaps you should spend more time getting to understand their perspectives and the truths about the regions before you make further egotistical and whining commentaries. It seems you are only interested in what makes you comfortable and happy and unless situations cater to your needs you only choose to sit back and cry about the injustice of the world. Go back to your ivory tower environment and stay out the real world if you cannot handle it.
This ridiculous attack on me couldn't go unanswered.
I responded:
>I'm sure you have probably heard this before, but your information and impressions of the area around the Fort Peck Indian Reservation are grossly misguided.
I'm not aware of any inaccuracies re Poplar. It is a "hole." It is as bad as any place I've ever been. I found the level of decadence to be appalling.
>It seems you are only interested in what makes you comfortable and happy and unless situations cater to your needs you only choose to sit back and cry about the injustice of the world.
It seems to me that all you want to do is whine. You haven't identified a single inaccuracy.
Poplar is NOT the real world; that's the point of the website--that there are really great people all over north America and that crime is NOT the norm through this country, but just a part of life in some really lousy places, like Poplar. People were far more friendly everywhere else I rode. Absolutely everybody I talked to along US-2 voiced the same view of Poplar. Several folks said the bicycle maps should tell people to avoid Poplar. Whether you like it or not, Poplar is not a place for bike touring.
As I look at my response, I wish I'd said even more. Nobody could rationally accuse me of being only interested in what makes me comfortable and happy--I rode my bicycle from Alaska to Florida, and I've always been notorious for standing up for other people and doing what I can to fix whatever I perceive to be broken in society.
If I were to do this trip over, I'd avoid staying at Poplar (actually,
I'd avoid Montana--more about that later). Poplar is just too depressing
and the threat of theft or violence seems real.
My accommodations at Lee Anns Motel were just fine.
The Poplar museum is just a couple of blocks east of the motel,
but it wasn't open when I arrived last night and it wasn't open when I arrived
this morning [I was later told that it is never open].
I did take a picture of the Poplar Pride ferryboat which was located outside
the museum.
The Poplar Pride made its maiden voyage across the Missouri River
in 1949 and transported agricultural products across the river until the
Missouri River bridge was constructed in 1969. An historical marker there
explains, that the Fort Peck Indian Reservation is the home of 2 tribes:
the Assiniboine (whose forefathers were living in this vicinity when Lewis
& Clark came up the Missouri in 1805) and the Dakota Sioux (descendants
of the hostiles who fiercely resisted white invasion of their homelands).
Some of the Dakotas took part in the Minnesota uprising in 1862 and moved
west when the army tried to round them up. Others took part in Custer's
demise at the Little Big Horn in 1876. The Assiniboine (also of Dakota descent)
split from the Yanktonai Band in the early 1600s and moved west. They shared
Blackfoot hunting territory set aside in a treaty of 1855, from which Fort
Peck Reservation was created 1888, when 17,500,000 acres were ceded to the
government. Part of the tribe resides on the Fort Belknap Reservation (160
miles west). Fort Peck was originally a fur trading post in 1866.
I reached Brocton around 9:30 and saw my first glimpse of the Missouri River
(too far for a photo). I started experiencing headwinds. The wind forecast
called for northwest winds, but riding east or northeast, I am riding right
into them, so I'm certain they're actually north or northeast headwinds.
A windsock I saw was blowing directly in my direction and I was then riding
directly east per the map. It was a struggle.
Just past Brockton, the Adventure Cycling route deviates off of US-2 onto
local highway #1 for about 14 miles, bypassing some of the hills above the
Missouri River valley.
Though I was still fighting headwinds, It was far more tolerable
because there was NO traffic. Only one car passed me in the entire 14 miles.
Without traffic, it was much quieter too.
There were farms and ranches all along highway 1. I get quite bored as I
ride along alone for hours on end, so I often talk to the animals I see.
Every cow looks at me when I pass by, so I talk to them as a group, giving
them the benefit of my wisdom on many subjects:
I passed an area of "badlands"-like wind erosion of
the sedimentary rock hills.
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I suppose it is because of my proximity to the Missouri River,
but the farms along Highway 1, seem more fertile than what I've been seeing
along US-2.
From what I've seen, Montana seems a relatively poor state. Alberta
to the north is clearly far richer. Alberta is bigger and has greater oil
wealth, along with tourism, timber, ranching, farming, mining and manufacturing.
In Alberta, the roads are better (better than any state I can think of)
and there are more services along the road. [In retrospect,
Alberta turned out to be the most affluent place on my trip; I think even
richer than Alaska. The roads, historical markers, parks, rest areas, etc.
in Alberta were indeed the best of any between Alaska and Florida.]
After going back onto US-2, I climbed a seemingly endless series of hills.
I wasn't in my granny gear--they weren't like the mountain passes, but I
did struggle because the wind always seemed to be in my face and I didn't
gain much on the downhills.
Culbertson, a pleasant little farm town, was my lunch stop. It was a night
and day improvement over Poplar. The houses and shops were well maintained
and very much alive and the town was nicely treed and landscaped. Culbertson
(33.5 miles east of Poplar) would make a better overnight stop than Poplar.
There are a couple of motels and a nice campground.
I was no longer on the Reservation. I ate lunch at the Wild West
Diner (the place with the most cars) and the food was excellent.
As I departed Culbertson, at 1:00, with 43 miles to go to Williston,
I found another one of those hidden gems of a museum.
There was another bicyclist at the museum: James Pryor, from Lafayette (Louisiana?).
Like several of the other riders whom I encountered on US-2,
he was completing a US perimeter tour--east to west from Maine. He was a
bit younger than me--becoming my age tomorrow. He said he often approached
radio stations and newspapers along his way to publicize his trip. He said
he'd bicycled a total of 21,000 miles.
We both posed with the museum staff for a photo (sorry about the back lighting--I
didn't take the picture).
I spent an hour at the museum and was given a personalized tour of the collection. The museum has a fascinating collection of materials depicting life on the range in the old west.
 My tour guide, Suzette Houle |
 Spur collection (a couple of which were handmade by the collector) |
 General store--actual display cases and materials from area shops |
 Muskrat coat |
 Chuck wagon |
 Montana chainsaw |
The chainsaw proved that Montanans have a sense of humor. This seems like the sort of thing one would see in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
In addition to the items photographed, the museum had photographs
of the first dentists to practice in Culbertson--both were women. The father
of one outfitted her with a railroad car dental office, from which she practiced
her profession between Seattle and Minnesota before the turn of the century.
It was fascinating.
I want to mention something I saw at the museum that I was impressed with.
There was a young teenager (middle school age) boy hanging around as I made
my tour. He seemed captivated by the information, and, instead of shooing
him away as most places probably would, the museum staff, to their credit,
were encouraging him, feeding and harnessing his energy. They enlisted his
help in setting up the chuck wagon. Feeding that sort of curious adolescent
energy is real important in developing the thinkers of the future.
It was now after 2:00 and I still had 43 miles to ride into the wind. As
I departed the museum, I saw Culberton's safflower oil plant.
I use safflower oil for cooking, but never knew where it came
from.
From Culbertson, it took me forever to reach Bainville--just a bar and some
oil wells.
As I got nearer to the North Dakota border, the farms looked
more and more fertile.
About 2 miles from the border, I met two young men from Berkeley, California, who were riding from the east coast to the University of California at Berkeley. They were traveling the lightest of anybody I'd seen traveling long-distance. I wondered if they even had shirts--there didn't seem to be even that much in their skinny panniers. I received an e-mail response from them when they arrived back in California.
I reached North Dakota at 5:05 PM.
Yay--I'm out of Montana. In all the distance from Alaska, and all my experience
riding around Michigan, I've never encountered as many rude and discourteous
drivers as I did between Chinook and Poplar. In part that's the fault of
the road. It sure didn't help the relationship between driver and bicyclist
to have no shoulders. I think it is a travesty that the US government gives
highway funds for US-2 where Montana doesn't even bother to build reasonable
shoulders. Congress should mandate that all federally funded highways have
paved and usable 8 foot shoulders and they should withhold funds from states
that don't provide or maintain good shoulders.
I'd ridden 3 hours from Culbertson, but had gone less than 30 miles. At
this rate, I still had a couple of hours to go. I was absolutely beat. The
only service of any sort between Bainville, MT and Williston, ND is a casino
at the border. I stopped at a ranch driveway to urinate; there was no other
choice.
As I entered North Dakota, I immediately perceived a big difference in the
drivers. People (almost every car/truck) were waiving at me. Hardly anybody
had waived at me in days. There were 8' paved shoulders. As tired as I was,
I still felt a whole lot better on a safe shoulder. Also, in North Dakota
there is a posted 55 mph limit on 2 lane highways.
Numerous people I talked to all across Montana said that the elimination
of speed limits in Montana has caused a severe reduction in bicycle traffic.
Bicyclists are scared to ride amongst such high-speed traffic. I hope Montana
realizes that bicyclists spend far more than typical motor vehicle tourists.
I spent 8 days in Montana going the equivalent of one day's car/motor home
travel. I stayed in a motel almost every night. I bought breakfast, lunch
and dinner from Montana restaurants and Gatorade from numerous convenience
stores. I spent several hundred dollars in Montana. A motor home, on the
other hand might have spent a night in a campground eating the food from
their refrigerator and bought gasoline. My neighbor at home marks his gas
up only 3 cents per gallon, so the cash flow from the sale of gasoline to
tourists cannot be economically significant to the tourism economy. Montana
should lower its 2-lane speed limits to 40 mph and construct shoulders to
entice bicyclists to the state.
Also, the volume of broken beer bottles on what shoulders there were in
Montana was the worst I've ever seen, making them unusable. Perhaps Montana
should prohibit the off-premises purchase of bottled beer. And, Montana
needs to institute some sort of rules-of-the-road training with respect
to bicycles on the roadway. We have the legal right to ride on the road;
drivers of motor vehicles don't, they just have a privilege and must yield
the right of way to us. I wish drivers could spend just a day in my shoes.
They'd realize just how hard it is to ride along the edge of the road and
how simple it is for them to brake for a second, then pass all the way over
in the other lane when traffic is clear enough to do so safely.
I was almost constantly in fear for my life as I rode through Montana. I
therefore feel compelled to recommend that until and unless Montana does
something to improve its cycling environment, bicyclists avoid Montana altogether.
Note 1/97: I received e-mail this week from another rider who had the same opinion as I do of Montana and North Dakota:
I rode from Oregon to North Carolina starting on memorial day, so I passed through Montana and North Dakota about a month before you. My reaction to both states was identical to yours. It is amazing what a cultural difference a state line can make!
I crossed into the Central time zone, so didn't reach Williston
until around 8:30 PM. The Adventure Cycling maps failed me because they
don't tell you where the motels are and following the route through downtown
Williston, I never saw a single lodging facility. I ended up reaching the
east side of town and backtracking to ask a pedestrian for directions to
a motel. I was told that all the motels are located on the "million
dollar mile" a couple of miles north of town (and off the AC route).
I didn't actually reach a motel until 9:00 PM (CDT). I only averaged 9.5
mph for the 11.5 hour day--one of my worst days yet.
I've ridden 572 miles in the last 7 days (82 miles per day average), so
I need a day off.
81 miles.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997