 North Dakota may be the 39th state admitted to the Union, but it’s the 50th state Bob and I visited. Many other people have never made it there. According to YouGov, only 14% of Americans have visited the Peace Garden State, named for the International Peace Garden that spans the boundary between North Dakota and Manitoba, Canada. North Dakota is also known as the Roughrider State, in honor of the first volunteer cavalry organized by Theodore Roosevelt, and the Flickertale State, for its abundant ground squirrels. What the nicknames don’t tell you is that the state is the top producer of sunflowers, spring wheat, and honey, according to the nd.gov.  The 39th state is out of the way and requires intention to visit. As full-time RVers, we’ve been on a mission to see all 50 states (well, 49, since we can’t drive our fifth wheel to Hawaii), so North Dakota was on our radar. We had planned to cross into the state last year but rerouted to Plattsburgh, New York, to help with the annual CAF Airbase Arizona Flying Legends of Victory warbird tour. This year, we made it, entering the eastern side of the state from South Dakota and embarked on a boondocking adventure across North Dakota. Surprising weather For our first night, we parked on a small dirt pad surrounded by farmland near the town of Hankinson, unprepared for the nearly 90-degree August heat. Boondocking with no electric hookups made for a very warm arrival. We decided to get up early the next morning and move to a more scenic spot near Bismarck. Fog shrouded our early-morning drive most of the way to Fargo, the state’s largest city, with a population of nearly 138,000, according to World Population Review. There, we traded Interstate 29 for Interstate 94 and headed west against the wind. We had heard that North Dakota can be pretty windy, so we weren’t surprised by that.  What did catch us off guard was the number of lakes scattered across North Dakota. According to ndtourism.com, the state is home to more than 400 lakes. We thought it was all prairie land. Perhaps they caused the fog. A couple of hours passed before we pulled onto a little isthmus in Sweet Briar Lake and had the place all to ourselves. Out every window, we saw beautiful views of water surrounded by tall grasses. Our first night there, we had an interesting thunderstorm encounter that scared us out of the fifth wheel.  Unexpected scenery North Dakota holds a lot of World’s Largest records. On our travels across the state, we marveled at the expansive yellow fields of sunflowers and sightings of the:
The state is also home to the Enchanted Highway, a 32-mile drive from the city of Gladstone to the town of Regent past a collection of the world’s tallest metal sculptures, the brainchild of a man who grew up in Regent and wanted to share his town with others. The seven sculptures include Geese in Flight, the World’s Largest Scrap Metal Sculpture and the only one visible from Interstate 94.  Picturesque badlands After a few peaceful days at Sweet Briar Lake (once the thunderstorm passed), we moved on to the western part of the state. The Great Plains gave way to prairie grasslands and badlands. Unlike the flat eastern part of the state, the west is hilly and offers varied scenery. It’s also home to Theodore Roosevelt National Park. We boondocked in the grasslands near the small city of Medora, population less than 200. Our camping spot gave us beautiful views of a valley and the badlands. On hot days, Bob powered up the generator to run one of our two air conditioners, which helped. It’s a good thing he rewired the rig to enable that.  Across the state of North Dakota, we encountered friendly people and a relaxed pace of life. We may never make it back there again as it took nearly 60 years for us to get there the first time, but we’re glad we made the effort. It was well worth the experience.
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 A sudden shift in the wind outside the thin wall surrounding our bed awakened me from a deep slumber at 12:45 a.m. We had known before going to bed that night that a storm was expected before dawn, with wind and hail likely. I glanced at my phone and saw a severe thunderstorm warning for our remote area about 30 miles west of Bismarck, North Dakota. We had found a beautiful boondocking spot on a little isthmus in Sweet Briar Lake and had the place all to ourselves.  Having learned to check radar for our particular area, I did that as well. The radar displayed a large, mean-looking red swath headed directly toward us. I woke up Bob and showed him what was coming our way. He jumped out of bed, and we tried to determine what we should do in our sleepy state.  Choices, choices
We decided to close the slideouts in our fifth wheel to center the gravity in our rig, giving the wind less surface to hit and preventing our slideout toppers from flapping and stretching. Inexperienced at interpreting radar data, I panicked as we bolted around the trailer. I was ready to close the slideouts, forgetting that we needed to get items out of the way first. Thankfully, Bob remained level-headed. We quickly moved things to safe places so that we could close the slideouts. Rain had already started. With the slideouts closed, we had to hang out in the bedroom or bathroom unless we wanted to stand or sit in the hallway in front of the entry door. Nothing else was accessible. We returned to the bedroom and checked the radar again. Neither of us felt comfortable riding out the storm in the highest part of the rig. We wanted to be closer to the ground. Since we knew we wouldn’t be able to sleep, we agreed to make a mad dash to the truck. I guess you could say we were scared out of the fifth wheel. We quickly got dressed in case we had to go to a public place for safety, threw on our rain jackets and sandals, grabbed a towel, and ran for the truck. Rain came at us at an angle. Shelter in the storm I didn’t immediately feel safer in the truck. I wanted to be in the middle of the cab, away from the windows, but our large console prevented that. We removed our sopping rain jackets and used the towel to dry them and ourselves off as lightning flashed and rain pounded against the roof. After a little while, my panic and fear subsided and I realized that we were pretty secure inside Gulliver. We were closer to the ground in the dually and felt less shaking of the vehicle from the wind. As we sat in the truck with the lights on, we took comfort in seeing a vehicle with its lights on across the lake, where fellow campers were residing. We weren’t alone. We kept an eye on them, and they likely watched us. If neither of us moved, the storm couldn’t be all that bad. To pass time, we started making up our own version of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song: Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful rig, bombarded by this thunderstorm out here in the sticks. The weather started getting rough, the giant rig was tossed, if not for the courage of the fearless crew, Tagalong would be lost. Refuge for the night We kept checking the weather radar. After about half an hour, the worst of the storm had passed and the rain let up a bit. We pulled on our rain jackets and carefully stepped around puddles to return to the trailer. Because we had closed the last slideout in the pouring rain, we thought we’d better open it and clean up the wet mess it had caused. That done, we opened the bedroom slideout and climbed back into bed, leaving the other two slideouts closed for the night. Bob turned on the TV, and we watched part of “The Brady Bunch Movie” while we waited for the tail end of the storm to pass. After two hours of excitement, we were exhausted and fell fast asleep, grateful for our safety and each other. Looking back, we realized we experienced much stronger winds in Carlsbad, New Mexico, and were fine. And we’ve faced at least four tornado warnings. A few things contributed to our decision to ride out this storm in the truck: my lack of experience at understanding radar output, the darkness, and our unfamiliarity with North Dakota storms. We’re glad we hung out in Gulliver and might do so again in a similar situation. You might also like Storm ready: Battening down the RV hatches.  We can normally boondock for about two weeks before our 50-gallon black water tank (toilet waste) fills up. While moochdocking at my cousin Deb’s in Michigan, however, our black tank appeared to reach capacity after only a week and a half — even though Bob had been out of state for about half that time — necessitating a dirty RV project. Measuring full During our first year as full-time RVers, Bob installed after-market tank-level monitors on our black tank and freshwater tank to give us a realistic picture of the volume of their contents. (The factory gauges that come in most RVs aren’t reliable, indicating full tanks when they’re not.) After five years of use, our after-market tank-sensor monitor started giving us false readings: 100% freshwater and 0% black, both of which we knew were incorrect. Bob returned the monitoring unit to the company, Tech-Edge, which troubleshot and fixed the issue — two burned-out chips on the circuit board — and sent it back to us.  Once Bob reinstalled the refurbished monitor, we got a reading that our black tank was at 90% capacity. We took measures to minimize adding to the black tank, but the next day, the monitor read 100%. We had to empty it. We hadn’t planned to move our rig for another three days and didn’t really want to close it all up, move it to dump the tanks, and then reset it up for just a few days. In previous years at the farm, we had a company pump out our black and gray water tanks. This year, though, they wanted triple the price. Taking a dump Fortunately, Deb’s son also owns an RV and had a portable holding tank we could use to transport the contents of our black and gray tanks to a septic tank on the farm. It sounded simple enough. The problem was that the portable tank held 36 gallons, which meant we’d have to stop draining our black tank before it emptied to prevent overfilling the tote tank. To be safe, we decided to start with one of our two gray tanks. Together, the kitchen sink tank and the bathroom tank hold 85 gallons. Deb offered to help and arranged for a forklift driver to transport the filled tote tank to the septic tank for draining. He brought over a pallet on a forklift, and Bob and Deb put the pallet into position to pull the tote onto once it was full. Typically, we empty our tanks with the trailer slideouts closed for easier access to the trailer sewer dump pipe and tank levers. Since we weren’t moving the rig, Bob, with gloved hands, disappeared under the office slide to connect the sewer hose to the drain pipe. Deb, also gloved, held the other end of the hose in an opening on top of the tote tank. I watched, took pictures, and helped where I could.  They successfully emptied the kitchen gray tank into the tote with only one minor mishap of the hose coming out of the tote very briefly. Good thing we started with the gray water! Bob and Deb pulled the tote onto the positioned pallet, but there was no sign of the forklift driver. He had gone to lunch. We didn’t want to wait an hour for him to come back. Toting sewage The tote came with a tow handle that could connect to a trailer hitch ball. So we attached the tote to Gulliver and climbed inside. I made sure Bob and Deb removed their gloves before getting in. Bob drove very slowly the 50 yards or so to the septic tank, watching the tote follow in our rear cargo camera.  Shortly before reaching the septic tank, the pin connecting the handle to the tote fell out, leaving the tank in the middle of the dirt road. We reattached the handle, and Bob and Deb dragged the tote into position to empty it. They donned gloves again (we went through a lot that day), removed a round concrete lid covering the septic tank hole, connected a sewer hose to the tote, opened a lever, and let the substance go. Success!  Next came emptying the black tank. We were able to stop the flow out of the tank in time to keep from overfilling the tote — with no hose mishaps. This time, the tote stayed attached to the truck, and Bob and Deb emptied its contents smoothly, as they had with the first gray tank. Back at Tagalong, we finished emptying the black tank into the tote, which still left plenty of room. So we drained the bathroom gray tank into the tote and filled it pretty full. Then we repeated the emptying process. We were able to dump all three of our tanks in only three trips.  Looking back, we’re convinced all the contents of the black tank would have fit in one tote tank full, which means our sensor wasn’t working properly. We still had at least another 10 gallons of space in the black tank. It’s always better to err on the side of caution, but it would be nice to get an accurate reading. Bob will have to recalibrate the sensor. It likely got off during the repair.
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AuthorThis is the travel blog of full-time RVers Bob and Lana Gates and our truck, Gulliver, and fifth wheel, Tagalong. Categories
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