Standing in between my only goal for the afternoon-reaching Bismarck-was the largest set of milkers I had ever seen. I knew the cow's teats were only made of fiberglass, not the sweet meat of actual flesh. Screwit. I pulled over. Why? Because I could. As things would have it, I wasn't the only one interested in the gigantic milk makers. There was already a family up there ogling the manmade wonder. I could see their youngest staring out of the corner of his pre-adolescent eyes at the engorged veins that ran along Sue's pink udders. "Breasts are life," I told the kid in my head. "They are nothing to be shy of." I hammered the point home as I walked up to a dangling teat with camera in hand and began faux-sucking the glorious fun bags for a nice self-portrait. Mom's and dad's face turned a shameful red. They were clearly uncomfortable to see a grown man acting out perceived perversions in front of their impressionable child. The little tyke wanted in on the action. He reached up toward the teats dangling above his little head. What was daddy to do? Shame the boy for wanting to touch? He'd forever equate natural breasts with wrongdoing.
The dad simply lifted his child over his head to let the starry eyed boy touch a breast that wasn't his own mothers for the first time. He looked at me and smiled. In our hyper-protective modern society of kids forced to wear helmets on tricycles, unrealistic fears about germs, and the general pussy-fy-ing of our nation's youth, it is times like these that I feel hope for the future. Maybe, just maybe we aren't breeding a new generation of Americans who will no longer be able to fight battles or deal with any sort of pain due to overprotective idiots. Of course, I'm a habitual line crosser. I asked the mom to take a few portraits of me fondling and attempting to lick the massive nubbin; she did so with a nervous laugh.
After I left Sue, I headed the 30 miles or so to the Bismarck-Mandan area, a hot spot along the Missouri River. The Missouri, if you'll bear with another one of my history lessons, is the route Meriwether Lewis and William Clark took on their expedition out west. My friend's family lives north of town along the river. L and C likely pooped in their backyard. So I thought I'd stop in and see if they'd feed me and let me bunk for the night.
The family immediately took me in as one of its own-a dirty stranger on a dirty motorcycle with a camera. They took me out fishing with their grandchildren and put a full plate in front of me. They have a couple of hot daughters, but I didn't mess with them after growing up hearing all sorts of horror stories about messing with farmer's daughters.
Day 11: Jamestown and Beyond
The next morning I continued east. When I saw Jamestown's giant buffalo-the world's largest buffalo-I didn't feel like fondling its buffalo bollocks, a la Salem Sue's teats, but I ended up having some campy fun. Near the buffalo, Jamestown built an old-timey reenactment city called Frontier Village. As I pulled up, there were cowboys, sheriffs, and saloon girls going about their business, peacefully and all, until the bad guys decided to rob the bank. A big gunfight ensued, and the town drunk ended up flipping the plot by killing off his fellow partners in crime and running off with the sack full of gold. After the major fatalities came back to life, I inquired with the sheriff about the area and shared stories of my road trip. I got a group portrait with the cast, and once again, pushed things a little further by faking a gunfight between the sheriff and me. That wasn't as cool as I thought it would be, so I asked him to arrest my ass over the Harley Ultra Classic Electra Glide. The photos were planned to look like he was frisking me, but they ended up looking like he was about to give me some Deliverance-style loving.