Rugby to Devil’s Lake, ND
It is 4:50 and I am sitting in the lodge of Ackerman Acres on Devil’s Lake in North Dakota. We actually arrived in the town of Devil's Lake (5 miles west of here) about 12:30 pm. Ate lunch at a fast food place, and then went to the C of C/Information Center to find out where we could pitch our tents and grab a shower.
Everyone thought the park that had an ice hockey arena would be good. We could use the arena (one of 6 in town--does this tell you something?) for shower and bathrooms. But, when we got over there and checked it out, we found no shade and ball games going on until 10 pm. or later. The only place they wanted us to pitch our tents was out in the open, about 20 feet from the inescapable RR tracks and about 300 from the bathrooms.
So . . . Bill called Ackerman’s Acres which number was on the brochure the C of C had given us. The owners of A Acres told us to come along, though they did not usually take "bikers." Ackerman's Acres turned out to be pre-fab cabins, an in-process gravel "beach" on the lake, and no shade. I think the owners were expecting motorcyclists, but they were friendly and told us where to put up our tents and explained that we could use the lodge, which is brand new and contains a kitchen, shower, laundry, coffee machine, candy and snack machine, and big-screen TV as well as sofas and chairs etc.
Ackerman's Acres sits on Devil's Lake, or “Minnewaukan,” as its called by Native Americans. It's a body of salt water extending northwest/southeast for about 70 miles. It has no visible outlet, but Wikipedia tells me that "water probably finds its way through subterranean passages to the basins of the Sheyenne, James, and Red River Valleys." Since its inception during the glacial period, the lake has been either rising or falling. When we were there, water levels were at an all time high, nearly tripling the size of the lake. Numerous roads, trees and pastures are now beneath the surface. To counter this drowning of their resort property, the owners of Ackerman Acres were installing a raised gravel beach.
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| Exterior of Ackerman Acres clubhouse; the interior was much cosier |
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| Ackerman Acres gravel beach and small dock on Devil's Lake |
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| The unappealing raised gravel beach, which was being bulldozed into place while we were there; the owners told us this was necessary to protect against flooding because the devilish lake is rising each year |
The only place with shade where we could set up our tents was under a lone tree up on a hill behind the cabins, so we have set up our tents in the sun, and, like B’rer Fox, “lay low” in the lodge until sundown.
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| Bill checking something out before erecting his tent |
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| The tree behind the cabin where we pitched our tents; only allowed shade for one, so we all pitched in the sun, I remembering Rick's anger when Diane pitched her tent one time under the only shade tree |
The couple who own Ackerman’s Acres have given us free rein, “free” being the operative word. They don’t want to charge us, but at Rick’s insistence, we will leave $10 each anyway, though what $30 will mean to their budgets as opposed to what it means to ours is laughable.
We’ve showered and are doing our laundry. Tonight it was my choice of what to have for dinner, and presently it—roast chicken, broccoli (Rick’s pick), coleslaw, baked beans, etc. bought five miles back at the Devil’s Lake grocery deli—is in the fridge and will soon be in us. Then we can lounge in here where it is cool, watch big screen TV, listen to the juke box, munch popcorn, and relax.
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| Rick relaxing in the lodge out of the heat and sun before dinner |
[Don't know what I said, didn't say, did or didn't do, but Rick is back to being surly with me. Don't know what it is about my personality that provokes, and that worries me because I am always blindsided. Maybe it is my abruptness. Maybe it is Rick's hangover. These "cabins" and this man-made area seem pretty unappealing to me, but this evening Rick arranged to speak to the owner about buying a property here for his "retirement getaway." To each his own, I guess.]
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| Internet photo of a long-billed curlew landing |
