September 30th, 2025

Devils Lake sits at the heart of the Prairie Pothole Region, better known as America’s Duck Factory — a haven for nesting waterfowl.

After an okay night’s rest in Bemidji, we started packing up for another four-hour drive west to Devils Lake, ND—but that’s when Murphy showed up. As I retracted the hydraulic leveling jacks, something felt off. They were taking too long, and when I stepped outside to check, I was greeted by a puddle of oil. Miraculously, all four had retracted, so we could at least move—but it wasn’t a great sign.

In town, we pulled into Roth RV to see if this was a trip-ending disaster or just a temporary hiccup. The shop was buzzing, but after 15–20 minutes, Terry, the service manager, kindly crawled under the rig. He found the culprit: the right front jack had blown a seal and was leaking oil when under pressure. No parts, no time to replace—but he wired it up with good old baling wire to keep it from dropping while we drove. Not elegant, but effective. We were back on the road.

A quick call to Leisure Travel Vans got us the part number, and we’ll (hopefully) get it fixed in Colorado Springs on the way east. With that behind us, we settled into the rhythm of the High Plains. Railroad tracks paralleled the road, threading through small farming towns, each marked by towering grain elevators at their center. Soybeans, sunflowers, hay, and corn stretched to the horizon—massive farms rolling out in every direction.

By evening, we pulled into Woodland Resort RV Park in Devils Lake (population ~6,500). The place is known as the “duck factory of the USA,” and the resort’s owner has spent 35 years growing his business from a tiny bait shop into a full-on North Dakota gem: inn, pub/restaurant, marina, and RV park.

After parking, we headed straight to the pub for an early dinner and some well-earned cold drinks. That’s where we met Wes, the bartender—originally from Idaho, now an eight-season veteran of Devils Lake. His rhythm? Work hard through duck season and boating season, then head back to Boise for three months each winter to chase his true passion: snowboarding. Not just any snowboarding—designing and riding 10-foot-long boards shaped like surfboards. He showed us photos, and I just shook my head. “Insane,” I told him. Pete is going to lose it when he sees these pictures.

A few rounds, some walleye bites, and a giant Belgian pretzel later, we wandered back to the rig. The wind was howling at 20–25 knots on the lake, but tucked into a hollow off the shore, we were sheltered. Somewhere nearby, someone was rocking out to Billy Idol, and as the moon and stars cut through the trees, I thought to myself: life on the road in all its quirks—even in North Dakota—can’t be beat.