Ever played that old computer game? You know the one. You’re in a pixelated wagon, your oxen just died of exhaustion, and suddenly—boom—you’ve got dysentery. Game over. For most of us, that was the extent of our pioneer knowledge. But in 2011, a guy named Rinker Buck decided that reading about history or clicking a mouse wasn't enough. He wanted to live it. Honestly, it sounds like a midlife crisis on steroids, but the result was The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey, a book that managed to turn a dusty 2,000-mile trek into a New York Times bestseller.
Buck didn't just drive a Jeep across the plains. He bought an authentic 19th-century Peter Schuttler wagon, hitched up three mules, and convinced his brother Nick to help him navigate from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Baker City, Oregon.
Why the heck would anyone do this?
Basically, Rinker Buck is obsessed. He’s a "rut nut"—one of those people who can’t pass a historical marker without slamming on the brakes. He noticed that while everyone talks about the Oregon Trail, nobody had actually completed the whole thing in a covered wagon in over a hundred years. Not since Ezra Meeker did it in the early 1900s.
It wasn't just about the "cool factor" of the wagon. Buck was chasing something deeper. He wanted to understand the "pioneer DNA" that supposedly defines Americans. Plus, he had some serious baggage with his father, Thomas Buck, who had taken the family on a much shorter wagon trip back in the 50s.
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The Real Stars: Jake, Beck, and Bute
If you think this is just a book about two brothers arguing in a box on wheels, you’ve got it wrong. The real protagonists are the mules.
- Jake: The "gentle giant." He was nearly 18 hands tall and the emotional anchor of the team.
- Beck: A jet-black beauty who was also, frankly, a bit of a basket case. She’d freak out at a mailbox or a piece of plastic blowing in the wind.
- Bute: Smaller, cute, but tough as nails.
Mules are fascinating creatures. People call them "stubborn," but Buck argues they’re actually just smarter than horses. A horse will run itself to death if you tell it to. A mule? It’ll stop and look at you like, "Are you kidding? I’m not crossing that river; it looks dangerous." That survival instinct is what got the pioneers across the Rockies, and it’s what kept Rinker and Nick alive when things got hairy.
It wasn't all sunsets and campfires
The journey was brutal. Think about this: they were moving at about four miles per hour. That’s a walking pace. For four months. They dealt with:
- Violent thunderstorms in Nebraska that made the mules want to bolt.
- Broken axles and wheels that required Nick’s MacGyver-like mechanical skills to fix in the middle of nowhere.
- Dehydration. They once had to pull a 50-mile forced march just to find a reliable water source.
One of the most surprising things Buck points out is how much "litter" the original pioneers left behind. We think of them as these pristine environmentalists, but they were actually the "greatest litterbugs in history." When the trail got steep or the animals got tired, they just started tossing stuff. Grand pianos, heavy dressers, cast-iron stoves—the trail was basically a 2,000-mile-long junk heap in the 1850s.
The Myth of the "Lonely Pioneer"
We’ve all seen the Hollywood movies where a lone family fights off "hostile" natives while crossing a desolate wasteland. Buck's research—and his own experience—completely flips that script.
The original trail was crowded. During peak years, it was like a dusty interstate highway. And the Native Americans? Mostly, they were businessmen. They wanted to trade. They provided directions, helped with river crossings, and traded fresh vegetables for clothes or tools. It wasn't until later, when the white settlers started slaughtering the buffalo (the literal lifeblood of the tribes), that things turned violent.
Buck found that the "American spirit" wasn't about rugged individualism as much as it was about community. He and Nick only made it because of their "trail family"—random ranchers and locals who offered them a place to corral the mules, a hot meal, or a spare part for the wagon.
Modern Ruts and Meth Trails
The book gets a bit dark when it talks about the current state of the Midwest. Buck describes following the trail through towns that have been gutted by the loss of the railroads and the rise of the meth epidemic. It’s a stark contrast: the optimistic, forward-moving energy of the 1840s versus the stagnancy of some of these modern rural communities.
But then he’ll find a stretch of the trail that is perfectly preserved. He mentions that there are still about 600 miles of original wagon ruts visible across the West. Think about that. Those deep grooves in the earth were carved by the passage of 400,000 people over a century ago.
Is it worth the read?
If you like Bill Bryson or Cheryl Strayed, you’ll probably dig this. It’s funny, it’s profane (Nick has a mouth like a sailor), and it’s deeply researched.
What you’ll actually learn:
- Why the Peter Schuttler wagon was the "SUV of the 1800s" (and why nobody actually used Conestogas on the trail).
- How to "whisper" to a mule so it doesn't kick your head in.
- The real role of women on the trail, who often handled the navigation and bookkeeping while the men played "explorer."
Actionable Insights for History Lovers
You don't have to buy a team of mules to experience this. Here is how you can actually engage with the history Rinker Buck uncovered:
- Visit the "Rut Nuts": Organizations like the Oregon-California Trails Association (OCTA) help preserve the original ruts. You can find maps on their site to see exactly where you can still see the tracks in Wyoming or Idaho.
- See America Slowly: Buck’s mantra was "See America Slowly." Next time you’re on a road trip, ditch the interstate. Take the backroads. Stop at the weird historical markers. The "real" America isn't at the Buc-ee's off the exit ramp; it’s in the small-town rodeo grounds and the dusty ranch roads.
- Read the Diaries: Buck relies heavily on real pioneer journals. Check out the diaries of women like Narcissa Whitman or the records from the "Great Migration" of 1843. It's a lot more grit and a lot less glamour than the history books suggest.
The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey reminds us that history isn't just something that happened "back then." It’s a physical thing you can still touch if you’re willing to slow down enough to find it. Just... maybe try to avoid the dysentery.
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Next Steps for Your Own Journey:
If you want to dive deeper into the technical side of 19th-century travel, you should look into the specific engineering of the Peter Schuttler wagon axle or research the breeding history of the American Mammoth Jackstock—the specific type of mule that made the westward expansion possible. You can also use the National Park Service's interactive trail maps to plot a weekend "slow-mo" drive through the most scenic preserved sections in Wyoming's Sweetwater Valley.