Is this Heaven? No, it's South Dakota.

If you ever plan to visit the whole Black Hills region of South Dakota this map is going to be your best friend. The Road Trip loops highlighted on it are some of, if not the best roads you'll ever put under your bike.

You can see it full sized at their website

http://www.blackhillsbadlands.com/home/planyourtrip/maps/mapdetails

They have big "pads" of these at almost every place in the "Hills" and they're free for the taking. Uncle Bob sez, "Git one!"

Some of this will be out of sequence with earlier posts because Beckie posted a bunch and I'm just now getting around to putting my two cents worth in so if you've already read what she had to say now you get the view from Ol' Bob's side of the ride.



Cool neon! This is a steakhouse / roadhouse in Belle Fourche, S.D. Great steaks, friendly folks, and a very cool neon sign.

When we last met Ms. Beckie and I had just spent the night enjoying a real bed, a private bathroom, and air conditioning. Not that Der Dawghaus isn't reasonably comfortable but a break now and then to savor modern convenience is nice. Our motel was a survivor from the U.S. highway glory days and the current owner has done a nice job of updating the place without destroying the "cool factor" of an old motel. They had decorated it in a "western" theme that while bordering on cheesy (I like cheesy) was still fun. Best of all it was clean, the WiFi worked, as did the airconditioning, and it was cheap. An important consideration if you're not independently wealthy trying to do a month long road trip.




A biscuits and gravy breakfast at a local diner then we were on the road, again.



Have I mentioned that all of the pictures are scalable so if you want to see it bigger, just click on the pic. It will magically enlarge for you. Cool, huh?

Headed down U.S. 85 toward Spearfish. Picked up U.S. 14A on the other side of town and entered the "Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway." This is the "Northern Hills" loop on the Black Hills map. Without a doubt it's 75 miles of incredible beauty. We stopped at nearly every observation stop, and there are dozens of them. Bridal Veil Falls was one of the more incredible sights.




It's enough to say that if you're driving these roads you'll want to stop often. It's also safe to say that, if you aren't careful, even the most jaded among you will be so distracted by the surroundings that you might just drive off the road. I recommend stopping often.

We took 14A through Lead and into Deadwood, then aimed south on U.S. 385 toward Custer City. It'd start to get redundant to exclaim how magnificent the scenery is but I gotta say, it really is. My only disappointment at that moment was that I was driving the Dearborn Locomotive and not sailing on my Red Sled Electra Glide. This is a lot of road just begging for your ass to be on your bike. Like i said before I put the roads around the Black Hills up to any I've ever ridden and I've ridden some of the best biking roads in the world. Save the overseas airfare and point yer putt up North!




Now if you were tooling along down a beautiful, mountain road and you came across these signs, you'd just have to stop, wouldn't you? I sure as hell did!




The "Prairie Berry" winery outside of Hill City, S.D.. With wines such as "Red Ass Rhubarb" and "3 Red Necks" you just know this is a Maddawg kind of place. We pulled into the parking lot (I'll skip over the part about finding that the back lot was full and it didn't go around the building so Cap'n Bob had to back the Dawgmobile and trailer out of a twisty, turney parking lot full of expensive German imports)(Ok, I won't skip it. I was magnificent in my skilled backing of said vehicle out of a tight spot fraught with insurance cancelling impacts just inches away. No, really, I was just plain baddass! Really...)

Where was I? Oh, yea! The winery!

So, we park the 'Haus and head inside for a tasting. Pretty typical of winery tastings except more designed for a large, fast moving crowd. And the wine? While I know the difference between good wines and even know what wines are supposed to go with which foods, I really don't care about convention. I like what I like and my taste runs toward MD 20/20 (go figure, right?) and Boones Farm. All of that bullsquash aside, this is really good wine. The Redass is rhubarb based, kind of sweet but not syrupy. And the 3 Rednecks is as good an American Cabernet Sauvignon as you'll find anywhere. We buy a few bottles to take home and some souvenirs and we're on our way.

you'll find them online at www.prairieberry.com

Just south of Hill City you'll begin see signs for the Crazy Horse Memorial. Coming from the northern side you won't see it until it's in your rear view mirrors but when you do you'll want to stop and turn around. Even from five miles away this carving is gigantic. We were going to keep heading on to our next camping spot but, still, we just had to stop and take it in. Whetted out appetite for the next days riding adventure.




It's getting late in the day and we still have a bit of a drive left so we press on through Custer City. Ms. M notes that this touristy little burg has a number of Indian shops and other Western type spots so we put stopping there on our agenda for tomorrows ride back to Crazy Horse.

Another thirty or fourty miles on through the town of Hot Springs and we find out next stop, the Hot Springs KOA. Those of you who RV camp, including them thar motorcycle pulled pop ups, know how hard it is to find a really nice campground near a major tourist area. They know they'll get business because of their location so they don't put as much effort into maintenance and upkeep. Not so with our newest hosts. So far, this is the nicest, cleanest place we've parked. It's a bit to the south for you Sturgis bound folks (if you're going to Sturgis, you stay at the 'Chip anyway, right?)but for any other visit to the Black Hills this is close enough and convenient to the many road trip loops as well as the big stops at Crazy Horse and Mt. Rushmore. The Ol' Dawg gives it all five pointy fingers on his rating scale.



I'm just amazed at all of the old iron still on the road around here. Not rusted to death and when they're for sale the prices are usually reasonable. Many are still daily drivers. Just old cars instead of "rare and collectable, only $50K and it's yours!" I have to come back here when I have some bucks to spend on my next project car.



We set up camp and call it a day. Weather calls for t-storms all day tomorrow, which will suck most heinously. I don't care, though, I need some two wheel time come rain or shine.

Tomorrow it's up on two and off to see a big Indian.

later, sportsfans!

Bob

Impressions of Beauty and Darkness

Welcome to my moon.


The Bad Lands in all its glory.




Bob enjoys the view from our camp site. The roof over the picnic table is a wind break.



The bluebird of happiness?


I have no idea who this guy is but man!!! could he sing!!



Volcanic ash turned to rock.


Moonscape right here on earth.


Mommy turkeys and their broods hanging out in the park.



treacherous footing for climbers.


a local stops by to say hi.


The back door view to go with our morning coffee.



The sun sets on another day, a full moon to light our evening.


Grasses and hills at dusk.


7/24/10 6 am local

As I sit here writing this I am looking out at a pink and white moonscape, listening to birds whose names I do not know singing in the trees and while flying through the air. Ronda and Julie: this place reminds me of you. I know you would both love to be here watching the birds yourself and listening to their music. Jagged peaks of rock that were formed millions of years ago by volcanoes, the ash turning to clay and finally to the flint-like substance I see before me. The dew is heavy on the grass and I imagine how thirst-quenching it must be for the rabbits and small game to gnaw on the sweet, refreshing dew while having their morning breakfast of oat and buffalo grass. The children in the next camp site are still in bed, it is too early for them to be awake and making noise. The peacefulness of this morning is incomparable to anything I have experienced thus far.
I sit here and imagine what it must have been like for those long ago people to begin their daily routine; taking sustenance from food that they worked so hard to hunt and gather while I have the luxury of turning on the propane gas and frying up our bacon and eggs. I have real coffee, toast with chokecherry jam, and a sense of thankfulness that I can enjoy both the ancientness of the landscape with the modernity of a fairly quick breakfast. It is a dichotomy of thought and feeling that has never quite hit me so forcefully in all the days we have been in Indian country.
“Back country” camping is allowed here. You must go no further than a half mile off the trail and you are not allowed to have fires due to the danger of setting the whole place ablaze. If you need to “eliminate” you are asked to do it in a hole you dig; six inches deep at least and please take the toilet paper with you when you go. I admire people who can camp so primitively, I admit I am a creature of comfort who would balk at carrying my own fecal matter in a bag until I can properly dispose of it. I get the concept; leave no trace. But I am horribly spoiled and happy that I have running water on board with which to take care of my daily ablutions. As the back-country campers do I have abandoned my flip flops in exchange for good solid shoes that cover my entire feet in order not to tempt fate. One bite of the rattle snake’s fangs and the vacation is over.
The air is chilly after so many days of heat. The temperature is about 65 degrees; I am wearing sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt. I am sure if I moved to the sunnier part of the campground I would warm quickly but I am enjoying the anonymity of sitting in the shade of the camper too much to move; for now I accept the compromise of being cold in order to keep this wonderful peaceful feeling.
As we came into the park yesterday we could see the huge plains of grass in between the breaks in the rock; it is not hard to imagine the thundering herds of buffalo and the many thousands of tipis that must have once inhabited this area. I read that the buffalo and Indians were so closely tied together that when the soldiers needed to find the Indians they just looked for the buffalo instead. How sad that now a glimpse of a buffalo is such a treat when once they were as plentiful as the stars in the sky. I will be sorry to leave this place and I hope that my friends can find a way to come here and experience what I am feeling at this moment. It is precious to me.

Bob saw a sign that showed where some scenes from “Thunder Heart were filmed.

We’re on our way to Wounded Knee. It’s hard leaving the Badlands when it’s so pretty but I can’t stay here forever. Like anything else it would become so routine I wouldn’t even see it any more I’m sure. After Wounded Knee we’ll be going to the SAC (Strategic Air Command) museum in Nebraska. Bob and his family lived on several SAC bases when he was young due to his father’s stint in the Air Force. Bob wants to see what all the fuss was about now that he’s an adult. We haven’t made any plans for anything after that. The trip is winding down, I can feel it. It seems like we’ve been gone for a lifetime and yet it seems like we’ve been gone for just a few days.

We just entered the Pine Ridge Reservation of the Oglala Lakota people. You can still see the rock formations of the Badlands to the north but to the south it’s prairie/grasslands. The road is not as well kept as the county and state roads but passable nonetheless. The main farms here seem to be hay and beef. One family has the cows running around in their front yard. I thought dodging dog shit was a pain in the ass, I hate to think what cow chips would do to a good pair of shoes. More to come when I can tell you about Wounded Knee.

2:00 pm

I will be the first to admit that I have never been one to obsess over the plight of the Indian. Yes, their story is as much a part of American history as the pioneers or the fur traders or even the Revolutionary War that began this country. When we drove through our first reservation; the Crow, I looked around and thought a little about the culture and history of the Indian nations but looking back I can’t honestly say I was totally moved, probably merely curious, much as I would be about any culture different from my own. When we went through the Cheyenne Reservation I thought about the stories I had heard of their strength and the fights they fought bravely but it still didn’t register completely with me the impact on our history all that happened out here in the West. Going through the battlefield at little big Horn I began to feel heartbroken at the waste of it all. As a woman who was raised in a minority culture, if you will, I understand the anger and the puzzlement regarding the more dominant culture. I still to this day can’t figure out why Hearing people have such a hard on against being Deaf. I began to feel the same thing on behalf of the Indian nations when we were at Little Big Horn. Little Big Horn is a place that has tons of money poured into it. The monuments are marble and expensive. The tourist/ visitor center has a movie theatre that tells all about the battle that occurred there, about the culture of the tribes that lived there, and they have a thriving tour business linked to the local college.

Compared to all that I have seen to this point Wounded Knee is the knife in my heart. There is a single building there on the hill, next to the cemetery full of the Indian dead. We actually missed it the first time and drove right past it. We had to turn around in the post office parking lot and go back. The Wounded Knee Massacre museum building is decrepit by any measurement, the inside needing the murals repainted, the outside needing new stucco and paint. There is a lone Lakota man, a young person sitting there beading his horse hair and laying the finished products on the table in front of him in the hopes that people coming to gawk will buy his wares. There is a box asking for donations to keep the museum alive for just a little longer. Across the road are shade shelters built from sticks and covered with branches, or in one case, made from steel pipes and a white tarp. Beneath the tarp is an older Lakota man, speaking in heavily accented English; telling us the history of Wounded Knee from his people’s perspective and how they look forward to the day that they can be free of the Federal Government again. The old man was dark, with a tear drop tattooed beneath his left eye, more than likely a souvenir from the penal system, a man who was soft-spoken yet carried a voice full of conviction that his people had been robbed of all the wealth they had and he was happy to teach me so. He spoke of the gold, buffalo, grain and land. There are developers moving in; wanting to build ski resorts and condos. Part of me sees the benefit of having these things; jobs and tax dollars which allow these people to get out of the abject poverty from which they obviously suffer. There was a young Lakota girl with him, her 4 month old baby girl kicking and smiling in her arms and I thought about how some asshole from a whole other planet of life experience was going to make money, tons of it, off of these people’s land while the baby girl would grow up on fry bread and Oprah, getting fat and making babies she couldn’t afford to provide for because sex is the only thing that doesn’t cost a dime in the short run.

We went to the top of the hill to the cemetery. It’s very small and still being used by the locals. The most recent date of death I saw was 2006. Bob told me to leave a cigarette as an offering as is the custom (tobacco or food is considered a sign of respect) and I felt bad because for once I had left my smokes in the car at the bottom of the hill. The graves had food, flowers, stones, and vases on them, left from previous visitors or family members. As we walked down the hill two white kids came running up, laughing and carrying on, and I found myself getting angry that they would act as if nothing happened here, as if this were just another day in the park and no one had died here. We continued on down the hill and on the wind I heard pipes playing. I paused to turn and look; somehow without my noticing it, a young Indian woman had walked into the cemetery and began playing a mournful tune on the pipe. The rowdy kids immediately quieted, and Bob and I paused to listen. It was at that moment that I felt the full and crushing grief for these people that I am trying to convey in this writing. I looked to Bob and he was standing there, watching silently with his hat in his hand, obviously as touched by this scene as I was. I will never forget this day, out of all of the days we have been on the road. This has been a most powerful day.





The BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) Highway.




The "Massacre" word was finally permitted to be put over the word "battle". How sad that permission must be sought to tell the truth. But the victors write history, don't they?


The Museum; a testament to how money goes where the egos do when it comes to politics. The government would just as soon this place go away so they don't give it a dime.


The Oglala Lakota man who watches the museum. Not much for giving out info but patient about being there. He makes bead work jewelry and leather miniature drums for the few tourists who can find the place.


The only place we've been that I felt it would be wrong to take a rock.

Dead Presidents: Not Neccessarily a Rock Band

Note the hairpin turns on the sign: that was not exaggeration, it was a warning.


A little slice of paradise...


A payphone in the middle of nowhere. Go figure.


the valley we were in really did look like this. the curve of this road was nothing compared to the turns ahead.


We made it!


Bob is happy the man; he even let me take his picture!


One for the guys at Plainfield Harley Davidson.


Pretty self-explanatory.


This was the beautiful weather; in reality we only got a few raindrops on us. We managed to avoid the rain the entire day, chasing it from one spot to another. The clouds always stayed ahead of us. Weird (but good).


The mountain...


The close-up.


I can't even begin to comment on what this means to me.


Bob tries to relax after a hard day.

Howdy!
Yesterday was Dead Presidents day on the Madigan journey. We rode up to Mt. Rushmore to see the sculpted mountain and then came back to camp in the early evening. I have to say that Mt. Rushmore was, for me, almost anti-climactic and frankly it pissed me off a tad bit. Let me clarify: I was fascinated by the workmanship that went into it. I could have sat there all day and listened to the stories of the drilling and how you can make something so big out of a template so relatively small. The sculptor changed the design of that thing NINE times before they got the finished product due to the actually working of the stone. The technical part of the story; how the whorls and cracks in the stone dictated the placement of the heads, the way the scaffolds were made, etc., were the things I found interesting.
The part that pissed me off was the politics. Yes, the greenies had to get their foot in the door so there’s this big display all about some beetle that’s eating the pine trees around here. Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s wonderful that there is information available to teach people the reason you don’t move wood. I think the national Forest Service does a great job and the guys working in those positions have a tough row to hoe explaining to ignorant hollow-eyed Berkeley morons why sometimes burning and/or cutting a forest is a necessary and scientifically proven method to keep the trees more viable. But what the fuck does the voracious pine beetle have to do with carving a mountain? Nothing.
Then there was the wall dedicated to the dedication from various Presidents such as Kennedy and Bush Sr. It was purely political; those people aren’t on that mountain. They were kids when the idea was conceived. But the government paid for it and by golly they will use it as a platform to say what they damn well want to say when they want to say it. Why couldn’t the exhibit be more about Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, and Lincoln? Of course they had a few panels dedicated to those four men but the overwhelming feeling I got as I walked through the main hall was this: Mt. Rushmore was built and paid for with tons of tax-payer dollars. In the eyes of a politician that means the monument belongs not to you or me, the monument cannot stand on its own merits, but must be a platform for showing how awesomely wonderful it is that we have a political class of people in this country who are going to look out for us and show us how hard they are working to make life better for us and gee; aren’t they too wonderful?

OK: you’re wondering where that rant came from; frustration. The idea that so much of people’s money went into making a sculpture that they would probably never get to see because they couldn’t afford to get there really bothers me. Don’t forget that this sculpture was carved in the middle of the Depression. People were forced to pay taxes they couldn’t afford in order to stroke the egos of people who could have afforded to pay for it themselves. It pisses me off. Rant done.

On a much lighter note: We rode Highway 16 A for about 15 miles. This road is pretty hairy but tons of fun with two or three tight hair-pin turns and beau coup signs saying “Slow to 25 mph, turns ahead”. (That was an optimistic muber if you ask me.) The curve signs looked like snake warnings there were so many of them. Bob was a real sweetie and gave me a “thumbs up” for doing so well on the curves. He knew I was nervous because I had never done those kind of tight turns before, (really, how curvy is Indiana for God’s sake), and there is no room for mistakes out here. You don’t lean, you fly. It’s really that simple. Some of the road just drops off for a couple of hundred feet; you sure don’t want to overshoot your curve so you gotta lean over as far as you need in order to get around the corners. It was scary but totally exhilarating and one of the reasons I wanted to ride out here. Bob said if I can take those corners Deal’s Gap will be a cake walk because their turns aren’t so tight. I felt kind of bad because we got about three quarters of the way up the mountain and had to turn around due to a wreck. It seems a car and a motorcycle met head on: I really hope everyone was ok.
About half way up the mountain we stopped at a place called Elk haven. It was a beautiful piece of land; the store had a huge front porch deep enough to sit at some picnic tables and sit out of the rain if you needed to. Rocking chairs and a checker board completed the ideal country place. Definitely a place I would buy with that winning lottery ticket. The thing that tickled me was the pay phone at the end of the gas pump pull-through. Not only do you rarely see a pay phone these days; who woulda thought you would see one in Bumfuct, SD?
Today we head for Wall Drug, then Minden Nebraska to see a kitschy little village with a blacksmith shop, pioneer village, and old trains, planes and automobiles. Our kind of place!! I can't wait.