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Day 4
June 5th, 2001
Fort Ransom, North Dakota.
It was rainy, cold, and windy as I strapped my gear on the ST. I had slept
well and was ready for the ride to Sturgis, South Dakota.
I idled out the dirt road from the campground onto the paved county road that
would take me to SR 46.
I eased through Fort Ransom, not a person or thing was stirring. It was
6:15am.
Clearing the town, I was confronted by 3 deer smack in the road. I had
been on the lookout for them all morning because the weather was cool, and I
figured they would be stirring about. I brought the Honda to a dead stop,
and the 3 does stood frozen, looking dead at me. They tired of this game
after a few seconds, and bolted into the woods, clearing the way for me to
continue.
When I rose from the canyon, into the plains, I was immediately blasted by a
crosswind coming out of the east. I had battled the crosswind yesterday coming
in, but spent most the day with a tailwind.
I had to travel west and north, to get south. The only bridge over the
Missouri was in Bismarck, about 60 miles west on I-94. SR 46 would take me
west to SR 30, where I would turn north to the slab.
A few minutes after jumping on SR 46 it began to rain. It was in the 40s,
and the rain made it feel much colder. I was dry in my Roadcrafter, and my
waterproof gloves were working, but damn, a rain on 42 degree day is brutal.
I was alone on the Dakota prairie. Not a car, not a person, not a house,
not a tree, not a tractor could be seen for miles. Just me and the
elements on SR 46. The wind knocked me all over the place, and the rain came
down in sheets. I looked north and the sky was really dark over
there. I dreaded reaching SR 30 where I would have to turn to that
direction.
As I rode west on 46 the rain let up. I was cold and shivering.
Inevitably I reached SR 30 and turned north and a few miles later was greeted by
more wind and rain. It continued all the way to I-94.
I saw a abandoned shed down a dirt road, and slowed to take a look. The road was
impassable on a fully loaded ST, but I was still tempted to try it, and get out
of the weather. It was muddy, and standing water covered the road.
If I dropped the ST I was not going to be able to get it back up by
myself. Cooler heads prevailed, and I continued north to I-94, telling
myself if I made it this far, I could make it the rest of the way.
As I rode north on SR 30 I longed for the day I would be in the desert, and far
away from this cold, wet, forsaken place called North Dakota.
My spirits lifted when I reached I-94 and turned west. I could see lighter
skies ahead. In a few miles the rain let up, and I started to dry out.
I took the Mckenzie exit and docked at a Texaco Food Mart. I topped off
the tank and went in for something to eat. I wanted something hot, so got
a chili dog from the rotating cooking thing. I sauntered over to the only
empty table in the dining section. The place was full of locals. Munching
on a woeful chili dog, I eavesdropped on the conversations around me. Most
were complaining about the high price of gas. I had trouble understanding
the accent. The people sounded as if they were Norwegian.
I got back on the road, and remembered that awful chili dog the rest of the day,
like every time I swallowed.
West of Bismarck I peeled off I-94 and went south. South to partly cloudy
skies! Within 10 miles of my direction change the clouds began to break,
and the sun was poking through. I was on SR 6, it would take me to SR 21
where I would turn and head west again.
I was still cold but at least it wasn't raining.
The county seat of Grant County is tiny town called Carson. A big cowboy
sign announced you were in the town. The town is located a half mile down
a paved road from SR 21. I decided this would be a good place to take a
break, so I peeled off the highway and went down to hamlet.
I could see the high school football field as I rode into town. It is not
much more then a few goalposts, with broken down wooden bleachers on the home
side. The visitors had no place to sit. Quite a contrast to the football
shrines back home. I stopped in the local store and bought chips and a
coke. The store also served as a diner, and locals were sitting around a
few tables eating sandwiches. I took my snack out front and sat
down.
A man soon pulled up in a 80s model sedan, and began pumping gas. He filled the
car up to the tune of 35 dollars. When he came out I said-
"that's some high dollar gas"
"you ain't kidding"
We chatted a few minutes, and I found out he use to drive long haul trucks, till
the price of fuel put him out of business.
I got back on SR 21 and kept going west. The sun was out now, and it felt good.
Fifty miles later SR 21 T boned into SR 22 and I turned south again for the
other Dakota. SR 22 takes me all the way to SD 79.
I was in the groove now. I felt smug when I looked to the north at all the
rain, then looked south to the partly cloudy skies I was going to.
I took a break in Hettinger and shed my cold weather gear. A lady in a tired old
pick up pulled in to the post office I was in front off. She came out a
few minutes later struggling with a large box. I went over to help her
carry the box to her truck. The conversation went something like this-
"here lemme help ya with that m'am"
"thanks"
"turning out to be a nice day"
"so where are YOU from with THAT accent?"
"Alabama!"
A few minutes later I was charging south into South Dakota on SR 79.
All day I had been flying across the prairie, causing roosting doves or quail to
fly up from the shoulder of the road. I had several near misses, but was
yet to take one out. They always seemed to break the correct way at the
last instant. I guess the South Dakota guys ain't as good as their cousins
to the north. Two miles into SD I nailed one. He broke left and the
ST took him out, I could hear him cockle as the turbulence took him up and over.
From the saddle of the ST I watched the scenery roll by. Past Grand River
National Grassland ,and Custer National Forest.
I met a north bound rider on a BMW K 1100, looked to be early 90s edition.
We both waved at the same time.
Tooling along SR 79 I began to get concerned about my gas situation. I
started looking in earnest for a station. Too quickly my reserve light came
on. I have about 80 miles when it begins to glow, then its hoof
time. I slowed down to 50 mph. My atlas tells me Belle Fourche is
ahead, about 50 miles, but maybe there is a lone outpost somewhere out here.
I see a headlight coming at me, and I pull to the side and flag him down.
A rider from North Dakota on a Royal Star pulls in.-
"hey any gas before Belle Fourche?"
"none that I saw"
"damn"
He went on to tell there looked to be some kind of store about 5 miles south
from our spot. He didn't know if it had gas or not.
With no other choice I kept going south, albeit at a slower pace.
The building in question came into view. It was located a quarter mile
from the highway down a dirt road. I rode down to the store and as I was
pulling up, 2 dogs came out from under a car and started barking. The
place looked more like a house then a store. I looked around and there it
was-a single gas pump. I idled the ST up to it and shut down. It was
a OLD pump. The pump had a manual reset. I couldn't recall the last
time I had not seen a digital readout on a gas pump. I filled the gas tank
up. I didn't even know how much per gallon it was, because the old pump
could not register more then 2 digits on the price per gallon window.
That's how OLD this pump was.
I went inside looking for the attendant. My steps echoing on the wood
floor. I looked around, and saw a kitchen table with lunch dishes still
out. Shelves of dusty can goods covered one side of the store. Fly
paper draped the far end. I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. At
last a middle aged lady stepped out from the rear.
"I need to pay ya for this gas m'am"
"you bought some gas?"
"yes m'am"
"didn't hear ya drive up"
We spoke for awhile, and I was back on my way. She quizzed me about
Florida for some reason, and asked me if it was really that warm there in Jan.
I stopped and took pictures of Castle Rock, then took the cut off over to US
85. According to my atlas the geographic center of the U.S. is located
just a few miles from here.
I turned south on US 85 and began looking for the marker. I estimated it to be
just a few miles south of SR 168. I go by a white gate with a cattle
crossing. Could that be it?. I doubled back to check it out.
The area behind the gate looked to be something official at onetime, but no
longer. The road leading up to the clearing was grown over and in
disrepair. I kept going south, that was the closest thing I could find to
the marker.
Passing through Belle Fourche I spy the Chamber of Commerce building. The
sign said information, and that was just what I needed. Information. I
went in and the clerk told me the area I spotted, use to house the Geo marker,
but they moved it to its present location about 5 yrs ago. "well where is
it now?" "right out front"
I took pictures of the marker and got back on the road. I was not far from
Sturgis.
I-90 took me to Sturgis, and I took the first exit. Right away I noticed
this is a motorcycle friendly town. We were everywhere. The local
Jiffy Lube even sported a motorcycle only bay.
I found a campground close to town, paid my 6 bucks, and set up camp.
I ran a load of laundry while I took a shower, then rode into town for something
to eat.
Pizza sounded good so I pulled in he "Hut". I carried my helmet
in with me, why I don't know, as no one in Sturgis wore one.
After supper I rode around town checking the sights out. I said to myself,
"I bet this place is wild during bike week"
I returned to the campground ,and made a BIG fire to ward off the chill of the
Black Hills. A family a few places down, was struggling to get a fire
started, but I refrained from offering any assistance. Did not want to
make the father look bad in front of the kids.
I finished the day with 470 miles. I underestimated the distance from Fort
Ransom to Sturgis by 120 miles.
I found the local pay phone, and made a few calls back home.
I read a USA Today by flashlight, then went to sleep.
 
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