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Day 5
June 6, 2001
Sturgis, South Dakota
I filled the ST up the night before, so little to do but load up and get on the
road. By, now my routine was down pat. One thing about sleeping in a
tent, I was going to get a early start. Inexplicably, I had forgotten my
watch. The only timepiece I had was the STs clock. But, now, I was wasn't
missing it. When my tent brightened in the dawn I woke up, when it got
dark, I went to sleep. I was always up, loaded, and on the road 15-20
minutes before the sun cleared the horizon.
On Day 2 I came up with a system to take care of my cash. I withdrew cash
from my checking account in 200 dollar increments. This allowed me to
avoid carrying large sums. In the event something happened, all was
not lost. I also stashed my wallet in a safe place in my luggage. Carrying it on
my person was annoying. I had to always worry about leaving it somewhere,
and besides it gouged my butt something awful. I would begin each day
moving 25-30 dollars from my locked stash to the zip pocket on the right arm on
the Roadcrafter, easy to get to, and straightforward. I also carried my
phone card there.
Taking care of the above, and loading the bike took about 45 minutes each
morning. I then got on the road and put down 100 miles, before taking a
break. It became my favorite time of day. I loved watching the
sunrise each morning on the road.
I left Sturgis on SR 79 North. Don't ask me how, but I did. I was riding
the OPPOSITE direction I needed to be.
I didn't realize something was amiss till I passed a crossroads with a sign
pointing to Belle Fourche. What the hell? I pulled over and got out
the atlas. Damn. I took the cut off, got back to Belle Fourche,
found US 85 south, and headed for the Black Hills. The snafu cost me 60
miles and 1 hour. I wonder if I had not seen the sign, would I have just
motored on to Canada before snapping back to reality?
US 85 took me to the "resurrected from the dead by gambling" city of
Deadwood. Already patrons were lining up to make their donations to the
casino.
I finally got into the Black Hills proper. It was cool and I thought about
switching gloves, but thought the better of it, telling myself it will warm up
soon.
I can see why the Indians think the Black Hills are sacred. The ST and I carved
our way through the canyons and valleys in the morning sun. It was early,
and the RVs were still asleep. I was only worried about deer, but did not
see any. Riding among the hills, I spotted a hawk circling overhead,
looking for breakfast. He could glide what seemed like hours on a single
wing flap, riding the currents up, then down. I could sense he was pissed
off at me for scaring the field mice, and wanted me out of his valley.
I had a great ride through the Black Hills.
Soon after crossing the state line into Wyoming I topped a hill and saw a cow
walking on the north bound shoulder. I slowed down, so not to startle her
to jump in front of me. I made it past and stopped in the driveway of a
nearby house. Not wanting to scare the occupants by walking up to the
door, I remained on the ST and beeped the woefully inadequate horn. I was
going to tell them they needed to get their cow off the highway. I beeped
and beeped, but either they were too scared to come out, or didn't hear
me. The cow was grazing just a few feet from the north bound lane.
I figured I did all I could so got back underway. A quarter mile later I
met a 18 wheeler and motioned for him to slow down, he acknowledged, and I saw
his brake lights light up.
I took a break in the Wyoming town of 4 Corners. Why they call it that I
don't know. I found a local store, got a snack, and called my wife at the
office. The secretary said she was in a meeting but would go get
her. I felt a twinge of guilt, she was working, and I was out seeing the
country, but its NOT my fault she doesn't like riding.
I rode into Newcastle and noticed hundreds of oil wells. Why is gas so high here
when they are surrounded by it? In Newcastle, I saw several offices of big oil
companies. I wanted to stop and to find out what the deal was, but didn't.
At the intersection of SR 450 and US 16 I stopped to top off the gas tank.
I know from the atlas 450 is long open stretch of road, and will unlikely not
have any services available. I bought some beef jerky and sat down on the
curb out front. This was a modern store, and it was busy on this morning.
A large mega cab pick-up pulled in. The driver was alone in the cab, but 3
cowboys, true to their nature, preferred riding in the open, and were in the
back. They were young, but weathered looking, and jumped out to the
ground. These were the Real McCoy's. They wore leather chaps, long
dusty range coats, and weather beaten hats. When they came back out I asked-
"where y'all heading?"
"other side of the ranch to move some cattle to the west side"
Our conversation lasted 15 minutes over the side of the truck. I learned
the ranch they worked for, was bigger then the county I lived in. They
would be on the range 2 weeks moving cattle to new grazing areas. There,
they would live and work in the vast expanses of Wyoming. Eating chuck wagon
food, and sleeping on the ground. Their saddles were in the back of the
truck. They had no families, and everything they owned they had with them.
May not have much, but ahhh they were free. They didn't owe anybody a
quarter. Each had a girlfriend in town, they stayed with when not out on
the range. I learned more in that 15 minute conversation about cowboys,
then 40 years of western movies.
SR 450 took me across the Thunder Basin National Grassland. Vast and
open. I rode past grazing cattle, and lounging antelope. They were
everywhere. Thankfully none were near the road. I went on auto pilot
at 90 mph. I would not even slow down when I overtook the rare
pick-up. I just moved over and went around. The Grassland proved to
be another great ride.
Once again, I thought about how lucky I was to be on trip such as this.
I picked up SR 259 in Midwest, and headed south for I-25 and Casper. I
stopped and took a few pics of Teapot Dome.
I arrived in Casper and began looking for a place for a lunch. It was
late, so I was not able to look for a local place, and went to Arby's.
Eating lunch I noticed a "Special" young man working the dining
area. He was busy pushing the carpet sweeper, and wiping tables. He
also assisted youngsters with their trays of food. I don't know what they
paid him, but he deserved more. When I took my tray to the waste can, we
spoke-
"How ya doin?"
"Fine, how are you?'
"man, if my life was any sweeter I would have cavities"
He let out a chuckle, and I was gone.
SR 220 south of Casper is marked in my atlas as a "scenic
route". They need to change that. I found nothing scenic about
it.
I stopped at the rest area at Independence Rock. So named because early
westbound settlers stopped here on the 4th of July and signed the rock. It
is the first hint of the approaching Rocky Mountains.
SR 220 turned into US 287 at Muddy Gap, but it was more of the same.
Nothing good to look at.
I picked up a stiff crosswind out of the north, and I countered leaned the ST to
compensate. I could see bluffs off to the north and guessed they were
playing havoc with the wind currents blowing in.
It was here I had the only close call of the entire trip.
I was on US 287 nearing the Continental Divide, and moving up in
elevation. I was behind a 18 wheeler, he was not going slow, but I dislike
not being able to see far ahead of me, so moved out to pass. Northbound
lane was clear. I dropped into 4th and goosed it, and quickly got sucked up by
the truck turbulence. Every rider knows that is going to happen. I
pushed up over 100 to pass the 75 mph 18 wheeler, his wash bucking me, till I
found the sweet spot. Nearing the front of the truck you can feel a bike
punch through the air pocket to still air. All riders expect it. I
punched through, but instead of still air, I am raked by a 40 mph or better
crosswind, blowing me dangerously close to the edge of the road at 105
mph. I throw the ST into a serious counter lean, hoping its enough to get
me out of trouble. At 105 real estate passes quickly. I immediately
take my eyes from the road edge, to WHERE I WANT TO GO. I get the ST back
under control, and my knees are weak.
I cross The Divide into The Great Divide Basin. Lots of construction and
traffic, and I am not having fun. Miles of sand and rocks.
I get to Rawlins and find a truck stop. I gassed up the ST and
relaxed. I bought a ice cream sandwich and found a booth to people
watch. I also take a 15 minute nap.
I went to the drivers area where I found a bank of pay phones. I used my
sterile wipe to clean a phone. I called my wife back at the office, and
then called my son. Satisfied everything was fine back home, it was time to head
to Utah.
I have my cell phone with me, but can't stand much of the roaming charges.
I make quick work of the 150 miles from Rawlins to Evanston. Along the way
I caught a glimpse of Flaming Gorge. I debated the idea of detouring for a
closer look, but decided not to.
I arrived in the Evanston area in the late afternoon. I began looking for
a campground, but no State Parks are nearby. I will have to go the private
route tonight.
I find a campground, exit, and work the service roads down to it. I rode
in and scouted the area. The place is packed. RVs are bumper to
bumper. The tent area is located in the rear, and they are pitched in
dirt. NO grass. I forget in this area of the country, green grass is rare
commodity.
I made my way pass the tent area, and almost drop the ST in the thick loose dirt
called a drive. The front wheel bogged down in the dirt and spun around. I
don't know how I saved it. Fancy footwork?
I went to the office, to see if any grass areas are available. The clerk
says-
"soft pack is 12, the grass is 18 and I have one spot left"
" 18 to pitch a tent?"
"yep"
"are ya gonna kiss me first?"
"huh??"
I anted up for the grass site. I can't handle the dirt.
I find my grass site next to the shower. I am right in the middle of the
campground surrounded by RVs. Talk about lack of privacy. I had to
drag a nearby table to my site.
I get everything set up by dark and start supper. As my Coleman stove
warms up a can of Spaghetti Os, a man walks over. He use to ride a Gold
Wing. He pointed over to his rig and said, "that's me over
there". He had a RV with a scooter in tow. He was awed to learn
I just left Sturgis that morning. The same trip took him 2 days in his rig.
After supper I took a shower, and called home waking my wife, forgetting the
time zones.
I walked over to the man I met earlier. They were outside watching
TV. I sat down and watched a local Salt Lake news broadcast. The
campground had cable TV hookups. I had been missing TV, so was glad to
catch up on things.
Tired, I got back to my tent and made a few journal notes. It had been a long
and exciting day, so I had much to write about.
I covered 575 miles for the day.
Finished with that, I sipped grape juice, and tended to my now full blown
chapped lips.
My therm a rest felt extra good, and I fell asleep fast around 12.
 
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