Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Day 14 I was tightening down the gear straps, on another gorgeous morning, a bright sun, and clear blue sky day. In my simple mind I asked, " God? How many perfect riding days are you going to bless me with on this trip?" "The dues paid in Texas were enough?" The Tetons rose up in the sky, their reflections scanning in the water of Jackson Lake. Such beauty and majesty are rare, the lake was quiet and the wind was calm. I looked over things one more time before I left, eternally grateful for who I am. I had 2 options. I could go to US 26 and go around Yellowstone, but add 125 miles to the day, or I could ride east through the park. I choose option 2, reasoning I will be early enough to avoid the RVs and lost mini vans. I passed the empty ranger office, and proceeded to US 89 north. I was on this route with Dennis last year, so I had an idea what to expect ahead. US 89 follows Jackson Lake to Yellowstone. A nice ride. One of the most picturesque rides a Long Rider will ever find himself on. The ranger at the Yellowstone checkpoint saw my ticket on the the windscreen and waved me through. It was 7am. The weather was cool, and I had on leather gloves with the Roadcrafter vents closed. Remnants of the late 80s fire storms can still be seen in this area of the park. Large gaps could be seen in the forests. But nature has a way of taking care of such things, already saplings, flowers and plants were reclaiming the scared and blackened land, bringing a new beginning to the area I was having a nice ride through the park, when I exited a easy right hand curve and found a lazy buffalo in my lane. I was only going 45, so slowed to a stop. I creped up a little, careful not to startle him. He ambled over to the grass and I got around without incident. Good thing I was not doing 60mph.
At Fishing Village I turned east on US 20, and followed the shores of Yellowstone Lake. I spotted a few fisherman, but not much else in terms of activity. I went over the Continental Divide, and quickly went up in elevation as I closed in on Avalanche and its 10,000+ peak. On this side of the mountains the sun does not shine directly, much of the day is in the shade, so snow is still deep. Not as much as Lassen, but still a lot for this time of year. An SUV family with Florida tags was on the side of the road. The young family was playing in the snow and throwing snowballs at each other. It was probably the first tme any had ever seen the stuff. The shield of the Arai was trying to fog in the cold mountain air so I cracked the bottom to clear it. It was really cold at Sylvan Pass, but I made it, and began the long descent down out of the mountains. By days end I should be out of the mountains completely ,and on the Dakota Prairies I was out of Yellowstone, and leaning the long sweeping curves, on my way into Cody when I get my chance. Two west bound Harleys wave at me, now is as good as time as any. I check behind me, jam my brakes and make a U turn into the west bound lane. It took me while to come down from highway speed and to get turned around, so the Harleys have a good jump on me. But the powerful ST quickly closes down on the 2 loaded Electra Glides, chugging uphill. The have North Carolina plates, even better, southern boys. I pull abreast of the lead rider and motion for him to pull over. He looks confused at me, but not threatened. We played road charade for half mile before he got the message and pulled over at motel parking lot. I hear him say- "so what's up?" Without taking my helmet off I say, "going to Yellowstone?" "yeah" I reached up and pulled the ticket from my screen, "here take this, it's good for 7 days, it will save ya the 15 buck entrance fee." "whaaaa??" "a Harley rider saved my ass in the Northern California mountains, too long a story to get into here, but know he helped me outta a big mess. I don't even know his name. I owe y'all one, so take it in his honor. No tricks brother, all I ask is you give it to another Jap bike rider on YOUR way out, and make him promise the same, that he will give it to a HD rider on his way out. Maybe we can put and end to this brand nonsense." "gee thanks, I'll do that" I nodded approvingly and they waved and smiled, I slipped the clutch out, and got back in the flow of the eastbound traffic. Cody was just like last year. Thick with tourist traffic. I found a Chevron station and pulled in for a long butt break. I took my phone out and made a few calls. I called the fire dept office and Chief Gann reported rain in the Gillette area. "Isolated or a front?" "Isolated should be gone the time you get there." The chief is familiar with Wyoming, having spent more then a little time out here with his horse and rodeo hobby. I also used the break to go back to textile gloves, and vent out the Roadcrafter. With my butt rested I got back on the road and entered the Bighorn Basin. A desolate, and barren place. I whistled through at 90+, riding out west is such fun. A few miles west of Greybull I got sleepy again. "Damn, this gettin to be a habit." I was too smart to try to ride through it. "I ain't gonna be anyones hood ornament" is what I always I say. I found a rest area and took a 20 minute nap. It was next to a small airport with a few WWII bombers near the fence (B-24s and B-25s) In Greybull I turned south on SR 120, it was more of the all same all the way to Worland. I was making my way through the business district of Worland when I saw the Bighorn Restaurant. I parked out front next to a 80s model Silver Wing. An old Honda twin, more then a few are still around. It was the height of lunch hour but I was only 1 of 3 patrons in the place. Not a good sign. I stuck it out and got what I expected, a mediocre hamburger. When I was gearing up near the ST, the owner of the old 500 emerged from a nearby insurance office and claimed the bike. We spoke a few minutes about touring, and I left him my card. East out of Worland I took US 16. The Big Horn Mountains were in the distance, and for the first time in many days, some serious looking rain clouds. They were perched right on the mountains. Guess my luck is over. For the last time this trip, I was climbing a mountain range. I was thinking about all the mountain riding I'd been doing the last 3 days and 1500 miles. I've leaned so many curves and gazed out so many mountain vistas, I felt like a mix of Kenny Roberts, and Grizzly Adams. Once again, a lonely mountain highway was leaning me and taking me high in elevation. The Big Horns might be a isolated finger of the Rockies, but they are not to be underestimated. They are dotted with several 10,000+ peaks. I speak to them as I approach. I see the peaks in the distance, perhaps 50 miles away. I squint at the swirling rain clouds they harbor. "ok, y'all are the last obstacle between me and the Great Plains." It is dark, and getting darker every mile I ride east. The wind is picking up. I've never been in a thunderstorm at 10,000 feet. I anticipate strong wind gusts in the passes. Strong enough to blow a Long Rider over the edge if he's not smart. I anticipate blinding rain, and no visibility as I negotiate mountain switchbacks, and banked turns. I anticipate slick pavement and gravel washouts as volumes of hard rainfall wash dirt down hill and on the pavement. The Big Horns offer no quarter and none was asked. If things get really sour, I know shelter will not be found up there. Once committed, I will have to ride through it. I will make that decision at a town called 10 Sleep. I found a gas station and pulled to the side. I needed no gas, just a place to think. If I yield to the mountains, no telling how long I could be here, but if I accept the challenge of the Big Horns, I could ride out of it in less then 20 miles, and be rewarded with good weather the rest of the day. This is the storm Chief Gann saw on the radar this morning. It has been stalled here ALL day, waiting for ME. I said, "what the hell, I'm in." For the first time this trip I took off the dark Oakleys and replaced them with my amber lens glasses. I threw my leg over the ST and punched the starter. It was cloudy and windy but not raining when I entered the mountains, so I was able to get in some nice leans. I worked around a steep left and a saw a yellow VFR loaded for touring, on a eastside turnout. I quickly turned in, perhaps he was west bound and had just came through the storm, and I could gather some advance recon. The bike had NH plates. I looked around but didn't see anyone, then I saw some movement below the guard rail. There with his feet dangling over a 300 ft canyon, overlooking the river, eating cheese and crackers, sat a Long Rider in a blue Roadcrafter, black ballistics. He looked 30ish with premature gray coming in his hair. I spoke- "nice spot for lunch brother" "yeah, but that's a mean looking storm in the mountains, wanna cracker?" "no thanks, just ate in Worland," as I got out a box of Ike and Mikes. We had lengthy conversation, about touring and Long Riding. We spoke very little of our individual bikes, it was the experience we were both into. It was like looking in the mirror. I found out he's eastbound. "look here, why don't we join forces to get through this storm" He told me his name, but somehow in the mix of people and places of this trip, I forgot it. "Look you take the front, I'll just slow ya down in the curves. If it gets to bad we go to plan B", I said. "what's plan B bro?" " I dunno, but thats what they always say in the movies" We secured our stuff and took off east bound. Note the dark clouds in the picture below. Even though we were strangers, we united to conqueror the Big Horn Mountains.
I looked ahead at the peaks and I could see rain. Oh man. It was coming down in sheets. He slowed the VFR and I came around. We both agreed it would be best for me to be in front when the stuff hit the fan. The heavier ST would probably be the more stable in the gusty wind. Westbound traffic had their lights on, with wipers beating full blast, a bad sign. About halfway up it hit us. The first wave rocked me, and stung my face before I could get my shield down. It blew me several feet to the right. The rain was smashing us. I could see my partner dead on me using me for a wind break. I was really appreciating the STs superior wind protection. Another wind blast hit me, this time blowing me to the left. We were caught in a whirlwind as mountain peaks distorted air movement. Funneling strong winds at us in high pressure cones. We eased up still higher, albeit at a much slower pace. Around the curves we crawled, keeping braced for the inevitable wind sheer. I knew we had to be getting close to the top, but it was raining so hard I could only see a few feet, but the wind had died down. The yellow VFR took the point and I focused on it as we fought our way through the deluge. I feel the the road moving us downhill, we are on the downside. Did we crest already? As we rode downhill the rain began to let up, and visibility returned. I felt good. I took the mountain's best shot, and I'm still standing. Now its just get out of the mountains without doing something stupid. Suddenly the skies cleared, we broke out of the storm at about 7,000 feet, and stretched out before me stood the vastness of the American Plains. The land was flat as far as I could see. Down, down we came out of the last vestiges of the Rockies. The endless grasslands and prairies of the Mid West awaiting me. It was a good feeling, and one I will never forget. The entire ordeal lasted less then 15 minutes. We got bogged down in a long construction zone east of the Big Horns, but the sun was out and the sky blue again. Mountains can play havoc with clouds bigtime. It seemed like it took forever to reach Buffalo and I-90. The Viffer needed gas so we pulled in a station. I said- "how far east ya going? "dunno ,not much farther, I'm not a STer, 300 a day is all I can do." "I'm on my way to Devil's Tower if you wanna come" "no thanks bro, I have a campground picked out in the area, and will make the DT visit in the morning." "well ok, you ride safe, good luck, thanks for the ride" We got on I-90 and settled in for the long ride to Gillette. Now it was time for the ST to show the Viffer why its such a good all around bike. I settled in on 90 mph and the VFR struggled to keep up. Not that the bike wasn't capable, but the lack of wind protection and more forward riding position was not good for long cruising. The yellow VFR grew smaller and smaller in my mirrors, and finally he was gone. I continued on to Gillette where I stopped for gas. As I was pumping gas, a black ST pulled to the next pump. We started speaking and here I found Doug Weir. He was from Idaho and on his way to the HSTA rally in West Virginia. He was a retired IBM worker. They offered him a early buy out and he took it after 25 years with the company. Seems like every joker I meet on this trip is retired. I-90 delivered me to Moorcroft where I went to SR 24. It was late afternoon now and the final few miles to Devil's Tower proved to be good. It was warm and sunny, and traffic was sparse. I was beginning to see billboards with DT images hawking tourists traps and the like. I could do 1 of 2 things when I reached Devil's Tower. I could spend the night at the local KOA, or ride on to Sturgis where I know they have a good but cheap campground. I camped there in 2001 for 6.50 cents. It was still early, so I decided I would see the Tower and then move on to Sturgis. I was approaching the Tower and then I saw it. There it was, a goofy golf course. They will build these things wherever you can find more then 3 tourists. This place is in the middle of the Wyoming prairie, the middle of nowhere. Its down right comical. Devil's Tower is one of the most recognized images in America, and justifiably so. It was very impressive. Out of the grasslands it rises, as if somebody just shoved it up. I read the history of the tower and saw everything I needed to see from SR 24. The first guy to climb it was some rancher in the 1890s. He used some kind of wood peg ladder, according to the historical marker I found on the highway. I had to wait to get the picture below, because a green van pulled in and blocked my angle. I thought they'd never leave.
I left the Tower on SR 24 and when I reached the 1 store at Aladdin, I went to SR 111. It was a fun, late afternoon ride. SR 111 dropped me and the ST off at I-90, and soon we were in Sturgis. As I was making my way the last few miles, I checked my plan. I will camp tonight, go eat pizza, watch a movie, sleep late, and ride 250 easy miles the next day and spend the night in a motel in Pierre. Tomorrow, is my built in easy day. I will use it to prepare for the last leg home. The only thing is I'm not sure how I want to handle my last few days. I will look over maps at supper tonight and decide then. I found the campground from 2001 and paid my 6.50 cents. It was big, with good facilities, like a laundry with clean rest rooms and showers, and free firewood. The only problem its a little noisy because its not far from I-90. Sturgis is a quiet place 50 weeks a year. I don't think I will ever come here during the rally. I can't imagine 200,000 people crammed into this place. I rode to the Pizza Hut and was highly dejected when I saw it was closed for remodeling. Most of the stuff on Main Street was also closed, but I managed to find a open cafe (is that what they call them out here?) at dusk. Closing time was not far off, and they tried to discourage me by saying, "fried chicken takes 25 minutes if you still WANT it." Unphased by the attitude I said, "Baby, I ain't got nothing but time, bring it." I was the only joker in the place so they let me control the TV clicker. I was delighted to get to watch the news for the first in a week. I studied my atlas while I listened to Hannity and Colmes. I have something I want to check near Belle Fourche in the morning, and after that shoukd a easy 200 miles, to a motel room in Pierre. I'm way under budget for this trip. Believe it or not, I've come this far on about 300 bucks cash. Include the gas I've charged, and you get 450. I was served some of the hardest crust fried chicken I've ever had. The meat was ok, but I had to knock the breast against the table to get the crust off. I guess that's how they do it in SD. On the way back to the tent I stopped at the store for a candy bar, and a newspaper. I finished the day with 548 miles. Its a long way across Wyoming. When I got back to the campground I went for a shower. While I was is in there some joker cut the light off and left me in the dark. Just another obstacle. I watched TV and worked on my journal, but got sleepy kind of quick. I put my ear plugs in to block out I-90 and went to sleep. Great day.
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