Time to leave Lamphere Ranch and Sturgis. Doing the deal which involved the tents being supplied and put up waiting for us at the site meant that not having to pack up tents and cart them around saved us time and space. We left our $10 sleeping bags behind and just rolled. That is absolutely the way to go.
As we rode out of Lamphere Ranch and headed for Nebraska I couldn't help but reflect on the last few days. It had been an incredible experience - the bikes the people the places. I caught sight of the Full Throttle Saloon - a true dusk till dawn kind of bar that in daylight doesn't give you that sense of what lies within. As we skirted around Sturgis township I caught sight of the iconic "Welcome Riders" sign on Main Street and thought of our day in town just walking around and immersing ourselves in everything bikes and the culture that comes with it. Another biker bucket list tick. But now Sturgis was starting to get a bit claustrophobic. Time for the open road.
I wasn't sure what the day would bring but a recent conversation ran through my head. It was the day before yesterday and we were on the bus into Sturgis, when, what came to be one of the great biker quotes of the whole trip was born. The Big Guy had struck up a conversation with a couple of other bikers and the topic of where we were headed after Sturgis came up. As we rolled down the highway knocking back cold beer (I told you this part of the story in the blog before last) the big guy said we were heading through to Wounded Knee before pushing on towards Chicago. One of the bikers replied..."You headin through Nebraska?? Hell you best put on some tunes and lay back - cos there ain't nothing but 400 miles of cornfields!" How right he was.
This turned out to be a pretty big day - over 5 and half hours riding with several long stops that pushed it out to over 12 hours travelling. When we finally called it a day after riding hard trying to get across Nebraska to the State Border with Iowa we were 200 miles short.
We hit I-90 and headed East and past Rapid City. We could see the Harley signs and the marquees on the hill where yesterday we had joined thousands of other bikers. Today looked as though it was going to be even busier. Getting that open road feeling came easy. I felt myself picking up the rhythm once again as I short shifted my Harley into 6th gear and as the traffic began to disappear so did thoughts of Sturgis. We were on a new adventure.
Past Rapid City you begin to notice billboard after billboard advertising "Wall Drug". To us it was a bit confusing, unsure of what it really meant. As we went further down the highway you begin to realise that "Wall" is a place and the "Drug" part refers to a now famous drug store or pharmacy. But this isn't just any old drug store - it now covers 76000 square feet and sells everything you could ever want and even has a roadside chapel for those that need a bit of religion in their day. Opened in 1931 by the Hustead family the little store struggled. Back then it was hard times and the Hustead's figured out that to survive they needed to entice travellers in off the nearby highway. They started with one small billboard advertising free ice water to the point now where there must be well over a hundred dotted down the highway. It's worth a stop and we did. Wall is a small prairie town but they can get up to twenty thousand people through the drug store on a hot summer's day - and I tell you that the place is so damned big you wouldn't run into the same person twice. And in case you need a Harley fix there is a great Harley apparel shop just down the street where you can pick up some great Badlands Harley Davidson gear. And we did.
Back onto I-90 where it is briefly joined by US 14, we quickly came upon our next major stop - Badlands National Park. A national monument since 1939 there is a natural feature that dominates the Park - they call it The Wall and it extends for a hundred miles through the dry plains of South Dakota—a huge natural wall made up of amazing pinnacles and twisting gullies by the forces of water. This place looks like another world with the stark contrast that it makes to the otherwise rolling plains that surround it. Water has been working away at these cliffs for the past half million years or so and it carves away an entire inch (three centimeters) or more in some places each year. Huge creatures with names like Titanothere and Archaeotherium once roamed here; their fossilized bones can be found by the hundreds. And today the Badlands Wall serves as a backdrop for bison, pronghorn, and bighorn sheep, as well as the million human visitors who pass through the park every year.
Like all National Parks the speed limit is very low, often somewhere between 25 and 35 miles per hour. When you consider that most of these parks are enormous you need to take this into account when contemplating riding through them. This place at near 245,000 acres was no exception. You do not want to be stuck for time. At this stage we were right on schedule so we were able to stop and take in some of the incredible geographic features that dominate this part of the park. Our ride through Badlands had us on the angle south and out of the Park to pick up Route 44.
In planning this part of the trip Bo had made sure that we would get to one of the Big Guy's bucket list places - Wounded Knee. His Dad and his Mom had been there before him and spoke of the spiritual effect it had on them. The Big Guy wanted to share that experience - a pilgrimage almost, to a place where his own father and mother had once stood many years before. To do this we went off 44 and on to the Big Foot Trail. This was sublime riding, carving through the lower part of South Dakota on pristine road with hardly any traffic. As we approached Wounded Knee I was struck by how the land and the mood seemed to change around me. There was a storm brewing further to the East and the sky was darkening - this just added to the feeling. There was no major sign heralding the significance of where we were. A dusty lay by with a red wooden sign is the only marker for what is still a moment in time that, as far as the Sioux are concerned at least, is both infamous and poignantly sad. The site of the massacre is a relatively flat piece of very uninspiring land geographically, with a small hill now the site of a cemetery where most of the Native Americans killed that day are buried.
We pulled into the lay by, disturbing a tired old dog laying in front of the sign. Killing the engines it was silent except for the wind. No other traffic - just us. Just past the sign were some Indian stalls and the Naikey's walked down to talk to the Sioux who were there. I felt this was something they should do and not us so we gave them some space and time to absorb the surroundings and talk to the local people about what had happened there.
The prelude to Wounded knee came with the death of Sitting Bull on December 15 1890 whilst he was being arrested on his reservation in North Dakota. In truth it had probably been coming with some sort of inevitability for some considerable time. During this incident several government officials were also killed, so fearing reprisals some of Sitting Bull's people joined up with Chief Spotted Elk and they then set off to join Red Cloud. En route they were intercepted by the 7th Cavalry and taken to Wounded Knee where a camp was set up by the creek. There are various reports as to how it started and how many Indians actually died that day December 29 1890. What is clear is that the 7th Cavalry had about 500 men and cannons whilst the Sioux numbered around 350 including 120 women and children. It is recorded that there were only 51 Indian survivors whilst 28 soldiers perished. Some reports indicate that a good number of the soldiers were killed by friendly fire in the ensuing chaos that followed the initial shots, suggesting that the soldiers went berserk. Many of the Sioux Indians who died that day were unarmed.
We rode up the narrow, heavily rutted dirt trail to the cemetery on the hill. Bo got caught in one of the ruts and nearly lost her bike. She was just able to keep it from hitting the ground until the boys got back to her and helped her right it. This is where the Sioux Indian people that died are buried in a mass grave. It is a barren, tired little graveyard that deserves much better. We stayed longer here than planned but it wasn't a time for me to be hurrying people along.
With rain ahead of us we left Wounded Knee and picked up US 18 all the way to the little town of Marton. Marton is no more than a junction town where US 18 meets US 73. It was now well into the afternoon, we still hadn't left South Dakota and we still had a lot of miles to cover - about
400 miles of cornfields to be exact. Stopping at Marton for a late lunch we gassed up and everyone but me put on their wet weather gear. Bare arms and a bandanna - that's how I roll folks. What's a bit of rain.
From here it was right onto US 73 and straight hauling over the State line into Nebraska - all the way until we hit the Bridges to Buttes Bi-Way - which is also part of US 20. US 20 actually runs from coast to coast and is the longest Highway in the USA. The Bridges to Buttes Bi-Way forms part of US 20 and on a good day is particularly famous for it's scenery. We were making really good time and the weather held off right up until we hit US 20 then the skies opened up. Cursing my own stubbornness for not putting on the wets I pushed on but at times I have to say I could not see a bloody thing.
Realising that I was only going to hold things up I finally relented in a little town called Cody, population 154. I pulled over on Main Street and started getting on the wet weather gear. There was no point putting on trousers as the damage was done - however a jacket and a helmet was required. The Big Guy took the opportunity to put on some tunes and went for a little tour of the town - all three streets. With the weather the way it was it was kind of hard to get a feel for the place. As I stowed my bags again I could hear the Naikey's rolling down Main Street, stereo cranked up loud. They cruised past me and headed further down the road to where Bo was parked up under some cover.
I got back on my bike and as I was about to start it this old guy came out of the building beside me. He had a coffee in his hand and I realised I was parked right outside a little diner with very dark windows. He came right over to me and said "How ya doing young fella?" - sort of gives you an idea of his age when some one calls me 'young fella'. I said "Not bad considering." He said "Me and the boys been watchin you guys and they have sent me out with a message". I immediately thought this is the scene where they come at me with baseball bats cause they don't like bikers in these here parts for some reason. I looked up the road to see if I could expect any help from the Big Guy. Didn't look good.
He said "Well we all been discussin your bikes but the only thing we could agree on was this...tell your friend we sure like the music he was playin but we like his missus better!" With that he went on back through the door he came out of and no doubt continued the discussion and debate. I'm a guessin these guys have the long game in mind and nothing gets rushed in Cody. Probably why there is only 154 of them.
We headed further East down US 20. As is always the case the rain stopped shortly after I put my gear on in Cody but then we really did open up the throttles to try and make up for lost time. As the rain cleared I could see cornfields going in every direction as far as the horizon....Nebraska
...ain't nothing but 400 miles of cornfields.
In the end time was always going to beat us and as we rode into Valentine about an hour after sunset we spied a Super 8 and called it a day.
We did well over 300 miles today and were in the saddle for over 5hrs - and we are still about two hours short of the Iowa border. That puts us behind schedule with no choice but a big ride tomorrow. Hell - we are the LostBoys - we do 'big' very easy. No beers tonight though.
Coming up - our push towards Chicago including exploding truck tyres and near disaster, the National Motorcycle Museum in Anamosa and the Iron Horse Saloon in Savanna.
