Day 10 - Sturgis South Dakota to Valentine Nebraska, via Badlands National Park & Wounded Knee

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.

Day 9 - Sturgis South Dakota - Riding the Black Hills - The Black Hills Motorcycle Rally - Part 3

After a day off the bikes it was a good feeling to be getting on them today without the hassles of packing up - today was all about seeing the sights outside of Sturgis and by that I mean getting to Rapid City, Iron Mountain Road, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Monument and if time permitted Deadwood.

Once again it was off down to the Lamphere Ranch General Store for real coffee and breakfast. I know I said this yesterday but you get a good deal here and anyone planning on doing Sturgis should seriously consider Lamphere as a real option, particularly if you want a more relaxed pace.

 

Returning to the tent site we quickly stowed what we didn't need and fired up the Harleys. Heading out the long entrance drive we realised that the campground had grown significantly over the last few days with a lot of the new guests arriving in huge RV's with their bikes inside.

 

 

True riders frown on this practice hence the proliferation of signs around Sturgis saying 'nice trailer - PUSSY'. At the heart of this is the notion of being a 'biker'. The genesis of the term may well be in the first motorcycle gangs and 1%ers, but to be a biker does not mean you have to be a fully signed up member of an outlaw club. What it does mean - to me at least - is that I own and ride a bike and have done so for a very long time -I ride in all weathers because I regularly choose to do so regardless of the distance. I understand and follow some simple rules - loyalty - friendship - respect - I am prepared to make a stand over what is important to me - I live for the next ride and I seek out the company of similar souls to share it with. We can all argue over what the term really means but I don't need a label on my jacket to make my riding life any more important or real to me than what beats in my biker heart every time I fire that old scoot up and head out the gate.

 

So it is a fundamental that arriving at Sturgis in an RV or with your show bike on a trailer is not what those of us who ride thousands of miles to get here would call 'having a true biker heart'. Having said that - each to their own - and I have to say some of those rigs were incredible. Still - I pretty quickly brought a T shirt which simply said "I rode mine" and made a point of wearing it as much as I could.

 

The morning was clear and even though it was only around 9am the highway into Sturgis was already starting to fill up with bikes. Now we ain't called the Lost Boys for nothing and true to form I managed to lose our way at the first major intersection on the outskirts of Sturgis. Not such an easy thing to do when the sign said Rapid City straight ahead and I turned left and had us heading for Devil's Tower again with a real purpose and mission. Thankfully the error was quickly corrected and we then spent twenty minutes trying to skirt around the centre of Sturgis. Once out of Sturgis however the road was flat and largely straight, with the occasional big rolling bend. Slowly twist the right wrist and dial up 75mph please. 

 

Our first destination - Rapid City - is the second-largest city in the State of South Dakota. Named after Rapid Creek on which the city is established, it is set against the eastern slope of the Black Hills mountain range. The population is somewhere around 68000 so it is roughly seven times larger than Sturgis. Nearby towns are Custer - alongside Custer State Park - the Historic old west town of Deadwood and in the hills there is Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial. It was our intention to get to all of these places today - and we did - but not before we checked out the Harley dealership - Black Hills Harley Davidson.

 

Now for Sturgis week this place transforms into a 20 acre bikers shopping paradise with not only Harley bikes, accessories and merchandise but most of the large and small players in the after market scene - J&P - Kuryakn to name but a couple. When we arrived there would have been somewhere between 6000 to 100000 Harleys in the car park with plenty more coming in behind us.

 

There were some great deals and both Bo and I picked up some great parts for our Harleys back home at the Kuryakyn super site. Their marquee bill boards claimed everything in their catalogue was on display and we are pretty sure it was having thumbed through that book on many an occasion. I like some of the Kuryakn gear and have a particular fondness for their lighting products. Some additional top box lighting was the aim for the day and I wasn't disappointed. After a pretty good look around it was back on the road again and on to Mount Rushmore.

Now the ride to Rushmore was pretty special as it put us on to Iron Mountain Road.  Iron Mountain Road, also known as 16A, is an incredible and unforgettable riding experience. This 17 mile stretch of tight, narrow, twisting, snaking tarmac in the Black Hills of South Dakota takes you right up to Mount Rushmore. It was deliberately designed to make you slow down, to see and feel things that you won't normally encounter and it was sheer riding pleasure to lean my Harley over into the many corners and switchbacks.

The literature boasts  314 CURVES, 14 SWITCHBACKS, 3 PIGTAILS, 3 TUNNELS, 4 PRESIDENTS and 2 SPLITS. Not sure what a pigtail is but damn it was fun to ride them wherever or whatever they were. This is bucket list stuff once again folks.

Arriving at Mount Rushmore you are immediately struck by the incredible amount of work that has gone into developing the site into a national memorial of true significance. Called the "Shrine of Democracy" it is beautifully and tastefully rendered with the man made structures blending into the surroundings, whilst adding a framing and structure to the sculpture itself.  And what a sculpture. Forget about the pictures you have seen of this piece of mountainous granite - up close and personal the sculptures are colossal.

At risk of turning this man's account of an incredible day into the Lonely Planet's Guide to South Dakota here are some interesting fact's about Rushmore. The local native Lakota Sioux Indians called the mountain Six Grandfathers long before the cowboys arrived and it wasn't until a prominent lawyer from New York named Charles Rushmore arrived in 1885 that the mountain took on the name Rushmore. Personally I think the Sioux were hard done by as the Government had only just seized the Black Hills including the Six Grandfathers off them the year before - despite having signed a treaty in 1868 giving them the land in perpetuity. Understandably this is still the source of enormous tension to this day and not everyone was pleased with the decision to carve four American presidents on a mountain that held spiritual significance for the Lakota tribe. Partly in response, a memorial to Crazy Horse, the great Sioux war chief, is being carved in the Black Hills 17 miles away from Mount Rushmore.

 

Still - looking at the whole thing unemotionally having just four US Presidents on the side of a mountain called Six Grandfathers would probably have been very confusing to those that don't know the history - no doubt prompting the chiseling of two more Presidents to even things up a bit for the sake of clarity and a good round number. Given that Gutzom Borglum and 400 workers toiled away with tiny hammers and chisels (and the odd stick of dynamite) from 1927 till the project ran out of money in 1941 another two presidents would have been a big ask. Even as it is the four that are up there are not finished as the original design had each president depicted from the waist up.

 

This is a popular place. Nearly three million visitors come here every year and I think most of them were here today, particularly the Japanese contingent. In that large crowd, with numerous bikers to choose from we were singled out for star treatment on a number of occasions. Somewhere on a Facebook page or two are pictures of lovely Asian girls and two tattooed biker sons of bitches - sorry girls I know I said I was from Texas but I was just 'messin with yo'all'. I guess that's just how we roll.

 

As you enter you proceed down the Avenue of Flags. The flags of the 56 states and territories fly below the memorial. Here, the avenue provides direct and easy access to the Grandview Terrace and Presidential Trail, a half-mile walking trail that offers spectacular views of the mountain sculpture.

 





 



 

Not knowing what to expect it was off to the Crazy Horse Memorial. If you see one you have to see the other. It gives the experience some important balance. It is a short yet easy ride to the Crazy Horse site. The first thing that strikes you is that this is definitely not some half arsed Indian tourist venture selling the obligatory jewellery and rugs. This is the real deal on a monumental scale and, as the pamphlet says, more than just a mountain.

 

 



The complex looks out to Thunderhead Mountain where the statue is taking shape. Work was commenced in 1948 and is still in progress. Once completed (if that ever happens) it will be the largest statue in the world. The complex itself includes the Indian Museum of North America and the Native American Cultural Centre. These two buildings frame a peaceful courtyard that gives uninterrupted views out to the monument itself.

The statue itself will depict Crazy Horse, the legendary Oglala Lakota Sioux war chief, astride his war horse and pointing into the distance. The entire complex is owned by the Crazy Horse Memorial Foundation. Whilst a significant memorial for the Sioux people it is not without it's critics from within the tribe.

Having the finished sculpture depict Crazy Horse pointing with his index finger has been widely criticized. Native American cultures prohibit using the index finger to point at people or objects, as the people find it rude and taboo. Some spokesmen compare the effect to a sculpture of George Washington with an upraised middle finger. To some extent, given the way the Government has apparently treated the Sioux in the past, such a gesture from Crazy Horse is somewhat understandable.

The story behind the creation of this memorial is one of tenacity and vision, primarily by the Sioux people who have steadfastly refused government funding in the development of this site so far. And their achievements are both beautiful and inspiring. As far back as 1929 Henry Standing Bear initiated the project to honour Crazy Horse. In many respects this was a direct counter to what the Federal Government was doing at nearby Mount Rushmore. Standing Bear managed to commission
Korczak Ziolkowski, who had worked under Gutzom Borglum at the Rushmore site, to do the sculpting. The first work commenced in 1948 after years of planning. Ziolkowski died in 1982 however his wife and children continued on with the project. Sixteen years later in 1998, the face of Crazy Horse was completed and dedicated. 

 

Monique Ziolkowski, the daughter of Korczak and also a sculptor, has modified some of her father's plans to make the sculpture work better. The foundation commissioned reports from two engineering firms in 2009 to help guide completion of the project. As I understand it a completion date somewhere around 2025 is planned.

I found the Museum fascinating and the walls conveyed some of the special aura and history that is unique to this particular Indian nation. In the Black Hills there echoes the sound of many battles between the Sioux and the US Army. Famous war chiefs such as Red Cloud and of course the Battle of the Little Big Horn. There is much to be said for the way in which the Sioux refused to bow down and go quietly and there are stories of injustices on both sides, perhaps the most poignant being Wounded Knee.

At the Museum I had a six foot six Sioux warrior in full dress walk right past me and I don't mind saying that had a war party made up of his Indian brothers appeared on the horizon back in the day I for one would have had no hesitation in quietly crapping myself. These guys are impressive. Today, as they did for centuries before the white man arrived - they still stand proud and tall - they have a right to do so and I admire them for what they are doing here.

 

 

By now it was mid afternoon and we still had one special stop to make in nearby Deadwood before heading back to Sturgis. The road was once again well sealed with few corners. As we approached Deadwood we began to get a sense of the history around this particular area, with many old buildings and mining ruins to be seen particularly along the river. Deadwood has a colourful and violent history. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills in 1874 set off one of the last great gold rushes in the country. In 1876, miners moved into the northern Black Hills and Deadwood was born. Apparently named after a gulch blocked by dead trees. Made recently famous all over again by a TV series, many people don't realise how close to reality that show was.

Practically overnight, the tiny gold camp boomed into a town that played by its own rules that attracted outlaws, gamblers and gunslingers along with the gold seekers. Wild Bill Hickok was one of those men who came looking for fortune. But just a few short weeks after arriving, he was gunned down. Calamity Jane also made a name for herself here and, just like the TV series, Deadwood had a real Sherriff named Seth Bullock and a gambling hall brothel keeper named Al Swearengen.

 

Our aim was to get to Mount Moriah Cemetery so that Bo could find Hickok and Calamity Jane's graves. After pulling up and talking to some locals enjoying the afternoon on their verandah we got directions and rode up the steep hill in the back of Deadwood to where the cemetery is situated.

We found Wild Bill's grave pretty quickly. The history here was palpable. Wild Bill died playing poker, shot in the back by the coward Jack McCall with a hand of Aces and eights. A little known fact is that  in 1979 Wild Bill Hickok was inducted as a charter member into the World Series of Poker’s Hall of Fame. Go figure - I love these guys.

 

 

 

At the small shop opposite the Cemetary (well worth a look) we learnt that Martha Jane Canary was a tobacco-spitting, beer-guzzling, foul-mouthed woman who preferred men’s clothing to dresses. She was well known through the Hills as Calamity Jane, but how she got this nickname is a legendary debate.  According to Old West legend, Calamity Jane rode into a group of fighting hostiles to save a wounded army captain.  Jane emerged from the fight untouched so the captain named her “Calamity Jane.”

Some say Jane made the whole thing up because she was looking for attention from the town’s legendary men—especially Wild Bill Hickok who she claimed to love.  It’s widely reported that Hickok, who was married, had little interest in Jane and that’s why the townsfolk buried her next to him in Mount Moriah Cemetery—so she could spend eternity with him and they could play the ultimate joke on Hickok.

 

 

Time was against us here. Many thousands of bikers had already made Deadwood their home for the rally and there wasn't a bar in town that wasn't full. Knowing there was cold beer back at the campground we twisted the throttles and headed out of town. I would have liked to have spent some real time here and had a real look around but I got the feeling that doing it during Sturgis week was not the time. The road beckoned so we hit it. Long and straight - the heat of the day just fell off us and I became immersed in the landscape that is South Dakota.

 

In all we had ridden 191 miles of the beautiful South Dakata countryside today and it was fantastic. Easy on the soul and easy on the arse. Back at Lamphere we immediately fell to drink and began to repeat a familiar ritual - I'll just have one more - Okay - then we will call it a night - sounds good brother.

 

Then.... we were joined by some neighbours from nearby tents. These guys had come down from Canada so we spent a considerable amount of time talking about the best rides up their way. We intend to get there.

 

 

 

And so - somewhat predictably - this great day in the Black Hills drew slowly to an end - Or did it - those nearby would have heard the following conversation - Feel like another - okay a roader - hell we've run out of beer - big day tomorrow - I'll just get a six pack - fuck it make it two. LTGTR!

COMING UP - STURGIS TO VALENTINE THROUGH 400 MILES OF CORNFIELDS