The next day was rainy, windy, and quite cool, as we'd expected. Barry had offered to procure a car so that we could do some sight-seeing in comfort, so he, Rob and I hopped aboard the hotel shuttle to the airport. Barry got a 'free uupgrade' to some ginourmous SUV; it was fabulously outfitted and comfortable but we could have hauled a family of 6 along without problem.
We headed NW to Devils Tower WY. Such an incredible thing to see rising from the countryside.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Badlands and Wounded Knee
After a lot of back and forth regarding the many destination options, the weather forecast, and the possibility of renting a car should the weather turn sour, it was decided today would include a ride to the Badlands and then the Wounded Knee battleground.
I led us into Badlands National Park via the southern route of Hwy 44 instead of slabbing it out on I-90. We stopped for a 'necessary' break at the only gas station in the area, and saw a fair number of other bikes traveling east or west.
Spent some time at the Park's visitor center, and I was amazed to realize that, at the steady rate of erosion, the peaks and spires were likely 4-5 feet shorter now than when I'd first viewed them in the early 70s! See it now, folks, before it all melts away.
We stopped at a few different places to gaze at the unearthly formations and take pictures.
Barry was not too keen on visiting the Wounded Knee site, both because of the emotional content and the heat of what would likely be a very warm day, so he headed north from the park and Rob, Dennis and I headed south. I had warned them that the Rez lands were sparsely populated, there wasn't much in the way of a monument, we might be importuned by Natives to purchase trinkets at the site, and the roads could be problematic. Little did I know how prescient were those statements!
We stopped again at that same gas station on the west of the Badlands to top off the tanks... I honestly had no idea where we might find gas on the reservation so wanted to err on the side of safety. Rob and I compared Zumo and paper maps to determine a route, and while it was a pleasant enough ride south --the Rez is lovely with its spare rolling hills and ravines-- we had to detour a number of times due to closed roads and occasionally ride gravel or fresh chipseal.
I hadn't been to Wounded Knee since the late 80s so was unsure whether I'd recognize the area. Nearly missed the entrance road, a rutted gravel track up the hill, but we managed to make it to the top and carefully park the bikes. Since I'd last visited, a small chapel/shelter of some sort had been built, there were many more graves (it is a currently-operating Native cemetery) and a fence had been erected around the original mass grave.
Now:
Dennis and Rob stand before the tall marker of the 1890 mass grave, where the names of some of those killed are inscribed. It was erected by Joseph Horn Cloud in 1903.
Then:
An account written at the time by reporter Allen of the Rapid City newspaper-
The burial of the dead [Indians] took place on the knoll where the Hotchkiss guns had rained fire into the valley. There, Mooney (a soldier with the 7th) says, a long trench was dug, and into it was thrown all the bodies, piled one upon the other like so much cordwood, until the pit was full. When the earth was heaped over them and the funeral was complete, many of the bodies were stripped by the whites, who went out in order to get the Ghost shirts, and the frozen, bodies were thrown into the trench stiff and naked. They were only dead Indians. As one of the burial party said, "It was a thing to melt the heart of a man, if it was of stone, to see those little children, with their bodies shot to pieces, thrown naked into the pit."
Rob and Dennis seemed surprised that this wasn't an 'official' U.S. monument. But why would we as a nation wish to commemorate a massacre? The history of the breaking of the Fort Laramie treaty, the unlawful taking of Native lands and the confinement to reservations can be read elsewhere. Wounded Knee is about women and children pursued into the ravine where they attempted to escape and killed indiscriminately. 26 children under the age of 13 killed, including 4 babies with crushed skulls. The 7th Cavalry (Custer's old unit) had a grudge to repay.
I was surprised by the number of visitors at Wounded Knee, some from other countries including a Aussie on a rented BMW GS. Far more people present than back in the 70s and 80s. Rob talked with a native man who had relatives buried there, and he was able to explain the orientation of the encampment and battle.
Returning to Rapid City proved problematic. We stopped in Pine Ridge for gas, and Rob and Dennis decided to refuel their bodies as well at the Subway. I was hot, tired and my shoulder was hurting, so decided to press on instead. Continued on Hwy. 18 for a while and then the pavement came to an abrupt end. I parked the bike and walked up to examine the surface, which was fairly deep dirt anywhere it hadn't been packed down sufficiently by traffic. Stood there in the hot sun trying to decide what to do; the Zumo showed no easy alternative route. A Jeep approached from the north, and I waved for it to stop so I could inquire as to the length/condition of the torn-up portion. "Aw, you can make it, mate!" said the Jeep's driver, yet another Aussie. ;-)
Hmmm.... I waited a while longer, still pondering how I'd cope should I drop the Strom while attempting the dirt road on this heated afternoon, and another vehicle came through; this one carrying a native woman and her family. I explained my concerns and she bade me follow her to and through a BIA road which eventually put me back on the paved Hwy. 18.
I wondered what would happen with Dennis and Rob when they got to the torn up road-- they also were guided by a native to the alternate route!
I led us into Badlands National Park via the southern route of Hwy 44 instead of slabbing it out on I-90. We stopped for a 'necessary' break at the only gas station in the area, and saw a fair number of other bikes traveling east or west.
We stopped at a few different places to gaze at the unearthly formations and take pictures.
Barry was not too keen on visiting the Wounded Knee site, both because of the emotional content and the heat of what would likely be a very warm day, so he headed north from the park and Rob, Dennis and I headed south. I had warned them that the Rez lands were sparsely populated, there wasn't much in the way of a monument, we might be importuned by Natives to purchase trinkets at the site, and the roads could be problematic. Little did I know how prescient were those statements!
We stopped again at that same gas station on the west of the Badlands to top off the tanks... I honestly had no idea where we might find gas on the reservation so wanted to err on the side of safety. Rob and I compared Zumo and paper maps to determine a route, and while it was a pleasant enough ride south --the Rez is lovely with its spare rolling hills and ravines-- we had to detour a number of times due to closed roads and occasionally ride gravel or fresh chipseal.
I hadn't been to Wounded Knee since the late 80s so was unsure whether I'd recognize the area. Nearly missed the entrance road, a rutted gravel track up the hill, but we managed to make it to the top and carefully park the bikes. Since I'd last visited, a small chapel/shelter of some sort had been built, there were many more graves (it is a currently-operating Native cemetery) and a fence had been erected around the original mass grave.
Now:
Then:
An account written at the time by reporter Allen of the Rapid City newspaper-
The burial of the dead [Indians] took place on the knoll where the Hotchkiss guns had rained fire into the valley. There, Mooney (a soldier with the 7th) says, a long trench was dug, and into it was thrown all the bodies, piled one upon the other like so much cordwood, until the pit was full. When the earth was heaped over them and the funeral was complete, many of the bodies were stripped by the whites, who went out in order to get the Ghost shirts, and the frozen, bodies were thrown into the trench stiff and naked. They were only dead Indians. As one of the burial party said, "It was a thing to melt the heart of a man, if it was of stone, to see those little children, with their bodies shot to pieces, thrown naked into the pit."
Rob and Dennis seemed surprised that this wasn't an 'official' U.S. monument. But why would we as a nation wish to commemorate a massacre? The history of the breaking of the Fort Laramie treaty, the unlawful taking of Native lands and the confinement to reservations can be read elsewhere. Wounded Knee is about women and children pursued into the ravine where they attempted to escape and killed indiscriminately. 26 children under the age of 13 killed, including 4 babies with crushed skulls. The 7th Cavalry (Custer's old unit) had a grudge to repay.
I was surprised by the number of visitors at Wounded Knee, some from other countries including a Aussie on a rented BMW GS. Far more people present than back in the 70s and 80s. Rob talked with a native man who had relatives buried there, and he was able to explain the orientation of the encampment and battle.
Returning to Rapid City proved problematic. We stopped in Pine Ridge for gas, and Rob and Dennis decided to refuel their bodies as well at the Subway. I was hot, tired and my shoulder was hurting, so decided to press on instead. Continued on Hwy. 18 for a while and then the pavement came to an abrupt end. I parked the bike and walked up to examine the surface, which was fairly deep dirt anywhere it hadn't been packed down sufficiently by traffic. Stood there in the hot sun trying to decide what to do; the Zumo showed no easy alternative route. A Jeep approached from the north, and I waved for it to stop so I could inquire as to the length/condition of the torn-up portion. "Aw, you can make it, mate!" said the Jeep's driver, yet another Aussie. ;-)
Hmmm.... I waited a while longer, still pondering how I'd cope should I drop the Strom while attempting the dirt road on this heated afternoon, and another vehicle came through; this one carrying a native woman and her family. I explained my concerns and she bade me follow her to and through a BIA road which eventually put me back on the paved Hwy. 18.
I wondered what would happen with Dennis and Rob when they got to the torn up road-- they also were guided by a native to the alternate route!
Monday, October 4, 2010
I didn't see Barry at the Mt. Rushmore promenade, so called him... we had somehow managed to walk right by each other. We sat in the shade, as the sun was quite warm, and gazed in awe at Borglum's work. The monument never ceases to amaze. Borglum looked for a long time to find the right formation to hold his portraits, and South Dakota residents wanted and worked hard to locate it there.
As President Coolidge said at the dedication: "We have come here to dedicate a cornerstone that was laid by the hand of the Almighty."
After a while Rob and Dennis joined us, humorously kvetching at each other about failure to look in rear view mirrors when riding (something similar had happened while they rode north from Texas, with Rob being the one who had not noticed Dennis trying to get his attention.)
Eight faces:
As President Coolidge said at the dedication: "We have come here to dedicate a cornerstone that was laid by the hand of the Almighty."
Eight faces:
Crossed signals
While riding the Iron Mountain road we stopped several times to view the surrounding beauty. There was one particularly good overlook where we walked around and took pictures.
Upon leading us out of the parking lot I got confused (not an unusual occurrence for me) and turned the wrong way. I soon realized my error and slowed to let Dennis overtake me, intending to inform him we should turn around. He thought I wanted him to lead, so zoomed off down the mountain. For miles I pursued him, flashing lights, waving and honking the horn, but he never noticed; and given the traffic and twisty nature of the road I was unable to overtake him. I finally pulled into a parking lot when I got to the valley, and Rob joined me. He said he figured Dennis would eventually realize we weren't with him and return, so volunteered to wait while I rode on to join Barry at Mt. Rushmore.
 |
| Dennis and Rob walk to the overlook. |
Upon leading us out of the parking lot I got confused (not an unusual occurrence for me) and turned the wrong way. I soon realized my error and slowed to let Dennis overtake me, intending to inform him we should turn around. He thought I wanted him to lead, so zoomed off down the mountain. For miles I pursued him, flashing lights, waving and honking the horn, but he never noticed; and given the traffic and twisty nature of the road I was unable to overtake him. I finally pulled into a parking lot when I got to the valley, and Rob joined me. He said he figured Dennis would eventually realize we weren't with him and return, so volunteered to wait while I rode on to join Barry at Mt. Rushmore.
Iron Mountain Road and some Very Large Carvings
Barry survived riding pillion with me to the Harley dealership that had his bike, and once he had reclaimed Old Glory we had a nice ride on some of the great roads of the area-- Norris Peak, Nemo, and then Vanocker Canyon ending in Sturgis, where Barry recounted his visit in 2009 during the yearly Harley gathering. He seemed gobsmacked to see the town so empty, recalling the madhouse it had been previously. There was a Mustang owner's group rally however, which explained the number of cool older and hot-rodded 'Stangs I'd seen being trailered west on I- 90. After returning to Rapid we had a pleasant dinner and brought each other up to date on our lives since we'd last been together.
The next morning Barry, Rob, Dennis and I discussed where we would ride. I had plotted a variety of local routes into my Zumo in advance of the trip. I've been to the Black Hills many times, Barry once; but Rob and Dennis never. We decided to ride the Iron Mountain road (16A), with its 'pig tail' bridges, and then see Mt Rushmore. Barry didn't care to muscle the Road King through the very tight twists of the road, so chose a different route to meet up at the granite Presidents.
 |
| Mt. Rushmore far in the left background. |
Sow Dakohda
After the storms passed through they bequeathed very strong winds from the north. A degenerative condition in shoulders and neck troubles me most of the time, and having to counter-steer and lean against this wind for hundreds of miles made things far more acute; this would continue to cause problems for the rest of the trip and even make me ponder whether I could continue to ride. I gave up at 570 miles and pulled into a Super 8 motel in Mitchell SD, home of the famous Corn Palace. A long soak in the hot tub, along with two fingers of Woodford Reserve over ice, made me feel somewhat better- although I would sleep little that night.
Drove past the Corn Palace in the early a.m., then headed west into that dratted wind again in order to meet Barry at the motel in Rapid City. I had promised him a ride on Hi-Ho Silver to the dealer where he would pick up his bike, which he had shipped north.
 |
| The Strom resting in the parking lot in Mitchell. |
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Western Sojourn
I know, I know... those on the west coast may argue that this trip was not truly 'west'. But being as I live in the 'mid-west', my definition of The West is anything beyond the prairies, where the landscape begins to get 'bumpier'.
This journey was long in the planning and greatly anticipated, as I had been on no motorcycle trips since riding in Texas in March of 2010, to Big Bend National Park. So when friend Barry suggested meeting he and other Texans in the Black Hills of South Dakota in September, and heading further west from there, I eagerly agreed. As the months passed we discussed the particulars of the trip, and the length, route, and likely participants changed a number of times, as such things are wont to do.
In preparation for what I estimated would be a 6000-mile journey, I changed oil and filter on Hi-Ho Silver, my 2003 V-Strom 1000. I also installed a new rear tire, as the one on the bike had only about 1000 miles of tread left and I didn't wish to source/install a tire during the trip. I chose to use soft saddlebags instead of the Givi hard cases because I would be staying in motels instead of camping. Upon departure the bike had 90,000 on the clock.
Left Milwaukee on the thursday preceding Labor Day Weekend. The radar showed a big line of storms heading east, and the forecast made it apparent that I would ride in the rain for the inaugural day of this trip. Near Wisconsin Dells the skies grew threatening enough that I pulled off the breezeway and donned rain apparel.
I rode in rain for a while, then was lucky enough to dodge between two big nasty storm cells as I headed west on I-90. Crossing the Mississippi River at La Crosse, I bid farewell to Wisconsin and the land proceeded to flatten out. The farm fields of Minnesota rolled by as I let Hi-Ho Silver stretch his legs, and listening to the wide variety of music I had loaded onto my Zumo GPS made traversing this familiar territory somewhat more pleasant. I've crossed the prairies so many times that it has unfortunately become a chore. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that the landscape would be getting 'bumpier' before the sun set the next day. ;-)
This journey was long in the planning and greatly anticipated, as I had been on no motorcycle trips since riding in Texas in March of 2010, to Big Bend National Park. So when friend Barry suggested meeting he and other Texans in the Black Hills of South Dakota in September, and heading further west from there, I eagerly agreed. As the months passed we discussed the particulars of the trip, and the length, route, and likely participants changed a number of times, as such things are wont to do.
In preparation for what I estimated would be a 6000-mile journey, I changed oil and filter on Hi-Ho Silver, my 2003 V-Strom 1000. I also installed a new rear tire, as the one on the bike had only about 1000 miles of tread left and I didn't wish to source/install a tire during the trip. I chose to use soft saddlebags instead of the Givi hard cases because I would be staying in motels instead of camping. Upon departure the bike had 90,000 on the clock.
I rode in rain for a while, then was lucky enough to dodge between two big nasty storm cells as I headed west on I-90. Crossing the Mississippi River at La Crosse, I bid farewell to Wisconsin and the land proceeded to flatten out. The farm fields of Minnesota rolled by as I let Hi-Ho Silver stretch his legs, and listening to the wide variety of music I had loaded onto my Zumo GPS made traversing this familiar territory somewhat more pleasant. I've crossed the prairies so many times that it has unfortunately become a chore. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that the landscape would be getting 'bumpier' before the sun set the next day. ;-)
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