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Published: July 24th 2012
Road miles to date: 6,440
Our plan to leave Cody early was somewhat scuppered after having bumped into two Harley Davidson riders the night before on their way from Florida to Alaska. A brief chat in passing led to an unintended late night sharing a bottle of some fine Mexican tequila and cans of cold Bud, courtesy of Mike and Steve who made sure we were equipped with a long list of must-see places before the night was out.
We did manage to get on the road the next morning before the baking heat caught us up and not too long after leaving, we happened upon a town exuding something special. It turned out this wasn't just a run of the mill town but a self-confessed 'great place to live' going by the name of Byron. A very quick ride through the main street revealed that, while the name eluded to greatness, there wasn't actually a whole lot to hang about for .
The Bighorn Basin we were riding through was a plateau of about 180 miles long and 100 miles wide, encased by mountains on all sides. With nothing but miles and miles
for miles and miles, we rode across the basin feeling like a tiny bug crawling across a dried up river bed. Eventually we began the climb out and up the surrounding mountains when the bike started losing power. We realised the combination of low grade fuel (eighty-two octane) and the thin, high altitude air wasn't mixing too well. Something we'll have to remember when we cross over the Andes.
As we spluttered to the top of the Bighorn range, we pulled in to visit the sacred native American Indian Medicine Wheel - the first place on the list made the night before. The ancient place of ceremony and worship is still used by tribes today and is not unlike Stonehenge back home in that it appears to depict the movement of the sun. Archaeologist believe the wheel was constructed around 1200 AD but it is believed the actual site could have been used up to 10,000 years ago.
Walking around the wheel and past a number of offerings left by different tribes, we were lucky to speak to a Crow Indian about the site and his culture. At over 9,600 feet, the wheel overlooks the basin in an
unsheltered, solitary spot that attracts all manner of brutal weather conditions. It is made up of stones placed in a circle measuring about 80 feet in diameter with twenty-eight separate spokes leading to the centre, some of which line up with the position of the summer solstice sun. We climbed the couple of miles back down the mountain very grateful that we'd been given the tip to stop by.
The bike picked up again as we descended further on our way and we experienced our first taste of prairie land. Not unlike how we imagine deserts will be, there was nothing and no one around except an endless horizon of scorched land occasionally mixed in with thousands of rolling acres of irrigated crops and huge herds of cattle. Every now and then the miles were punctured by an occasional farming town, but just as soon as one appeared it vanished again.
Parched and unbearably hot, we stopped for a drink in the only town for miles, Spotted Horse which counts a population of two. Despite its size and the fact it turned out to literally consist of one saloon bar, it was still marked on our road map
of the entire North American continent. As we opened the door and walked in, right on cue the music stopped and everyone turned to look at us. It turned out that the town was experiencing a boom. While we originally thought we would be doubling the population, we actually increased it from a heady seven people to a positively sprawling metropolis of nine.
With a drink and an ice-cream sandwich in hand we chatted to the owner and a couple of the locals, finding out that half of the population had actually moved on meaning the town currently consisted of just one saloon bar and its owner. We learnt that it was also a haunt for bikers on their way to the legendary annual Sturgis rally, including the likes of Peter Fonda who drops in once a year.
As we left and the heat hit us again with full force, we were wondering how the patrons of the bar actually got there in the first place when one of them followed us out, got in his truck and drove off. Being in the middle of nowhere and with very little to hurt but yourself for a few hundred
miles in every direction (except maybe an unassuming pair of tourists on their motorbike) we realised there wasn't much to stop them being pretty relaxed about drink driving. Later someone told us that Wisconsin had only recently made driving while drinking a felony rather than a misdemeanour.
Leaving our first prairies behind, we finished the day in the energy capital of America, Gillette at the Crazy Woman Campground. Feeling a bit left out after having found a Byron, that evening Isabel set about searching the map for an Isabel. Upon finding one, it was agreed that the duet would be completed and a minor two day detour would be taken to visit this little oasis.
America is currently experiencing a heat wave of epic proportions, supposedly the hottest in some areas since records began. Although this is the kind of news we would revel in back home, we've decided that it's not so welcome when you're in a helmet, boots, thick trousers and heavy coat for most of the day and all you've got to escape from it at night is a tent. It seems the locals feel the same too when they are under the constant threat
of forest and wild fires. As we rode out of Wyoming and into South Dakota we saw what looked like a massive rain cloud on the horizon. As we got closer the smell of burning wood and the now orange tinge to the cloud made us realise we were heading towards the first forest fire we had seen.
On reaching the Black Hills, we came to the Crazy Horse monument in time for lunch and attempted the impossible task of trying to find some shade. The Crazy Horse monument is a tribute to the Indian warrior, Crazy Horse. The final monument, once completed, will depict Crazy Horse pointing out across the Black Hills to his lands where his dead lie buried.
The idea for the monument was conceived shortly after Mt Rushmore had been completed. Henry Standing Bear, a Lakota Indian elder wrote to the assistant sculptor of Mt Rushmore Korczak Ziolkowski in 1939, saying in part, "My fellow chiefs and I want white man to know that the red man has great heroes also." Once he had made the model, Ziolkowski moved into the mountains and started blasting it away in 1948, working completely alone for the
first five years. He died in the 1980s, but since his death, his wife and seven of his ten children have taken on where he left off and have dedicated their lives to completing the sculpture which is being constructed entirely on donations and admission fees to the site, without government funding. Once complete, the monument will be the largest sculpture of anywhere in the world. In context it will be twice the size of the Big Ben tower at 641 feet long and 563 feet high of both blasted and carved solid mountain. The monument as it stands has taken over sixty years to sculpt and consists of Crazy Horses's completed eighty-seven feet high head (the heads of the Mt Rushmore presidents each sit at sixty feet high) and the current focus of the work, his horse's eventual 219 feet head. It is a fascinating site with a great museum that had us captivated for a couple of hours.
A half hour ride later, through the lush and rocky Black Hills, so called for their black sediment base rather than appearance, we came to Mount Rushmore. Realising it was a Saturday and in the height of summer, we
hadn't exactly missed the tourist rush. Added to being defeated by the heat, we decided a drive by photo would do.
Leaving behind the tourist trap towns that lay around Mount Rushmore, we made our way to Rapid City. As is custom in most countries, bikers generally acknowledge each other on the road with a nod in Britain, a dropped leg in Europe and a low five in North America. A chat across lanes though isn't too usual, but as we drove down into Rapid City a bike rode along beside us and asked if we had time for a soda. We were treated to a drink, cookies and even offered lunch as we spent a great couple of hours with Mark and Kim. Before going on their way, they showed us around town and even bought us a Native American gift of sweet grass to burn.
We left Rapid City and rode on to Sturgis, setting up camp in one of the many sites the small town has to offer. For most of the year the population of Sturgis is 6,500, however for the first two weeks of August it swells to between 750,000 and a million
people who descend for the legendary motorcycle rally - the biggest of its kind anywhere in the world. Being a bike nut, this stop was like a pilgrimage to the promised land for Byron. Although our timing wasn't right for the rally, the town was still buzzing and we soaked up the atmosphere by heading to the Knuckle Saloon for a buffalo burger and chicken strips and spent the evening sat at the bar looking mean and spoiling for a fight.
The next day we made our way to the town of Isabel where, upon arriving the heat was so intense photographic evidence could only be taken from the saddle as we rode on in search of shade. Disappointingly like Byron, Isabel consisted of one main street and very few signs of life. Exhausted after riding hundreds of miles to get there, we vowed to stop at the first place with enough trees to pitch a tent under. We should have learnt by now that there would be no shade or hope of it anywhere for many more miles as we kept plodding on, losing another hour as we crossed the Missouri River into another time zone before eventually
stopping for the night in Mobridge.
By now the heat and humidity had us broken and unable to function properly, so we tracked down a campsite online with a pool near Minneapolis where we agreed we would stay to cool down for a few days and see how the US celebrates its Independence Day.
Unfortunately the heat in Minnesota was even more intense and the humidity was on the rise. In many places the heat had buckled the road causing more than one interesting moment as the bike's suspension bottomed out. After leaving a supermarket on another day, we found the bike lying on its side as the centre stand had melted through the tarmac. Despite spending four days at the campsite, it was near impossible to get comfortable. Temperatures were by now in the low forties and humidity was close to eighty percent. Even during the night the temperatures didn't drop below thirty and the pool water was in the high twenties. No escape.
Isabel had heard enough about the famous Mall of America nearby to fancy a visit and knowing Byron wouldn't normally be keen, she seized the opportunity and pitched the idea as a
day of relief from the heat under the largest air conditioned area in North America, complete with its own indoor adventure theme park...and maybe a few shops. A whole day was spent in cool bliss, buying some summer essentials to fill the space we had not long ago relieved by sending a parcel home.
We spent Independence Day sat mostly in the pool, as advised by the locals who too were unused to the oppressive heat. Although most 4th Julys are celebrated with a parade and games, this one fell mid-week which seemed to mean few parades and not too much occasion-marking until the evening fireworks. We watched about five different shows in the area from the campsite, all of which joined the fire flies in lighting up the skies and filled the air with the sounds of over-excited, over-heated kids.
As the weather was expected to cool down, we decided we could face the bike again to head north in the direction of Canada. Riding through Wisconsin and into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (home of the Yoopers) between the Great Lakes, we stopped at the Summer Breeze campsite in Iron Mountain where an almighty storm greeted
our first night. The sky cleared by the morning and the air was finally cooler.
The continuing kindness of Americans accelerated a notch here at what undoubtedly became the friendliest campsite we have visited. Greeted by Jon and Debbi with a seat at their fire to toast marshmallows, they later treated us to homemade cookies and homegrown raspberries. The generosity didn't stop there as we were bought a Yooper sticker to add to our collection on the bike by our neighbour Jarrod and were given brandy by our other neighbours. We even got a taste of the site's cosy hand built cabin. A must-visit campsite if you are ever in the area!
As directed by our new friends, the main claim to fame for the town of Iron Mountain is having the World's highest man-made ski jump. On our way out of town, we pulled in to have a look. Having been told you could climb to the top, we did just that. It was only when we were halfway up the sixty degree wooden slope that we could see people climbing the natural part of the jump and realised we were on the ruts of where the
lift would probably run and there were far too many big nails sticking out for them to be steps. Too far up to stop, we had to complete the climb and were rewarded with an incredible view. However, not keen to stay too long on the metal grid at the top, we found some steps that ran down the back. Unfortunately half of them were caved in so, on reaching a dead end we went back up and slipped our way down the slope feet first. Looking back up from the bottom and feeling a bit sick, we got on the bike sharpish and headed on towards Canada.
After a ride dotted with fantastic views of Lake Michigan and its beautiful beaches we arrived in the American side of Sault Ste. Marie, a dock town with a lock that joined Lake Superior and Lake Huron. We checked into a motel opposite the lock and went to taste the town's famous fresh fish followed by an obligatory walk along the lock with an ice cream, as advised by a few more bikers staying in the motel. Crossing the bridge into the town's Canadian counterpart the next morning, we would make
our way East towards Quebec and then on to New York.
(Scroll down for more photos)
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Sam 'da man' Walker
non-member comment
bad ass
great picture champ - shiny side up x