I was feeling fine and riding into the Badlands my way, using county routes instead of the interstate like the tourists and the RUBs. I was really feeling proud of myself. Isn’t there a saying about pride coming before a fall? It was only a few miles to state route 240 and I took it south into the park. As I rolled along and made the bend in the road at Cedar Pass, the landscape seemed to open right up before me.
Craggy peaks and twisted shades of grey enhance the stark, desolate feeling of this frying pan. The park road doesn’t actually go down into the canyons but it sidles up next to them often enough with ample parking spots. I parked the bike a few times and took little walks along the rim. The depths were surprising. The natural sculpting of the landscape was very eerie. Sharp ridges, spires and knobs sometimes gave an impression that some gigantic large clawed creature had been playing in the sand. I checked out the visitor’s center and learned that the different colored layers represented 65 million years of history on this prairie. Back then it was the bottom of the ocean. Different epochs brought different climates and occupants creating the different layers that were then twisted as the hills were pushed up. Erosion set in as the water dried up and now this crazy quilt is the result. It’s supposed to be a great area for fossils but I didn’t explore enough to find any myself.
I’ve heard some compare these badlands to the Grand Canyon but on a smaller scale. You look down into that yawning chasm and you see the Colorado River. There’s lots of water you can at least get to. The Badlands was the driest, hottest place I’d ever seen or could imagine. I read that if you manage to find any liquid don’t even think you can boil it or treat it. It is so alkali that no matter what you do to it, it’ll pucker you up worse than an alum sandwich. I also read that pioneers crossing the prairie had to contend with mile after mile of ten foot tall grass. Some of them, after contending with that for weeks, ended up in the Badlands. They thought they were in hell and some committed suicide.
I found the whole place fascinating and wanted to play around more but I was beginning to feel run down. I’d been drinking lots of water but the relentless sun and oppressive heat helped me to decide to ride on to Rapid City if only for the breeze. I soaked a bandana with water, tied it to my head and headed west hoping to find route 44. The breeze was a blast furnace.
The bandana was dry immediately and trying to blow off so I grabbed it and looped it over a mirror. I was thirsty and a little worried. It didn’t take long to leave the park but I still couldn’t see any trees or relief of any kind. I’d never felt so exposed and vulnerable. I couldn’t quite think straight. Before long I stopped and had another drink. I finished the 1st gallon and opened the 2nd. After I checked the map I poured water right over my head soaking my t-shirt. My only plan was to get to Rapid City and find some shade. There had to be a city park somewhere in the city. I climbed back on to the bike soggy through my crotch and pulled back onto the empty road. A single truck had passed by the entire time I’d been parked.
At first my wet clothes were delicious in the breeze. My head cleared a little and I thought I was a genius. That lasted about 5 minutes. In 10 the moisture was a memory. By the time I’d ridden a half an hour I couldn’t even remember I’d once been wet. If I had known what I was doing I could have stopped in a cool little authentic western town named Scenic to recuperate but I never noticed the signs. I probably thought it was a scenic route and I was in no mood for site seeing. I stopped for water at least once more before I got into the city with the same brief respite from the oppressive heat.
I rode around the city for several minutes without finding anything resembling shade. I decided I was just too dopey to continue. There was traffic and red lights now and I could easily make a fatal mistake. I parked my rig at the curb and tried to look around and get a clue. It was hot but it seemed more bearable. I didn’t have a cell so I found a pay phone and called Ray and Mimi. There was no answer. It was time to go to The Chip. I needed to crash.
When I returned to the bike I looked way down the street and there was a beautiful thing, a sign for Interstate 90. I regretted the distain I’d shown for that long suffering, far reaching highway. I thanked it for offering to take me home with no hard feelings. I felt unconditional love, the road only wanted to do its job. Sun stroke can do that to you.
I followed the signs and soon was rushing west hoping I’d be sleeping in my tent that night. They had to let me in. I couldn’t think of another option at the time. The breeze was better now. I was getting real close to Sturgis and my spirits began to return. I could see the Black Hills off to my left and the rolling landscape along the interstate started to gain more character. I pulled in at the rest area 10 miles before Sturgis. Organizations in the area set up a refreshment stand there during the summer. I bought some water, a coffee and a cookie and chatted with one of the guys running it. He gave me directions right to The Chip.
“It’s real easy. Get off at exit 32. That’ll put you on Junction. Follow it all the way down to Lazelle. That’s just past Main Street where all the action is. Turn right on Lazelle and take it 3 miles east of town. Go Past Fort Meade and The Full Throttle. When you get to the top of the hill turn right and you’ll see The Chip.”
I figured I’d be able to find The Chip once I got to Sturgis but these directions gave me a comfortable feeling. I wouldn’t have to stop until I got to the campground. I was on my last leg of this exciting journey, once more exhilarated and revived. The 10 miles went by fast. The directions were excellent. I was almost a week early for the actual rally so there were no crowds or traffic to contend with. When I made the turn onto Alkali Road and could actually see The Chip I parked the bike and hauled out the camera to get a picture. You can’t see a lot of the campground from there but it’s obvious something exciting was looming just below the hill. It’s that hill that forms a natural amphitheater for the enormous main stage. I continued on to the main entrance where I found a small old building that’s used as the ticket windows. It’s apparent the building was originally built for some other purpose. It looked like it belonged on a ranch.
There was no one around. I dug out my invoice and headed up to the window. Now that I was finally here the tiredness began to set in.
I didn’t see anyone outside but as I walked up to one of the windows cut into the side of the building I could tell there were people inside. “Hi, I’m kind of early but I was hoping I could set up my camp. Here’s my invoice”
“Sure, just give us a minute, ok?” I couldn’t actually see her face because it was dark inside the building and my eyes were used to the blazing sun. I stood there sort of melting still craving shade and falling into kind of daydream.
“OK”, the disembodied voice woke me from my reverie, “Let’s see what you have.” I handed her the paper I had treasured for months.
“When I first made my reservation I paid $25 for a trailer. Later, after reading further I realized the fee was for a trailer when you haul your bikes in. I rode in and I’m pulling a trailer behind my bike. I don’t have to pay for that, do I.”
“Let me talk to Carol.” She replied. She was back in a minute. “I’ll tell you what. Since you’re early, instead of us refunding you the money for the trailer and then charging you for the extra days, why don’t we just call it even.”
“Yeah, you bet!” I was in.
“Give me your right hand”, she asked. I picked up my left hand, shook my head then stuck my right arm through the window. When I pulled it back my first ever Buffalo Chip wrist band was firmly in place.
I managed to croak out a “Thank You”.
She replied “Have a fun time”.
I was happy but beat. All I could think of was I had to find some shade, set up my tent and get some rest. As I rode into the campground all I could think was “Trees, shade, gotta find some shade.” It didn’t take long. I only saw a couple of tents so I pretty much had my pick of the place. I saw a group of tall trees off to the left but it was on the other side of a small creek or rather a creek bed. There was no water in the creek but I couldn’t ride through the ditch. I finally made my way around to the beautiful, cool, welcome shade provided by those trees. I parked the bike and finished off the last gallon of water I’d bought way back in Cactus Flats, back before I made my ride through hell. I looked at the empty container and thanked God that I’d made the purchase. I really don’t know how I would have made it if I had not made that purchase. Then I lay down in the cool grass and rested a while.
Before it got dark I managed to set up my tent and blow up my air mattress. I climbed in with a couple of sleeping bags and crashed, hard. As I fell to sleep a comfortable feeling of being home came over me as well a satisfied, job well done, sort of mood. I’d made it. I wondered what would happen next.