I rode “Bear” to work today and worked ‘til lunch time. By the time I’d changed into my riding gear and lashed the camping gear to “Bear,” it was noon. I finally leaned out of the parking lot at work and into the traffic about 12:02. Even in that Kansas City heat, few things have felt better.
A trick of geography had me heading west into Kansas to hook up with I-29. It wasn't long before I was back in Missouri and a little north of Kansas City. I followed the Missouri River about 389 miles to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It's not much of a fun ride, few curves, a small hill or two, and lots of flat. I thought it’d be cooler in South Dakota, but it was still over 90 F degrees when I arrived after 6:00 pm. A cool motel room and a long shower felt better than the best beer.
Poop! I just had some warrantee work done on “Bear” to stop the oil/grease leak on the rear end. But there it goes again, the ominous black drip on the pavement next to my tire. Over 59K on my previous Concours without a sign of this problem and now it won’t go away.
I ran into a Gold Wing rider at a local restaurant. We yapped about our bikes and my trip. He told me that one of his buddies had bought a new Connie this spring, and after having bought and sold a great number of bikes, he decided the Connie was the bike for him. This “Winger” really looked “Bear” over. He wanted to know how in the heck my wife was willing to let me run off on a trip like this without her. I told him the truth .. . she’s a tolerant woman and she proves it every day, in every way. Thirty-one years of my crap and she’s still here. Most of my friends know that Motor needs a break too now and then. Two weeks without me has its blessings, she says. Dang!
The next morning I was “up & attum” early. I rode a couple of miles north on I-29 and turned left onto I-90. More slab and even more heat, but South Dakota’s 75 mph speed limit made it more bearable (but a bit less than heaven). I was toying with the idea of stopping at the Badlands on the way to Montana. I arrived at the Badlands turnoff early enough, so I took a left turn again. I hoped to visit several national parks on this trip. This made it seem like a good idea to charge$50 for a one year’s pass to all the parks. Not a bad deal at all and it turned out to be a better deal than I knew. I didn’t spend much time in the park ... a “been there - done that” kind of thing. I made the slow loop on highway 240 and enjoyed the scenery. Soon enough, I was back on I-90, facing the SLAB and the HEAT. Geeze, which is worse? I had taken off my riding jacket in the park and it stayed lashed to my sleeping bag for a while. I don’t consider national park cruising and SLAB riding to be a much of a risk without riding gear. I’da had the riding pants off too, but I only had shorts on under ‘em. That would be way too cool for me - cowboy boots and shorts.
I cut off of I-90 at SD-34 near Spearfish, South Dakota. I hooked up with US-12 at almost the geographic center of the U.S., near Belle Fourche. "Bear" and I headed northwest on US-12, through the far northeast corner of Wyoming and then into Montana. Montana was and is one of my favorite states. Just over the WY/MT border, I spotted a cafe next to the road. Something on display made it plain to see that a fellow could get a cold wet beer and a burger in there. The lady fixed a pretty mean cheeseburger, a cool salad, and splashed a cold beer up on the counter. Dang - I'm in heaven again. I took out my national park pass to read all the fine print while I ate. This was a mistake, but I didn’t know it until the next day.
I hadn’t been to Montana on a bike since before the days of “reasonable and prudent,” so I asked an old-timer at the cafe how fast I would have to go to get a speeding ticket. He guessed that I could get away with 80 on this road and added that there were a few fellows fighting tickets for speeds in excess of 100 mph. He didn’t think they’d have much luck convincing a judge that 100+ mph was “reasonable and prudent.” He didn’t tell me that about 2 miles away, road construction, trucks, dirt, gravel, and dust would keep my speed down around 30 mph for a good distance. Then again, he didn’t smirk either.
After about 575 miles, I found the USFS Red Shale Campground where I was supposed to meet Rick. I rode around the grounds, but no Rick. There was no water at the campground, so I rode a few more miles west into Ashland, bought a couple of 16 ounce “yuppie” waters, guzzled ‘em like I’d never seen water before, then bought a gallon of distilled water for the camp. I figured Rick would have to come right through town on the way to the campground, but after about 30-45 minutes in the sun, I decided the campgrounds would be a better waiting spot. He was at the gate waiting for me. Rick had gone the long way around, a little east before he broke west for the campgrounds. Seems Rick will go a longer way to avoid the SLAB than I would.
We set up camp, enjoyed some real whisky (smoky don’t you know - peaty, if you do) and waited for it to cool down. That funny barley juice tastes real good in a civilized setting. The clean Montana air made it even better. Rick and I told sea stories for awhile, then I slept solid through the night. It was cool by daybreak.
Ready for more? Well then, let's just move on to the 2nd installment!
Of, course, you can back and review my itinerary on the Opening Page if you'd prefer.
