Day 4.
Wednesday July 23rd, 2014.
The Calm Before The Storm!
I was up at the crack of dawn. I packed and loaded the bike.
Armed with a rag and fresh water, I cleaned the windshield of all the dead and dried up bugs that failed to get out of the way of my fast approaching bike during yesterday’s riding. I shudder at the thought of the last things that might have gone through their minds or what they could possibly have said or done before meeting up with the shield.
“Oh s**t”!
I began my journey for the day just as the sun rose in the sky. It was already getting hot.
Breakfast consisted of left-over pizza and Pepsi. That would suffice. I had enough provisions and water on me to afford being able to stop at anytime and anywhere during the day to snack and replenish my electrolytes if and when I felt the need to.
My plan for today was to continue due north, all the way to Rapid City, SD.
I headed out. Turning left onto US 385 a.k.a. The High Plains Highway, the wind picked up and I could smell the freshness of approaching rain in the air. I was now on the South Platte River Trail section. Another one of the beautiful roads set aside as a Scenic Byway. As the wind blew across the road I could feel the cooler temperature that accompanied it and tempered the heat of the early Colorado plains morning.
Continuing along this highway would eventually get me to the Nebraska state line, through a section of Nebraska’s Platte Region and all the way on to the South Dakota state line.
Way off in the distance I could barely make out the darkness of swirling heavy rain clouds. The kind of which I was not sure whether I would encounter rain or not.
The rain clouds seemed to hardly approach my direction at this time. The weather began to take on an ominous darkness, which seemed to guarantee me that there would definitely be rain - hopefully somewhere other than where I was!
Behind the layer of clouds in the distance, the direction in which I was traveling, I could see bright daylight. I had hope. I would probably be lucky and miss it.
In the interest of safety, hoping to not get caught out in the rain, I pulled into this Shell gas station to check the local weather radar and report on my smart phone.
I decided to journey on.
We (the bike and I) crossed the South Platte River and arrived in Julesburg, CO after only 32 miles of travel this morning.
In a north to south direction, Julesburg is more popularly known as the gateway to Colorado.
I found it to be very tiny (population 1200) but became very curious about it as I began to take in the surrounding sights and a little bit of its history.
Back in the mid1800’s Julesburg and the surrounding area had its share of infamy and fame.
From massacres of Sioux and Cheyenne Native Americans and the resulting retaliatory attacks, to the establishment of a Pony Express stop and large stagecoach station on the overland stagecoach route (circa 1861) between the east and west.
In 1865 when the telegraph system reached here, the Pony Express, after 12 years, stopped using Julesburg as a station.
I rode around this little town and ended up at the original train station on this Union Pacific line. It was through here that many westward venturing pioneers on their journeys seeking the promise of a new life of riches and gold in the west, came.
Today, the former Union Pacific Station exists solely as a museum, The Fort Sedgwick Museum, closed at this time, but as a memory of those wild, challenging and sometimes exciting times of the westward expansion days gone by.
The streets were empty, void of people; most unlike the bustling inner cities of America that never sleep. They had probably not started their day yet (I wondered). It was still very early. The day was just starting. Typical of small town America in these modern day times.
I had far to go.
Heading out of town on /W. 1st street, I resumed my journey.
In a matter of a couple of minutes, or so it seemed, I was at the outskirts of Julesburg.
I pulled over on an overpass
The clouds were now very ominous.
It was very evident that there was going to be rain.
Rain in the form of a storm! No doubt about it.
I contemplated turning back to Julesburg to seek shelter from the possible storm that was brewing.
The wind picked up.
Tumbleweed began to blow around me.
It was a circular pattern.
This storm-to-be was not passing by.
It was circling the area. The very area where I was!
But in the back of my mind I was very sure that it would miss me in the direction in which I was heading.
Yes, I was sure it would miss me.
No sweat!
I was confident it would miss me.
I pulled over. Undecided about whether to journey on and brave it or find somewhere to shelter from it If need be. I began to play the role, or should I say, I assumed the role of Weather Forecaster!
Satisfying myself that it was the case, I did not see or feel the need to don my rain gear.
The wind really picked up now and a single golf ball-sized raindrop fell on me. Getting back on the bike, I took off and continued the journey, making a right turn at the junction of US 385 north, which was less than a minutes’ ride from where I was. I began to smell the scent of rain in the air.
With a new sense of urgency, I picked up the pace and headed towards the now fast-approaching Nebraska state line.
As the wind blew across the road, I hit the button and raised my windshield to its highest position to give myself as much protection as it afforded from the strong crosswind.
…….. just then it really came down! Out of nowhere and all of a sudden!
Raindrops the like of which I had never seen or felt before.
I slowed down. That made it worse. I began to take on water! I barely saw the state line marker through the now heavy sheet of rain drops as I crossed into Nebraska.
Wondering whether to stop and suit up or not, my mind instinctively turned to try and seek shelter from the rain. I was hoping to find some shelter; but there was nothing around me. I was traversing open land as far as my eyes could see.
A couple more minutes that felt like an eternity went by and I began to realize that I was procrastinating.
By this time I could have sworn that I had a gallon of rain water in my underwear and 2 gallons of water in my shoes/boots!
Well that’s how it felt!
Not to mention the trickle of water that had found its way down my back and into the “crack of my a**!”
Making a U-turn, I contemplated “running” in the opposite direction back towards Julesburg – back towards some form of shelter from the rain. I did not know what lay ahead for me, nor what I would encounter.
I was already wet through and through!
It started getting heavier. The sky continued to get darker. I was caught in the storm!
I was wet. That was the understatement of my day. I was drenched. The rain got heavier.
I pulled over and spent the next 7 or 8 minutes reaching into my luggage, getting my rain gear out and suiting up. Again,It seemed like I took forever to get this done. Despite being wet, all I could instinctively think of doing was to put on my rain gear. I could not seem to do this quick enough.
Water flowed around me on the impervious ground. Impervious because it had been baked and caked for a long time in the hot dry weather for who knows how long up to this point.
The rain was coming down in sheets! No I think it was coming down in buckets!
So, now dressed and rain protected - and wet, I turned back northwards and continued my journey. I was really wet.
Within less than 5 minutes of this time, I broke out from under the cloud/storm.
Not a drop of water had fallen in this area! It was bone dry!
Still wearing my rain gear and in this heat, I began to overheat rapidly. Steam was billowing out from under my jacket. I pulled over to de-robe.
Reluctant to put my wet gear into my saddle bags with all my other dry luggage in there, my only other thought was to find a place to lay out my wet gear on the ground to dry. I pulled over and dangled my wet jacket and socks on the bike in the hope of air-drying them as I motored along, whilst scanning the land around me like a Kite searching the fields for prey, for a place to pull up and take a forced dry break/snack.
My shoes were my main issue now. I did not want to ride bare-footed. The thought of some possible mishap and scraping my feet on the road scared the living daylights out of me.
My mind ran back to the days of early riding in Ghana where riding in flip-flops was not unheard of. One unforgettable instance was when I scraped the tip of my left big toe in a nice left turn lean on my bicycle. It was one of my best leans ever on a bicycle and I paid the price! Ugh. I shudder. I still feel the pain at the thought and remembrance of that. So much that even to this day when I look at that big toe, although long ago and well healed, I still remember that day vividly – as well as the pain of losing skin!
Been there, done it!
So I opted to wait at roadside for a little while to try and dry them out.
I took advantage of the time to take some photographs and to watch the trains go by.
Let me correct that statement: To watch the train go by!
This has to be the longest train I have ever laid my eyes on.
In either direction, running parallel to the road, I could make out its length for as far as I could see. As the engine had passed by me, the train driver sounded his horn, stuck his head out of his window and waved at me. What a nice friendly gesture. He probably saw me caught in the storm when I went by him several miles back.
As the carriages went by me, I mused at all the graffiti artwork that adorned their bodies; even to the point of admiring the artisanship. A lot of it “smacked” of talent and creativity!
How nice it would be if these kids could/would channel all this ability into something productive for their environment/community. Hmm. I mused. Perhaps this was it. Oh well. Who am I to judge?
I’ve got far to go and places and things to see!
Thankfully, my wet-weather escapade did not last for longer than about 40 mi. (64 km).
Having come out of the storm safe and unscathed, I was prayerfully grateful; and so am able to look back and remark how much fun it was!
I caught up with the train several miles down the way. Saying it was easy is an understatement. The ST had no problems whatsoever being able to do that and as I caught up to and passed the engine up front, I honked my horn at the train driver/engineer and gave him a big wave back.
We had become kindred spirits in friendship!
I was now on the Pony Express Trail. Reliving memories of old cowboy movies in the days gone by, I could feel the thrill of what it must have been like in those days. The Express riders, galloping across this land to make sure people received their mail and correspondence as quickly as they could possibly deliver it.
Motoring on for a while longer, I pulled up in Gurley, NE to admire and experience the massive girth of Grain Silos beside the Railroad tracks that ran through this town and to have a mid-morning snack.
The Cherry Pepsi and bag of Trail Mix nuts and fruits, topped off with a Cadbury’s chocolate bar for dessert, made for a calorie rich snack. It went down well and I felt charged up, ready for the next long haul to my final destination for the day - Rapid City, SD. I had a little over 250 mi (400km) to go.
All things being equal I’d be able to make it there by mid afternoon. It was not even noon yet.
I pushed on for another hour and a half or so and after this short spirited ride, I found a solitary clump of trees at the roadside and made the decision to take a short break for lunch. More importantly though I needed to get my shoes off and thoroughly dry my feet and toes.
Laying out all my still wet gear in the sunshine, I perched myself underneath the tree and had a snack of dry crackers, potted meat (Vienna sausages) and apple juice. It all went down very well.
My gear was bone-dry in just about 20 min.
The hot Nebraska sun made easy work of evaporating whatever remaining water I needed to shed.
I sat down on a piece of fallen tree trunk/branch in the shade of the trees for another 10 min. enjoying the light breeze, which seemed to exist only under the trees and then decided to push on.
I was now so relaxed and ready to just stretch out underneath the tree and take a snooze, but I still had far to go. I wanted to make it to Rapid City well before sundown. I still had about 250 mi. (460 km) to go.
It was hot. The temperature gauge on the instrument cluster showed 84’F (29’C). There was no breeze.
In my estimation I was probably only about a fifth or sixth of the way through Nebraska.
After delicately putting away my camera gear and accessories, I suited up and prepared to journey on.
Three quarters of an hour went by in a blink. I loved this change in environment.
I had lost quite a bit of “journeying time” on this morning and so I had to push on with purpose.
These are times when my station in life dictates and rules my choices and decisions. I do not necessarily always have the luxury of spending all the time I can or have for stops like this as much as I would like to, because like it or not, returning to home base and back to my job by a particular time is not negotiable!
With only so much time off work and limited funds, I have to plan the ride and ride the plan!
So moving forward and northwards, I was now not going to “take any prisoners”.
The next 117 mi. (187 km.) went by in what seemed to be the blink of an eye!
The ST continued to lay down the miles. We entered the national grasslands. I had made it into South Dakota. I had not seen the state line sign. The highway sliced its way through the land and from my vantage point this high up, looked like a long scar that cut its way through the seemingly endless prairie.
I was thrilled by the undulations in the road. It felt like a roller coaster ride in slow motion, although I had been traveling at a pretty good “clip”.
The elevation change took me up into the Pine Ridge area of Nebraska and at the highest part of this road, I found myself overlooking the town of Chadron in the valley below.
I was approaching Native American territory. Lakota territory, to be precise.
My journey, to this point, had been a lot about me getting away from the confines of big cities, from the hum drum of present day life and the thrill of being on my bike riding lovely roads and seeing and experiencing things that had been so foreign to me all these years. Things I had only come to know through the textbooks of my school-going days.
But here and now, here presently, I could feel that I was beginning to tread on ground that was at one time and still is very special in many ways, to many people. It was a profound feeling.
History teaches me that this is where it all started to happen!
“Paha Sapa”.
This is the land that has been named “Black Hills” by the white man.
To the Lakota, it is The Heart Of Everything That Is.
It is and always has been sacred land, where the Lakota would only venture for their ceremonies, vision quests and burials.
Without going into a lengthy historical discussion or write-up, which I believe you all know much better than I do, my understanding is that this is where gold was first discovered which subsequently led to the troubles between the New American settlers, their government and forces and the Native Americans.
Starting to see this beautiful land I begin to understand what all the struggles on both sides was all about and how easily it led to what we have come to know it as. My heart grew heavier.
I journeyed on.
Without a smile on my face and lost in thought, I made my way into the Black Hills.
This is gorgeous country!
The hills were literally black. Lost were the red and brown hues of soil and ground I have always associated with hills and mountains. They had been aptly named.
So the road wound and twisted as it guided me through the hills for the rest of the afternoon.
Arriving in Rapid City, I sought out a McDonalds, treated myself to another calorie rich ice cream topped with strawberry sauce as I took advantage of their internet signal to check my bearings and locate a hotel/motel that I would use as base camp for the next couple of nights.
The sun was out. It was still hot, although early evening as I made my way to an only Motel that I could barely afford. It was the only one I found that had a room available. All hotels were not only fully booked, but I was unable to afford to pay what they were charging!
Rapid City is not cheap! Additionally it was peak summer season. I guess that had a lot to do with it too.
I have slept in many a place across this nation of ours and I have never had to pay this much for a motel room. It was pricier than a lot of higher end hotels I have lodged in.
The condition of the room as well was not commensurate with the cost IMHO. It was way at the end of the other scale. Yes there were bugs in the room too. Seemed possible too that sheets could not have been changed either. Coupled with that, the room sported a pair of twin-sized beds.
So with luggage spread out on one bed, I had very little space left to really spread out and feel relaxed.
It was better than nothing though, so I embraced it for what it was worth. After all, I had made it to the Black Hills, and I did have a place to stay. I was excited, to say the least, to be here.
I had to return to the front office to request a code for internet access and it was through this encounter with the clerk that I got to find out that Mount Rushmore was barely 20 min. due south of us and the night show (which I never knew they put on each night) was not to be missed!
Glancing at the time, and making quick mental calculations for time distance and speed, I rushed back to the room, grabbed and loaded up my camera gear and headed south in search of the Mount Rushmore memorial.
It was easy to find. I couldn’t get lost. There were signs all over the place and at every intersection from here to Timbuktu!
Seemed like every building and establishment was named Rushmore! Talk about capitalizing on that name!
My very first glimpse of the monument was shortly before sundown/sunset. It was spectacular, although quite a distance off, just beyond the entry to the memorial where I was.
Back on the road I wound my way around the hilly terrain and joined the long queue of vehicles waiting to pay the entrance fee to the memorial. Getting through, I entered the parking garage and found a place for my motorcycle.
Unloading my camera gear, I joined other pedestrians along the Avenue of Presidents and wound our way to the viewing plaza.
The light show started right at dark and lasted for close to an hour.
Needless to mention it was a treat to witness. The monuments were lit up. In the pitch dark of night, every distinct feature was accented. I truly marveled at the feat of their creation.
I was glad I did not miss it. To the extent that I ended up being the last guest to leave that night. I stayed and took it all in. I chose not to miss a moment of this experience. I did not want to leave just yet. But all too soon I had to pack up tripod and gear and returned to my motel for some much needed sleep.
It had been one heck of a day for me. There is not much I would trade it for!
After 343 mi. on the day, I was too tired to make any journal entries.
I lay down to sleep, asking the Lord my soul to keep, if in case I did not wake from my sleep.