Three days have past since the last scribble…

Wednesday 1st August

First of all I am grateful to Tim and all at Red Line Motorcycles for getting the set of tyres and fitting them. Thanks also to the lady at Red Line who lent me a scooter for the day so that I was free to do some sightseeing and get lunch. I got them to put green goo in the tyres … that is meant to stop punctures. I did not realise it took a while to spin the goo out around the tyres and the handlebars shook when I took my hands off them … after an hour at 80 it smoothed out.

A front lawn on the way to Ennis… some town… I forget… population 778 alt 1034ft

At seven in the evening I reached the delightful town of Ennis and entered the saloon. It was full of middle aged women laughing and using coarse language. I sat primly drinking my pint and this divorcee (who looked like a better version of Camilla Parker Bowles) kicked off a conversation. Readers, don’t jump to conclusions now, this was going nowhere – she kept going on about her boyfriend who knocks over bears riding his horse etc etc. She had spent some time on the road ‘full timing’ in her RV.  She said it was not too hard to deal with being a woman on the road alone – she survived two winters in harsh conditions in the far north. Now in Ennis, she finds the people friendly and declared it to be the last ‘Western’ town before it all turns dull mid-western. We shall see.

She suggested the fisherman’s spot over the bridge out of town and I took that up after a delicious home cooked meal in a local place, served by a tall smiling girl that was the image of my daughter. <wipes tear from eye>

My tent was just a few feet from the rapid Madison river, rushing past filled to the top of the banks. Some fishermen nearby advised me of the best route to take me further East. Cook City, Cody, Chief Joseph Highway, Bear Tooth Highway (great views) Red Lodge, Belfrey, Sheridan, Devils Tower …

Thursday 2nd August

Off at 7AM the next day. I hoped to include a bit of tourism combined with some travel in an easterly direction. I headed for Yellowstone. That in itself was not a mistake but visiting Old Faithful was. This tourist attraction holds the world record for the greatest concentration of moronic people in the world (Sturgis comes a close second but more of that later). I covered 400 miles that day, climbed mountain ranges of 10500 feet. Ending in Bear Tooth campsite at  9,500 feet. That night I could hear bears yowling and claw marks on the trees next to the tent but I had a sound nights sleep, all for a very reasonable $11.

Another early start and on to Sturgis. A few words on Sturgis: it is the largest motorcycle meet in the world. It was due to start the following day, although the festivities had already begun, some photos are included. I can see the fun factor and many go there year after year for their annual holiday. For me, I found it shallow, brash and in some ways all the very worst of America.

Chatting to a few people, they have a peculiar take on the Sturgis dystopia. They accepted that the rally had its peculiar characteristics, dubbing it as “The Sturgis Trailer Rally”.  I followed and was overtaken by countless Harleys on the back of pickups, on trailers and in covered horse boxes. Most of the bikes were hardly ridden, spotless and factory fresh. A  precious few oddballs made it worthwhile, the man with train locomotive horns, the tattood lady, the sex addict pensioner showing 1947 photos of his shared girlfriend and handing out phallus candy to attractive girls on the pavement, the old timers with foot long beards, the girls riding motorcycles with postage stamp sized black tape over their nipples… the fat gawking loons (me?)…

Too many commercial stands, too much booze, noise, infected street food all drained my energy and I crawled back to the campsite just outside of town to have an ear plugged but restless nights sleep dreaming of hellish inescapable machine gun worlds as the machines blasted around the town.

Friday 3rd August

Breakfast at the Sturgis High School, all you can eat. I would not touch the gravy and biscuits but the food was served by students of the High Schools who eagerly asked me where I was from and pinned the location on a world map.

Off to Sioux Falls 375 miles East. On the way – a visit to Mount Rushmore.

Again I run across the precious strain of homo sapiens, homo tourisitus. This sub-species wanders around in crisp starched pastel coloured clothes.

I had a noisy, urgent but satisfying crap in the immaculate steel restrooms (really impressive) which made it worth the $8 entry fee. I cursed the food seller on the street in Sturgis.

Off onto the I 90 east, stopped for a sandwich at JR’s on the motorway. JR told me he had been there all his life and enjoys his time. He told me how he saw all sorts, cowboys, Indians, bikers black people, even. I tried to get past the last category. His dog looked up at my beard moving in a circular greasy motion and put its paw on my leg. Hes an Australian Sheepdog JR said, and then continued to tell me the precise geneaology of his family going back to the early 1700’s. In the background, George Jones plays across the huge empty hall-like room. On the shelf is a jar with a hand-written label ‘Suger’

 

I see a pale moon a-risin’

As soon as I remounted the bike, huge black spots on the ground appeared. These turned into the heaviest rainfall I have ever experienced on a bike ride. It was best described as monsoon rain, I endured it for over four hours. mighty crosswinds pushing the bike to and fro, tacking and grappling the machine in the tearing rain. Huge passenger coach-sized RVs trailing huge 4x4s pass me. Lorry sized 4×4 pickups pulling boats swaying in the wind overtake me at 75 over the slippery grooved concrete. Hardly any bikes on the road. An exceptionally wide load (normally requiring police escort and 50mph speed limit) screams past again at 75 rain corkscrewing behind leaving me bobbing about terrified in its wake.

I pass huddled groups of Harley riders under bridges and gas stations. The simple reason is that in Dakota and Montana you do not have to ride with a helmet and almost no-one had the forethought to pack waterproofs. Possibly this was not part of their imagined ideal of the biker lifestyle. To make it worse, some machines were hopelessly naked as well, unfaired.

After three nights outdoors, tonight I am damp and tired and a motel seemed irresistible. On the TV is a scrolling message the weather service has issued a severe weather warning, a tornado is expected in north eastern Nebraska and Sioux falls and Mitchell (where I am). I don’t think I should be in a tent. I nipped down the local supermarket, bought some clothes washing liquid and did my laundry, dried out my gloves jacket and helmet in the drier. I am glad to be indoors tonight.