The Long & Winding Road AKA

Emu's 6 Week Tour

Look Here For Raymond's Version Of Events

Part 29
Meandering with Purpose:
Hung With The Sundance Kid

In 1887, Harry Longabaugh was sentenced to eighteen months jail time in Sundance Wyoming, for stealing horses. After his incarceration, he took on the alias of the Sundance Kid. He rode to fame with Butch Cassidy as an outlaw in the old West. Their story was the subject of a Paul Newman/Robert Redford motion picture ...

We rode from the homestead, backtracking the day before's route to Glendive and I-94. Plowboy took the lead, followed by Raymond and frmrpat. I took up my coveted position at the back of the pack. Interstate 94 was a fast ride and we were in North Dakota in what seemed like no time at all. We stopped at a chicken diner in Beach for lunch. As we were leaving, a woman with a group of children were admiring the four motorcycles lined in a row. The kids seemed to favor the bulk of Raymond's 1500. Plowboy attempted shifting their attention to his bike by offering chicken nuggets. Frmrpat borrowed a few bucks from me, then attempted to sway the kids to his bike with cold hard cash. His attempt failed. Apparently Canadian cash just don't swing it down here. Raymond, seeing his bike's popularity dwindle, promptly started offering day pass certificates to Disney World. (redeemable by attending time-share pitch in Orlando FL)
Me? Well, mom looked kinda cute and she did say my bike looked okay, so I was happy. Come to think of it, she thought all the bikes looked pretty good. Diplomacy and good looks! Welcome to North Dakota! For the record, I'm pretty darn sure that's just the way it happened, and if it's not ... well, I'm sure it's the way it should have been!

Our next stop was a historical site at Medora. In 1883 the town was founded by the Marquis de Mores. (the crazy Frenchmen as he was known at the time) He built a meatpacking plant that failed and it's ruins are a park today. As we walked around what's left of the old structures, Pat elaborated a little about the Marquis's relationship with his neighbor, one Theodore Roosevelt. Apparently there was quite a bit of dislike between the two. From Medora we rode to Hwy. 85 and headed south. For some reason Hwy. 85 is a major thoroughfare for Canadians heading south. Some crafty Americans along this Hwy. are quick to take advantage of the poor, homesick Canadian traveler. As we came upon one such roadside establishment, I was conned into pulling over by a very clever ploy. Displayed boldly to oncoming traffic was a sign complete with Canadian flag, that read "Canadian Spoken Here"! We lined up beside our bikes and my American buddies did their best to speak Canadian at me. Rejuvenated, we forged ever deeper into the Dakotas

We stopped for fuel and a bit of break north of Belle Fourche S. Dakota. When I came out out of the convenience store, I walked right into the middle of frmrpat having a grand old time pulling a truckers leg. It seemed all that speaking Canadian back in North Dakota had rubbed off on Pat. He had this old trucker convinced he was a Canadian on a bike trip south. Pat had this guy wound up three ways from Wednesday with his over the top "Canadian" observations of life in America. Frmrpat makes a very good obnoxious Canadian tourist. Why, I was very impressed and proud to call him one of our own. But the funniest thing was, he had this old trucker agreeing with everything he said. It was hilarious to watch this master of improv do his Canadian thing.

From Belle Fourche we took Route 34/24 into Wyoming in search of the Devils Tower. This is a secondary two-lane blacktop that truly meanders its way through the hills to the Tower. By the time we reached Devils Tower National Monument Park, the sun was casting long shadows and gave the tower an almost golden hue. Towering 867 feet above it's base, 1,267 feet above the Belle Fourche River and 5,112 feet above sea level, this butte dominates the wilderness for miles around. The park's road to the tower's base exposes every angle possible to look at the tower. This made it difficult to keep the eyes on the road. We spent quite some time admiring this grand work of nature. But it was now getting late and we wanted to reach Sundance before we lost the light of day. Even growing ever distant in the rear view mirror, the Devils Tower is still a magnificent site.

It was almost dark by the time we rode into Sundance. It had been a long day, but our little modern-day "Wild Bunch" still had some mischief left. When we entered the motel office, an elderly couple were booking in. We tried every trick in the book, including intimidation, since we looked the biker part, to get management to book our rooms on the elderly couple's account. The little gray-haired lady, no more than five foot nothing tall, turned on us big burly bikers! Well, frmrpat and Plowboy are big and burly. Raymond and I jumped in behind them for protection when we saw the onslaught this itty bitty old lady was about to unleash! With a giveaway twinkle in her eye she gave us what for. She must have been one of those obnoxious Canadian tourists Pat likes to mimic. But we weren't wimps! No sir. We patiently cowered in the corner waiting for her husband to call her off. By the time they left, I think their bill was on our account. But fate was against them. After unloading the bikes, we crossed the street to the local restaurant for dinner. You'll never guess who the only other patrons were. We respectfully greeted our new found elderly friends, as the waitress guided us by them to our table. We arranged for the waitress to slip our bill under their bill when they motioned they were ready to leave. This brought the house down. The couple couldn't stop laughing at our tomfoolery. Laughing, they came over to our table and thanked us for making their vacation. Subterfuge, all subterfuge ... while laughing, that sweet little lady tried to slip their bill back to us and skip the joint. Now if you can't trust your Seniors ....

Oh yeah, Harry Longabaugh, the Sundance Kid. The motel office has a newspaper clipping framed and hanging on the wall, telling of the Sundance Kid's incarceration. It's a novelty conversation piece that the motel guests almost always comment on. The next morning after breakfast, I asked the manager and his wife if they had a computer and were online. In my e-mail account I had stored a map my father had made up before the journey started. It's not exactly accurate to the exact route taken, but the Wiz (my father) compensated with little photoshop versions of stops to be made along the way. Pat, Perry and Raymond had said they wouldn't mind seeing this cartoonish map. They had a computer, and when I brought the map up on the screen, they giggled a little and offered to print copies for me. I asked if they could do up three. With the three maps in hand, the manager and I noticed his wife printing out a fourth. When asked, she explained "That map is funny, and a trip around the country on a motorcycle like that. Staying here and everything. I'm thinking" she looked to me, "If it's OK with you, I'd like to frame this and hang it beside Sundance in the office." I'm not sure, because we left for Sturges, but I think I've been hung with the Sundance Kid.

Part 30
Meandering with Purpose: Dr. Phil at Sturgis

When we left Sundance that morning, it was the beginning of a truly great motorcycle riding day. At our first gas stop on the way to Sturgis, it was noticed that Plowboy was experimenting with rear bike lubrication. His oil cap/dipstick was loose and oil had blown back over the rear wheel and saddlebag. No damage, not that much in way of oil loss, but it looked worse than it was. A quick cleanup, oil top up, properly secured oil cap and a mildly embarrassed Plowboy was ready to rock-and-roll. We headed for Sturgis and the first-ever Sturgis - Intruder Rally. Well, I guess after years of the Harley Rally, four Intruders in early July didn't really have much impact on the local economy, so we went virtually unnoticed. We parked the bikes on the main strip, and frmrpat pointed out that during the Sturgis rally, this street is solid motorcycles from one end of town to the other. After securing the motorcycles, we started looking around. It seemed just about every second establishment was motorcycle (read Harley) or rally related. One of the first stores we entered, was so Harley orientated, that it even had a replica of Peter Fonda's "Captain America" chopper in the storefront display window. So in we went. Talk about your wall-to-wall Harley paraphernalia. Any and everything you could possibly put a Harley logo on was in the store. Sturges rally T-shirts, from last year's 02 rally were selling for 7 dollars. The exact same shirt with the yet to be 03 rally logo (only difference in the two shirts was the year) was selling for $16 and up. Raymond and Plowboy left the store leaving Pat and I to browse around. Finally I said to Pat.
"Hey, wanna see how you can get thrown out of a place like this real fast?"
Pat started laughing and said OK. Being almost the only ones left in the store, in a loud voice I called to the proprietor, an obvious Harley man if tattoos and clothing are any indicator.
"Hey mister, where do you keep all the really good stuff ... you know, the Suzuki stuff!"
Well, I got one of those looks that said my time on this planet was pretty much up. As he stood behind the counter staring, I reached back over my shoulder and grabbed the scruff of my neck and started pulling myself toward the door like an old vaudeville performer being hooked and pulled off the stage.
"Don't bother yourself sir" Says I as I pantomimed my way past the counter.
"I'll just throw myself out!"
Pat was chuckling at the absurdity unfolding in front of him and from behind the counter came a simple "OK" from the now grinning owner as he returned to his EasyRider magazine.

We continued doing the tourist souvenir shopping thing. After all, if you don't have the T-shirt, who would believe you were really there. Pat and Perry headed off to the other end of town while Raymond and I tried to get the best deals we could on some local merchandise. We then rode through town, sightseeing as much as looking for the brothers.
We decided it wouldn't be a visit to Sturgis without bellying up to at least one biker bar. Enroute, we passed the Sturgis Police Station. There, on a pedestal above the heads of mere mortal men, for everyone to see, was a fully dressed police motorcycle. The odd thing was, here in the heart of Harley's biggest and most famous annual lovefest, the hoisted police motorcycle was an inline four Kawasaki Police Special. Looked like it was right out of "CHiPs". My guess is that it serves as a subliminal message to the rally goers that they can't out run the long arm of the law. Being this was Sturgis, Raymond couldn't help laughing at the irony of such a site, given the "if it's not Harley" attitude of the fanatics and RUBs.
Being that it was not yet 11 o'clock and this was not the week of the rally, we finally found a bar that was open. We walked in. Perfection! It was dimly lit, had the slight smell of stale spilt beer and genuine imitation naughahide furniture. The barkeep was not a handsome woman at all. This was a biker's watering hole. As we looked around from the bar, there on the big screen TV was Dr. Phil. That's right, Oprah's buddy, good old Dr. Phil ! Then hit me. I just had to get a picture of Plowboy and frmrpat sucking back a beer at the bad old biker bar in Sturgis SD with Dr. Phil looming in the background. Raymond could just see these pictures all over the Internet. So off we ran to find the Brothers of Big Sky and drag them back to the bar for the very "Oh so sensitive" photo opp.. We searched high and low and finally found the brothers looking around on a side street. We rushed them back to the bar only to find Dr. Phil was gone, replaced by a sitcom. So we made the best of a lost opportunity. We ordered three beers, a coke and let Pat and Perry know how close they came to being victimized. Dr. Phil in a biker bar? What next, Elton John performing at a big Harley Davidson party in Milwaukee?
It was barely high noon when we left Sturgis heading west to Deadwood. The roads only got better the further we rode into the Black Hills. We had the whole afternoon in front of us. That afternoon's ride is one I will remember for as long as I live. The purpose is to meander, and the Black Hills are tailor made to that purpose.

Part 31
Meandering with Purpose: Motorcycle Country

We rode from Sturges to the gambling resort town of Deadwood and had lunch at one of the casinos. The town is built in the Deadwood Gulch, making for a narrow, but very interesting main street. We picked up Hwy 385 southwest of Deadwood and headed south into the heart of the Black Hills. The beauty of the Black Hills is even the straight stretches of road have slight back and forth curves to them and deliberately follow any rolling terrain between the larger hills. The road then cuts long sweeping elevating swaths up the sides of the hills and down the other. We were slowed once by a two or three-mile construction zone. But other than that, it was wide open sweepers and twisty turny curves. Cutting through the corners, the exhaust note of the four bikes would reverberate off the rock face as we passed. Riding the sweep the position, every corner we rounded was like a motorcycle symphony to me. And people wonder why I ride sweep!
Mount Rushmore was our destination of the moment. Plowboy knew a place where we could park the bikes and beat the exorbitantly priced parking lot. Unfortunately, Plowboy's hiding place was now a construction zone, so we were forced to unload a small fortune to park the bikes in the covered facility.

Mount Rushmore to put it simply with great understatement, is amazing! The corridor leading to the observation deck is lined with the flags of each State. There are gift shops and a theater showing a film of how Mount Rushmore was sculptured. From the observation deck you look directly up the mountain at the four presidents. When you first look from the observation deck, it is impressive. After seeing the film depicting what it took to create it, the next view from the observation deck becomes amazing.

From Mount Rushmore we headed west to ride the Needles Highway. The Needles Highway is about fifteen miles of narrow two-lane roadway, twisting its way through some very rugged rock terrain. The highway's name comes from a rock formation called "The Needles". It is basically a circle of rock towers, one of which has a hole that resembles the eye of a needle where thread would be pulled through. From here you ride through a narrow tunnel cut through the rock. The road for the next four miles is all twists and turns, switchbacks and runs up and down and through the rocks on its way south. For these four miles, I was basically riding with one hand working the throttle and the other holding the camcorder filming the three bikes ahead. Given my somewhat limited riding ability, I am happy to report I didn't run off the road or fall off the bike even once. I did however get some great shots of Raymond, Pat and Perry running some very nice curves.
The last few miles of the Needles flattens out a bit. Plowboy was leading and picked up the pace. He disappeared around one bend and frmrpat instead of giving chase, pulled off at the tourist stop just before the curve. There were restrooms, a snack bar and a huge souvenir shop called the Outpost. We parked beside Pat and asked what was wrong. He said "Nothing, just time to pull over for a break." What about Perry we asked.
"Oh, he'll come back once he realizes no one is following" then added "I believe I was placed on this Earth to slow him down and keep him alive." Not an easy task Pat is burdened with, for Perry is a natural born go faster and very competitive by nature. About five minutes later, Plowboy pulled into the lot and with a big grin, gave a "what" gesture!
At the intersection of the Needles Hwy. and Hwy 16, we stopped and talked with some other bikers who told us to watch out for Buffalo. One rider said he had to out run one Buffalo that got the notion to charge the bike. I didn't really think too much of this because we never get to see the good stuff.
(Lesson No.1 Grasshopper : Never say Never!)

Part 32
Meandering with Purpose: Buffalo Chips

Some 25,000 years ago the Buffalo (bison) passed over the Bering Strait Land Bridge to North America from Asia. They adapted to the North American Great Plains and their numbers flourished into the millions. By the late 1800s the white man had reduced the Buffalo to fewer than 300. Through conservation and breeding programs, the Buffalo, America's most historic animal, now numbers in excess of 200,000. Throughout the Dakotas and Wyoming herds of Buffalo roam protected and free. They even cross roads ...

Having finished our run down the Needles Highway, it was now the latter half of the afternoon. Our day to this point had taken us from Sundance Wyoming to Sturgis, Deadwood, through the Black Hills to Mount Rushmore and the Needles Highway. Now at the intersection of the Needles and Hwy. 16, we stopped for a break and to talk to some folks on their Harleys. They warned us to watch out for Buffalo. Plowboy had been through this area before and knew there were two ways to go. A nature loop, that most likely would entail run-ins with the odd Buffalo, or Hwy. 16 with less likelihood of Buffalo encounters. So down Hwy. 16 we rode. Hwy. 16 is a beautiful two-lane road that really does meander lazily over and around and through the wooded hills, tallgrass valleys, gulchs and knoll's of Custer State Park. Like 90 percent of the roads we had experienced in the Black Hills, this was a continuation of motorcycle heaven. Even Plowboy had slowed his pace, caught up in the beauty of the moment and just rolled along with the curves.

The road ahead curved around a bolder like rock face at the crest of the hill and made an "S" swerve down into the valley below. You can't see what's ahead until you round the rocks and trees and descend into the valley. The road is narrow here, and the valley is tallgrass and trees with rock out croppings. To the left of this sweeping road was a stand of trees. To the right was a shallow grass filled culvert and then open grassland to the far side of the valley. Not more than 100 yards past the crest, we came to a stop. The valley was full of Buffalo! There must have been at least 100 to 150 head migrating from the woods, across the roadway and romping in the valley's grassland. And they weren't in any rush! Several cars had been sitting on the roadside in both directions, watching and waiting for the herd to pass. The Brothers started slowly making their way toward the herd. Raymond and I did one of those hard swallows you do just before doing something that makes you nervous and then followed. I figured Pat and Perry know cattle and knew what they were doing. Buffalo are just big wild cattle ... Right? We rode down and tucked ourselves tightly in behind a pickup truck that was slowly inching through the herd. I think the idea was to make ourselves look like part of the truck to the Buffalo. Make us look intimidating to them. This was very much stop and go maneuvering. Off to our right, one Buffalo was rolling on it's back in the culvert, all four legs and hooves straight up at times. This guy was really enjoying himself. For moments at a time, from my vantage point on the motorcycle, all I could see was tallgrass and four hooves seemingly blowing in the wind. While we were passing the cars on the roadside, the driver of an SUV rolled down his window and said "Man you guys are brave!" At this point I didn't know enough to be overly scared, so I replied "Not brave at all, just no place else to be right now!" The SUV man just shook his head. At one point I could have reached out to my right and grabbed a handful of Buffalo mane. One was standing just that close. I didn't stare directly at him, but from the corner of my eye I could see we were eyeball to eyeball. We moved on a little further, and now both Raymond and I are thinking this isn't so bad. Then I caught Plowboy looking around to check on us. He looked like he was sweating bullets. Funny, how the mind can go from "this ain't so bad" to "you're going to die" in just a heartbeat. For most of the way through the herd, I had the luxury of being ignorant to the real threat of danger. How the two brothers rode through this knowing what they know is beyond me. Talk about nerves of steel. We made it through the herd without incident. We all breathed a big collective sigh of relief. Rounded the next bend and right into another herd. This one was smaller, but I immediately did the stock seat pucker ! Again we tucked in behind the pickup truck until the road was clear again. But we still weren't out of the woods. A mile or so down the road traffic was stopped again. Now I'm thinking ...
"Another herd."
"Three strikes you're out!"
"Today IS a good day to die!"
"How embarrassing this is going to be. Standing at the Pearly Gates with a buffalo horn protruding from my ..."
As we came up on the line of stopped vehicles, frmrpat and Plowboy opened the throttles and flew around. We cracked the throttles ourselves in hot pursuit. As I passed the lead car, I could see why the brothers elected the high speed course of action. There on the side of the road being fed crackers by the tourists, were three ferocious donkeys!

Looking back at that afternoon, riding through a herd of free roaming Buffalo and not getting killed, had to be one of the most intense and exciting moments I've ever had on a motorcycle. (Just a footnote: I'm no autograph hound or overly impressed by celebrities, but this was the Buffalo heard that starred in the movie "Dances with Wolves", co-starring Kevin Costner.)

And the day was not yet done ....

Part 33
Meandering with Purpose:
Rollercoasters & Go-carts

With the buffalo herds behind us, we made our way along Hwy. 16 toward Keystone. You'd think after riding with the buffalo, this warm July afternoon had to be out of surprises. The Black Hills are very beautiful, magnificent actually and inspires the imagination. I believe the Black Hills had an inspiring affect on the builders of Hwy. 16. As we rode this twisty tree-lined, two-lane Hwy., I couldn't help having a rather euphoric feeling as the motorcycles leaned in and out of shaded curves. The forest canopy and late afternoon sun were not casting dark shadows across the road, but rather that shimmering effect created when shards of sunlight sneak past the trees to dance on the asphalt. Beautiful as this road and it's surroundings may be, this is still the Black Hills. Inherently, hilly terrain is uneven. The Black Hills even have ridges that the road must traverse from the upper level to the flatland below. The builders of this Hwy. must have been motorcycle men at heart.
As the road came up and rounded a bend, the trees to our right gave way to what seemed like a clearing. The road swung out slightly away from the earth. The tree-lined ridge curved off to the left, leaving the road to a 25 foot drop. The road curved out from the ridge, then spiraled around and under itself, becoming its own underpass before straightening and running the lower level flatland. This ramp was a tight curved spiral. Once clear, we had to slow and look back at this man-made marvel. The ramp was of solid wood construction. It actually looked like an old wooden roller coaster. You know, that last tight corner before the roller coaster comes to loading platform. The wooden construction, along with the spiraling design curving in on itself, really did blend in with its surroundings. The curve and descent angle can accommodate cars and trucks, but only a motorcycle can explore it's true potential. This ramp did not stand alone, for further down the road there was another. As we cleared the second ramp and rounded the very tight curve of the road, frmrpat at full lean angle, caught a rut or pothole and bottomed out. His bike made the most gawd awful metal crunching sound I've ever heard from a motorcycle that stayed upright. Amazingly, there was no damage, other than Pat being momentary slightly startled.

As we rode through Keystone, strict adherence to speed limits and the rules of the road were of paramount importance. A top priority. The town's law enforcement agency is legendary. The last thing you want following you around for the rest of your life, is to be known as the big, mean, old, tough biker who got nabbed by the "Keystone Cops"! (insert Looney Tune music here) It must be something else to be an officer in this town at the height of the Sturgis rally.

A few miles from Keystone, Hwy. 16 splits east and west. The east fork to Rapid City, also known as Mount Rushmore Road, becomes a four-lane divided Hwy. It also straightens out quite a bit with long sweeping curves. Plowboy was, as always, the lead rider. He was motoring along in a world all his own. I was riding sweep when it happened. My 1400, the Babester, all of the sudden pulled into the fast lane. She started to accelerate. I knew it was time for a wee stretch of the cylinders. Now the Babester in motorcycle years and mileage is no spring chicken. At that time she had in excess of 75,000 miles. Her sweet spot for highway cruising is just under 75 miles an hour. So I zipped past Pat and Raymond and caught Plowboy rather quickly. I gave Plowboy a big grin as I sailed by. Moments later, I noticed a headlight closing fast in my mirror. So I cranked her up a notch. Plowboy was right on my tail. We were both at full throttle, just flying. I leveled off around 90 mph, because I rarely push this Grand Old Lady to the extremes anymore. It was now Plowboy's turn to sail by with a big grin. He roared by so quickly, I almost got off the bike at 90, thinking I had stalled. When we both slowed to a speed that State Troopers would consider safe passage, we rode side-by-side chucking speed insults at each other. He claimed the high ground of running faster. I claimed throttling down was an act of charity, goodwill toward a friend. We rode and laughed, neither giving an inch. But this afternoon had been magic and providence was still playing it's hand.

Just outside Rapid City was a go-cart track. Perfect place to settle the chest beating. We saw the sign, looked at each other and the kid inside each of us said "Ya wanna?" ... "Yup"!
We pulled off the Hwy. to the parking lot. Raymond and Pat, still oblivious as to our intention, figured one of us had developed a mechanical problem. They just rolled their eyes when we informed them of the challenge.
We raced. But due to a controversial event at the end of the first lap, I must observe a self-imposed gag order, so not to take away from any rather bogus claims Plowboy may make about the outcome of the second lap. As you can see, I am being honorable about this matter. But I will say this. Safety in the go-cart industry has taken all the fun out of this activity.

We stayed the night in Rapid City. After dinner we sat outside the motel rooms on the lawn chairs, four friends surrounded by their motorcycles. We passed the evening in conversation spiked with a lot of laughter. It had been a great two days on the road with Pat and Perry. I would ride with these two gentlemen anytime. And I will ride with them again. The next morning Raymond and I were eastward bound. Frmrpat and Plowboy headed home to Montana where the swather still needed fixin. As the brothers rode off, both Raymond and I knew we came away the richer of the four, having met and ridden with the Brothers of Big Sky.

Raymond: Hey Emu can I continue the story for just about 5 minutes from where you left off?

I can.. Thanks

And then Emu used my cell phone to call his family. Emu felt that his dad thought he was pulling his leg about riding through the buffalo, so I took the phone and confirmed that yes his son had indeed been on his motorcycle as he rode through a herd of buffalo...

The brothers told us that night as we sat in the motel parking lot that they had never done this before. I said done what. They said just taken off like they had the past two days. I told them they needed to do so more often!

Was a GREAT time!!!!! we then cranked our bikes and headed east!

Part 34
Meandering with Purpose: First Contact Situation

The problem is history keeps repeating itself. We'd meet and ride for a day or two with people we'd known on the Internet for years. Meeting these old friends for the first time is a genuine high. When the time comes to part company and move on, you can almost feel an atmospheric low as your spirits are momentarily dampened. This phenomenon occurred in Arkansas with GaryPaul and in Seattle with GMan. Although in Arkansas there was an actual atmospheric low and thunderstorms escorted us to the state line. Watching the Brothers of Bigsky ride off that beautiful sunny South Dakota morning was almost like an announcement that our journey was entering its final phase. At least there was no precipitation associated with this atmospheric low of the spirit.

Raymond and I saddled up and headed east through downtown Rapid City. We stopped at the library to go online, checking e-mail accounts and the goings-on at our favorite motorcycle web site. After the library, our tradition of getting lost while trying to find our way out of town, led us to a Victory Motorcycle dealer parking lot. Making the most of this minor misadventure, we went in and checked out the Vegas and Kingpin. Fine motorcycles, but a lot of money. A salesperson gave us directions and we were back on track headed for the Badlands.

The Badlands of South Dakota are very reminiscent of the geography we'd seen in parts of New Mexico and Arizona. All that was missing was the reddish look of the Southwest earth. The Badlands is a strange mix of eroded buttes, spires and jagged mounds the size of small mountains as far as the eye can see. And yet, the flatlands surrounding and leading to the Badlands are high plains grasslands. This mix is pure eye candy from an eastbound motorcycle. We were following Rte.44 and stopped for gas at a little place called Scenic. No sooner had we pulled up to the pumps, when motorcycles started coming out of the woodwork. A group of riders heading west decided to gas up and take a break from the heat, as we were doing. We took our time, chatting with this group and enjoying a cold drink. We told them the general direction we were tentatively planning and they informed us it was a good thing we stopped for gas here. We followed 44 through the Badlands and then cut 16 miles south to pick up 44 again and head east. Now the terrain was all grassland. The beauty of a secondary road like Rte.44, was that there was virtually no one but us on the road for the next hundred miles. No gas stations either. Rode just over a hundred miles before refueling at White River.

We stopped for another break at Winner. At this time we contacted Stick in Algona. Iowa to let him know we were closing in. While I was talking on the phone, Raymond was making friends with a family in the minivan. I can only assume the loaded motorcycles had sparked the conversation between Raymond and this family from Nebraska. When I gave Raymond his cell phone, he informed me the people from Nebraska had never seen a Canadian. I looked over to the minivan to see the group, especially the young kids, staring at me. I really wanted to just stare back in awe, having never met a Nebraskin myself. But this was a first contact situation. I mean Nebraskins and Canadians ... how alien can you get! So it came down to one of two choices. Do my best imitation of Captain Kirk (also a Canadian I might add) or do the goodwill ambassador thing. They were nice folks and I think the "Eh" at the end of each sentence really impressed. The old Canadian speech impediment at least had the kids laughing, eh! First contact went well, for history will record that the Great Nebraska / Canada Wars didn't start on that day!

Further down Rte. 44 there was construction. Looking at the map, we began to suspect we'd run out of fuel before we hit another station. We elected to play it safe and head north to the interstate. We took Rte. 47 north, riding into a strong headwind. Rte. 44 had been straight and flat for the most part. Rte. 47 is a nice run through the farmlands surrounding the Missouri River. The road has long curved sweepers and runs in and out of grass covered valleys along the way. As I came out of one sweeper, a jackrabbit sprinted across the road in front of me. I swear the leading edge of my front tire must have kissed the fur on his tail. It was that close and he was moving that fast. Fortunately, this would turn out to be my last encounter with wildlife on the road for the rest of the trip. From a bear in North Carolina, a dog or coyote in California to a moose in Wyoming and buffalo herds in South Dakota, I can safely say close encounters of the wildlife kind, really get the old adrenaline pumping.

Several miles back from the interstate, I went on reserve. The headwind was eating more fuel than I had anticipated. Of course at the intersection of Rte. 47 and Interstate 90, a desperately needed gas station would have been too much to ask. Even Raymond's gigantic four gallon tank was getting pretty light. When we did finally reach a station at Oacoma, the 1400 was sucking the last of the fumes. This was the second time this trip that the bike made it to the pumps just as she went dry. Raymond still doesn't know how I manage to do that. The truth be known, it's nothing to do with me or luck. The Babester is just that kind of bike! (ah ... sometimes!)

We rode to Mitchell and got a hotel for the night. Heavy thunderstorms were rolling through the area and it was now early evening. The next morning we headed for Sioux Falls and then across Iowa to Stick's home in Algona. We got to Stick's a day earlier than planned, but you can never have too much time in the company of the Stickman and Schoolmarm.

Part 35
Meandering with Purpose: Last Miles / Epilog

The purpose of this five-week meander was to arrive at the Braveheart Tour in Wisconsin. For me, the end of this "tour to the tour" had always been when we arrived at Algona, Iowa. I had been to Algona two years earlier while returning home from the Ontario Braveheart. (That tour ended about an hour from my home, so it seemed only logical to pick up some milk on the way home. I had been told Iowa has some of the best milk around) So, from this point on I would be traveling areas I had traveled before.

The last day's ride from Mitchell, South Dakota was a pleasant uneventful ride. For a while that morning, the skies looked pretty miserable, but did not rain on our parade. At Sioux Falls, after trying our hand at getting lost one more time, we found a motorcycle dealership and bought some oil filters. Iowa was next on our list of things to see and do. Riding in from the West, the first thing that strikes you about Iowa, is how green and lush the area is becoming. From the Badlands of South Dakota, the terrain as you head east becomes grassland and by Iowa some of the best farmland in the world. The roads are now straight for the most part, and the summer air is loaded with humidity. Perfect ingredients for laid back, lazy riding. By midafternoon as we reached Algona, the winds started to pick up a little. All that was left now, was to ride through town to Stick's home.
"Algona is on the right track". Say's so right on the train trestle! Algona, is kind of special to me. It is classic "small town" America. But more than that, it is home to Stick and the Schoolmarm, (Mike and Diane) two of the nicest people you could ever want to meet. Stick is probably one of the most unique people I've ever met. His observations as he travels along are priceless. The best way to describe him, would be a modern-day Samuel Clemens .... unpublished of course.

We spent four days with Stick and Schoolmarm, tweaking and cleaning the bikes, relaxing and resting up for the Braveheart and just enjoying the good times induced when friends get together. Raymond's wife Barbara flew up to Iowa and joined us that Stick's. While Raymond and Stick were off to the airport, Fuzzy and Browneyes rolled in to ride with us to Prairie Du Chein the next day. Sunday morning, we rode the last three to four hours to Prairie Du Chein, host location for the Wisconsin Braveheart Tour. That three hour ride with friends was a fitting last leg to this "Meandering with Purpose".

Epilogue:
Many dream of motorcycle trips across the continent. I never shared that dream. Why ride across, when you can ride all around the continent? Looking back at what took place almost a year ago, I can hardly believe Raymond and I actually did what most only talk about. The diversity of the land can be overwhelming. From the lush forests of Kentucky to the flat grasslands of the Great Plains, to the arid terrain of New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, the deserts of California, the magnificence of the Rockies and the splendor of riding up the Pacific Coast, how do you convey such wonders with mere words? I walked the Carlsbad Cavern's, we sat dangling our feet over the Grand Canyon, we rode, walked and camped among the giant Redwoods. We rode beside moose and through Buffalo herds! We saw the world from the top of a mountain in the Rockies. These were all places to see and things to do. They were all great and memorable. But here, a year after the fact, the memories that standout most are the ones of the people we met along the way. The time spent with GaryPaul, Drifter and Flowpo, Steveinsandiego, GMan, the Brothers of Bigsky and Stick made this trip much more than just a tour. They brought a lot of personality, hospitality, help when needed and downright good times that made this trip much more than we had ever expected. For that I will always be in their debt.

And lastly, the best of the ride, was doing it with Raymond. He is a teacher by trade and a magnificent motorcycle rider by nature. With a combination like that, how could I not learn as we traveled along ... I would be honored to ride with you anytime Sir!

For those who are always pointing out what's wrong with America, I suggest you hop on a motorcycle and tour around for 11 or 12,000 miles. I'm sure you'll see what Raymond and I did ... What's right with America!

The End ..... till next time.

I'd like to thank Ed (Emu) for allowing me to place the story
of his journey on my personal site. I do believe it adds
tremendously to the quality I have strived to achieve with
this site. Looking forward to riding with Ed and many of the
others mentioned in this journey at the upcomming
Braveheart Tour & Intruder Alert Rally

Note This is Ed's story of his almost 19,000KM journey.
It has not been edited by me in any way and is posted here,
so others may enjoy the trip Vicariously
Emu is a member of the Intruder Alert Cafe

Be Sure to Check out Raymond's Abridged Version of Events

Type @ ya'll later
Night_Wolf

© 2002-2003 Intruder Alert.Ca