6/29/14 Feel The Wind

"The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails." Today we adjusted our sails and heeled into the wind.

Reluctant to leave the treasure we found in the  Livingston Inn, we dragged our boots getting back on the road. Temperatures in the low 50's forced us into double layers again, but the warm sun promised us a strip down later. Not so on this Montana day.

 Wheeling out of Livingston on 89, we were assaulted by one of the fiercest crosswinds we've ever encountered. Gusts of up to 50 mph ripped across the open plains, bullying, but never defeating us. Jules wrangled our ride, jousting with the wind at every turn. One of the most fatiguing road issues, we faced the music and sang and danced.

Turning west onto route 12, the crosswind became a headwind, and started to suck our gas. Starting the day with more than enough to get to Helena, we now weren't sure if we could make it to the next town, thirty miles away. As we rose from the valley into the mountains, we held our breath at every rise in elevation as the needle dropped below empty. Finally on a descent, we cruised cautiously, skidding into Townsend on the prayer of fumes. 

Gassed up, fat and happy, we found a sheltered spot for lunch where we could take off our hoods and enjoy the sound of the gentle Missouri instead of the ripping wind. The dichotomy of the intensity of our ride and the peacefulness of our stop, lulled us as we basked in the sun. The wine and cheese fortified us for the next foray into Montana. 

Through Helena, we rode in 74 degrees. The surrounding mountains sheltered us from the wind and the thought occurred that the day was shaping up. Then the sign appeared : " Chain Up Area". This is a sure indication that you are in for some altitude, great riding and temperature drops. From 74, we hit 49 at the summit of Macdonald Pass. The exhilarating ride to the top and the ear popping descent was worth the chill.

Reluctantly we left our side road to jump on route 90. We hit Missoula at 4:00 and opted for an early dismount, fatigued from the constant wind. How lucky we are - the minute we checked into the lobby of our fireplace warmed hotel, the skies opened up.

We took advantage of our early landing by doing wash and enjoying a soak in a hot tub framed by an indoor waterfall. Dinner at a pub with authentic Irish food and a bottle of wine capped the day. For hours wind fought us, but we thrilled in the battle and gloried in our victory, toasting our success.

A windy road

A wind blown prairie log cabin

Lunch by the Missouri

Montana sky

Note: Not too many pics today! I couldn't hold the camera up into the wind....

The Dragon Meets The Bear

Each day is the best day. Today was better...

Beartooth called us as it has in the past. A mountain pass that draws you to the sky by twisting the essence out of your machine, it has never greeted us as it did today. Heading into Red Lodge we avoided looking at the dark clouds that hung over the peaks heavy with snow. Last week the pass was closed, because of a late snowstorm. 

Double layered with most of the clothes we brought with us, we headed up route 212, the highway to heaven. Sentinel pines lined our way until they gave way to altitude and alpine tundra. Wild flowers and grass struggled with the elements. Then the snow. Teasing us at every traverse, glacial phenomena danced in the sun then melted into pillows of dark rain clouds. 

As we climbed to the summit, frigid air accompanied by awesome wind chills, drove the temperature toward freezing. Added to this, precipitation, some drizzle, some flurries, stung our faces while we leaned over edges and watched the world miles below. But our dragon has wings and the bear only has teeth, so we flew through banks of snow, slick roads and switchbacks. At the top, another biker asked how we arrived through all that weather with the bike so clean. Jules' answer - dragons fly!

At 36 degrees, our descent began with sleet, but then that improbable blue western sky opened up and we were good to Yellowstone. Then the next blast roared between the peaks and we paused in a cafe for shelter.

Yellowstone was mild. We cruised through the north end, seeing bear, buffalo and antelope. Warmed by the sun, we ate lunch by the river and basked in the glory of our amazing day.

Up into Montana, rain constantly harassed the horizon. Never soaked, but always in rain gear we ended the day in Livingston, where we were treated to a sunset that only this state can paint. 

This day was a gift. Every day we ride is a wonder, but today, conquering the power of nature into the heights of geological mystery, life just got notched up a bit.

 

Beartooth

Skiing in June

Just snow!

The tooth of the bear

It actually bottomed out at 36!

A bear from afar

Tatanka

Running Yellowstone

Lunch

The sun sets on a perfect day

6/27/14. High Plains Drifters

South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana - like tumbleweed, we drifted across the High Plains. But before the  long ride to a single point in the horizon, we dove into a journey that will never grow stale - Spearfish Canyon.

We left Deadwood after cleaning the bike and saying adios to four bikers we met last night. Hardcore, they were set to ride 1000 miles today to get home. Sporting some of the prettiest bikes we have seen, excluding Rascal, they were jealous of our open ended time on the road.

Up the hill into Lead, we passed gold mines, defunct and operating. The cliffs along the road glitter with minerals that I am sure enticed prospectors to speculate. Route 14a escorted us into Spearfish Canyon - the first canyon we ever rode on a bike and still one of our favorites. Following the Spearfish Creek, the road curves through pine covered hills and looming carved canyon walls. I was conflicted, not knowing whether to look to the grandeur of the cliffs or the solitude of the stream. Handling the curves with ease, Jules and Rascal brought us through to the town of Spearfish where we picked up route 85 to Belle Fourche. There we picked up 212 into Wyoming.

Ignoring an unfavorable weather report, we rode into skies loaded with possibilities of ruining our ride. As we nipped the corner of Wyoming and headed into Montana, the big sky had a variety of tales to tell. Patches of brilliant blue were crowded by angry gray and black clouds. But on we rode.

In Broadus at the Cattleman's Club, we stopped for lunch. There I learned that a rancher is NOT a farmer, even though he has tractors and grows grain! Rain began to dot the windows of the cafe, but we thought we had waited it out by the time we left. Not true - a mile down the road rain suits went on, signifying defeat to Mother Nature. 

For miles we struggled into the rain as tractor trailers from the opposite direction showered us with road spray. Rascal held strong and handled the wet road with confidence. By the time we reached Billings, our destination for the night, the rain had stopped and we were dry.

Played out from a long, straight, wet ride across the High Plains, we opted for room service and an early night. Having passed the greatest test of cross country travel - the middle states and the Plains- we rest easy. All intrinsically beautiful, their flatness and endless horizons challenge a rider's fortitude. One can only imagine the monotony that pioneers faced grinding across the continent. 

With great joy, we hit the mountains tomorrow and ride the Bear Tooth Pass into Yellowstone. 

Deadwood Dude

Save a horse .....

Spearfish Canyon

Route 212 crosses the High Plains

Our hats!

6/26/14 The Dragon Gets Her Wings

Rascal took her first mountains today, and proved herself by digging her dragon teeth into the curves and smoking the straight-aways. 

Perfection named the day. Low humidity and skies with cotton clouds rode us out from Hot Springs. A leisurely day, we had no miles to consume, so we set out to explore the Black Hills. The loops and squiggles around and about these mountains are a true testament to engineering. 

Up into Custer State Park, we saw prairie dogs, buffalo, burros and antelope. One crazed antelope played with us on the road and would have front ended us if we hadn't stopped. Yellow and purple wild flowers covered the hills, a sight we've never seen since we have only been here in August. 

Travelled before, these roads are still an enchantment.  From Custer we rode the Iron Mountain Road, route 16A. Switchbacks and the famous pigtail bridges, swirled us around Rushmore to view the Presidential faces through tunnels and at random turns.

Needles Highway let Rascal loose as she danced through the impossible stone monoliths that shoot from the mountain. Turns that layed us over toward the gravel didn't phase this young dragon at all. She ate them up, spit them out and asked for more! 

A path led to a stream and we followed, dragging a bottle of wine. Freckled with sunlight, a rock was our venue and the stream was our music. Together we rejoiced in the concert of life and celebrated our place in time. So difficult to leave such beauty, we pushed on, congratulating ourselves on such a perfect day. 

Then, the afternoon storm clouds that are becoming too familiar, popped up. Racing toward Deadwood, we were rained in at a gas station. Sitting for a few minutes, never really getting wet, we then swished out onto soaked roads. 

Deadwood! Bike week sees thousands of motorcycles jammed into every possible parking space. This week sees families on their own tours. Many bikes are still here though, drawn by the Black Hills. 

The Franklin Hotel shelters us from the increasingly severe thunderstorms tonight. Standing on the balcony of this historically registered building, watching a staged gunfight on the street below, I was transported back to another age. The question calls - would I have been the School Marm or Miss Kitty?

Prairie Dogs!

Tatanka

That crazy antelope

Wildflowers

The Faces

George!

Needles

Heaven!

Deadwood Shootout

Yikes!

Storm over Deadwood!

6/25/14 Somewhere in the Black Hills ...

Standing Rascal up was easy today, because we woke with the gift of sun and the promise of South Dakota. 

Drawn to the Missouri, we could not leave Yankton without a visit to the river walk. Standing by the banks of this stately river, under the shadows of an old and new bridge, we imagined the ferry that must have crossed into the first capital at this point, when the Dakotas were still a territory.

Running from the sun on route 50, we headed into the Plains. Onto route 18, we began to traverse the state on a two-laner that allowed us to cruise route 90 speeds without the traffic. So lonely and lovely, this road gave us a new perspective of this land. 

We stopped at the Fort Randall Dam for a break that turned into a picnic, and watched as pleasure boats carved wakes into the reservoir created by choking the Missouri. The welcome center at the dam sported an oversized teepee structure and crazy mountings of local animals.

Our way today immersed us into the beauty of the Plains. Green and lush now, they mask their later summer nature of dried sage and tumbleweed. Gullys rush with water through fields of cattle. Named Dry Gulch and Stone Creek, their future is read.

Reservations owned much of this road. A few casinos, small communities, and Lakota and Sioux schools randomly appeared. Most of the way was just two lanes, no towns for miles, rolling hills and sky everywhere.

And the sky came up to greet us! To the south, clouds boiled into a storm that threatened to meet us at every turn. To the north, blue sky turned to green as another boomer popped up. Nowhere for us to go, except straight ahead. No shelter, no shoulder to suit up, only speed to get us away. And the speed worked!  We oozed through the storms with only seconds of rain that scooted us into blue skies and an entrance to the Black Hills.

At the bottom of the Black Hills in Hot Springs tonight, we rest by a tourist attraction that hawks a woolly mammoth fossil. History and pre- history envelop us as ancient tribes and animals circle. How insignificant I feel.

The wide Missouri

Dakota farmstead

Offerings to the gods!

Jules makes friends

Teepee

Dam!

Lunch!

Rear view storm

Enough said!

6/24/14 The Wild Mild

Sun to our backs, we put our wheels to the road and melted back onto route 34 heading west. Everything farming, the terrain changed slightly as we moved onto route 29 into the bluffs. Hills rising from the Missouri lured us as we travelled along the river. Onward we rode, resisting the temptation of a side trip - too many roads await us. Maybe on the way back, but then, who knows where we will cross.

On the highway, farming still rules as tractors and huge combines travel with wide load banners. Acreage beyond our realm in New Jersey, sprawls off each side of the road, and the mammoth equipment we see still requires a lifetime to work this heart land.

A pit stop in Whiting scored our giant sculpture of the day. This bike was made out of hubcaps, tractor parts, old suitcases and more. Yet, the "artist" managed to incorporate every part of a working motorcycle into his work. The winters are long in Iowa too!

Sioux City evaporated in a waft of cattle as we headed into South Dakota. Following the Missouri, we headed west onto route 50, part of the pony express route. As we rode toward Yankton, our camp for the night, huge purple clouds spewed rain to the north, so close that if Jules hadn't kicked it up, those tongues of lightening we saw touching down might just have licked us!

Yankton, the first capital of South Dakota, sleeps us tonight. Wild Bill Hickok's murderer was hanged here. I think we are in the used-to-be Wild West! I'll dream with that....