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....
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