The Rascal Diaries: 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.