After a day of being blasted by horizontal rain and strong headwinds this day was different. The winds were ever in our favour as we left Leigh Creek on the road to Marree. The weather was crisp but the sun was bright, the wind right and all was a delight with our world.
Ocher pitsOur first stop was at aboriginal ochre pits where generations of Australia’s original inhabitants mined the red and yellow pigments. These were traded with other people over a wide portion of Australia and used for many ceremonial purposes and primarily as skin decorations.
A few tens of kilometres down the road we came to the old settlement of Farina. While not much to look at today it once was an ambitious settlement. It started in 1882 as a rail-head for moving wool and livestock. At one time the cattle baron, Sidney Kidman moved 18,000 head of cattle through the town. Sheep shearers would pick up their bicycles here for the trek to outlining sheep stations. While hard to see today this was once an important transportation and economic centre on the edge of the Outback. Today it is mostly abandoned.Signpost in Farina
Our final destination was the historic Marree Hotel in the railway town of Marree. The town serves as an oasis for those heading into the Outback via the Birdville Track. It is your last chance to load up with supplies to head into the great beyond.
Sculpture on the road to Marree
Me on the road to Marree
Memory stones on the road to Marree
Layover in Marree
May 11, 2019
The historic Marree Hotel
A low key day today tucked into a tiny camping area outside the Marree Hotel. No sense in laying in my sleeping bag longer than necessary so I took off to see what sights there were to see.
Deluxe, luxury camping accommodations
First was the Tom Kruse Museum at the hotel. Here I found the story of this legendary Australian who drove the Outback delivering the mail in conditions most would find impossible. His vehicle was heavily customized and modified to fit conditions for which motorized vehicles were not intended in this era before four wheel drives. A breakdown where he travelled could meant death if you did not have the resources and determination to get yourself out of a jam. His life was celebrated in the film, Outback and Beyond.
My next stop was the historic railway station now abandoned and turned into a museum. In Marree two rail lines of different gauges met requiring passengers and cargo to be moved from one line to the other or the trip south or north. Coal was also moved along the Gahn Railway until the abandonment of coal as a means of generating electricity drove the last spike into the railway’s long history.
Tom Kruse’s legendary mail truck (replica)
Marree railway station, where the lines met.
Just up the road a bit is the Marree Yacht Club which is as close to a living oxymoron as you are likely to find in this arid region. Only when the southern portion of Lake Eyre is filled is there any aquatic surface for a yacht to traverse and this is a rare event. It appears that South Lake Eyre is more famous as a salt flat where the British super car, Bluebird once tried to set a land speed record. Unfortunately this was attempted during one of the rare periods when the lake was moist.
Marree Yacht Club (but where is the water?)
Waiting for wetter days
Marree’s day as a communications and transportation hub appear to be in its past. Gone is Ghantown once home to 60 Afghan cameleers, their families and over 1500 camels. These people and their beasts were imported in the hope that the camels would be a useful means of transportation in this dry land. Today the camels have returned to their wild ways and can be seen wandering the arid acres of the Outback.
When you drive in Ontario seeing a deer along side of the road is a fairly common sight. Folks may give them a glance but no one stops to gawk. A moose trots out and it is a different story while a roadside bear tends to bring out the stupid in some folks. Here in Australia, seeing a kangaroo is in the same category as seeing a deer at home, but not for me. Sure, I’ve seen them in zoos and on television but the sight of a kangaroo in its natural environment would be a first for me. On the drive from Adelaide to Port Augusta there were none to be seen. The same was true of of my first day’s ride. Well that is not exactly true. I did see four F.O.R.D.s (found on the road dead) kangaroos but I figured road kills do not count. Today was different.
Part of the gang takes a break
Bob at the Kanyaka Water Hole
Sculpture at Hawker rest stop
Today the big footed hoppers were everywhere: Crossing the highway, hopping through the bush lands, leaping between the pines in the forested areas, they were everywhere. Unfortunately they seem to dislike photographers. In each and every instance they manage to skip over yonder hill before I could stop and get my camera out. At one point I had a perfect opportunity. The kangaroo was busy eating whatever kangaroos eat and did not notice me brake slowly to a stop with a tree between me and him. I zipped open my bike bag and was in the process of extracting my camera when the first car zipped by causing Mr. Roo to raise his head and look in my direction. The second car sent him hopping before the camera could be turned on. Unless I wanted a parting shot of the southbound end of a northbound kangaroo heading off into the sunset, I was done. There will be others.
Water hole sign
Kanyaka water hole at Death Rock
Homestead remains at Death Rock
The ride was a long 120 km affair over varied terrain. The scenery ranged from arid desert to pine forest in the hills. There was a bit of climbing but the route was mostly rolling hills with a steady diet of dips for the frequent flood-wash zones. Good biking weather for the most part but with a gradual chill that crept in as I neared the park where we were spending the night.
Dinner was a chilly, outdoor affair and few of us lingered around. Most of us sought the warmth of our sleeping bags. There was ice cream for dessert but few takers.
The (Head) Wind Swept Hills of the Flinder’s Range
May 7, 2019
I awoke to the sound of the wind rustling the roof of my tent. It was a strong wind since it clearly woke me up despite my ear plugs still being inserted. The good news was that my tent would be dry of dew and easy to pack away cleanly. The bad news was that it was coming out of the north and north was our direction for travel this day. As they say here, “no worries.”
The long and windy road ahead
It was a truly beautiful morning. Bright sun and spectacular countryside. Unfortunately, there were strong winds with gale force gusts that require constant attention lest my bike be blown into the middle of the road or onto the shoulder. Mostly it required a head down grind, especially when it seemed to hit with greatest force just as I reached the steepest part of a climb. What should have been a highlight of the trip quickly became something to be endured.
Steve and Marg pass me by
Emu near road to Wilpena Pond
Still, I have learned to take what enjoyment is offered where I can find it and there were times when the wind eased off a bit and I could enjoy the spectacular scenery. There were wide vistas accented by sharp mountain peaks in the distance. Gradually we climbed into passes between those peaks as the road followed natural erosion patterns to take the easiest route. Along the way was a massive rock formation known as the Great Wall of China. Obviously, it is a much truncated version. The climbs became longer and steeper as the day progressed ending in Blinman, the highest settlement in South Australia where we had lunch. This was followed by a 15 km gravel grind on a heavily wash-boarded, bone breaking road to our camp at Angorichina Village where we spent the next day exploring the local sights. Dinner that night was at a pub back in Blinman. Thankfully, we travelled by bus.Great Wall of China: Aussie Extension
Layover Day in Angorichina Village
May 8, 2019
Kangaroo close up
Today was our first rest day. A day to sort things out, clean up the bikes and give the legs a bit of rest. It started with a leisurely awakening and a nice hot breakfast followed by some time to go over my gear. Plenty of time to clean up my bike, tighten anything that rattled loose yesterday and do a bit of reading. After lunch we were on the bus for a short excursion back to Blinman and a tour of the Blinman Copper Mine.
Bridge over skylighted mine shaft
Exposed shaft and tunnel works
Foot bridges in the Blinmin Mine
The mine ceased operation many years ago and once employed around 1500 workers. Many of these were lured from Cornwall with promises of steady wages and permanent work. Their skill as hard rock miners was what was need for the hard rocky soil. The company paid for their passage as well as that of their extended families. Conditions were harsh, the climate colder than they were used to and the wages low. For those 1500 workers there were only 90 homes ever built. Most lived wherever they could, some carving out hovels in the banks of the dry wash. Despite the hard life the mine was relatively safe compared with other of that era with only 12 deaths due to mine accidents. Of course other illnesses related to poor diet, long days spent in a poor environment and infections claimed many more.
Tomorrow we were back on the road with another long riding day. Hard as it may be, it would be easier than any day working in the mine.
Two on the go
A Windy Day With Rain
May 9, 2019
Wind and rain swept highway
The tent roof rustled foreboding something nasty coming our way. After nearly perfect weather on our rest day it seemed as though our next riding day would test our determination. The sky was overcast and despite Ralph’s optimistic musings that the wind was nothing more than the morning breeze, I asked Mother Nature to blow her breezes from a favourable direction. Mother Nature responded that she was not taking requests at this time but to please try again later.
By 8:00am we were off onto 17 kms of rough dirt and gravel road with the usual wash-boarding. Thankfully it was mostly down hill. The wind was mostly in our faces but not overly strong. At Parachilna the promised hotel and bar was closed and the wind was kicking up to gale force and better. The direction was directly into our faces as we left the gravel for the black top highway. As we rode the wind increased and the rain began to fall. In the arid landscape that rain was much needed with over 29 days since rain had last fallen. I could not begrudge the landscape this needed drink. However I could have done without the horizontal rain that blasted across the highway nearly making it impossible to keep my bike upright. Fortunately, this was only for a brief period.
Parachilna Gorge
Roadside wildflowers
Abandoned sheep station
My Australian friends have a custom that I was very grateful for on that windswept and rainy day. It is called Morning Tea and is much like a Hobbit’s second breakfast. Our bus was parked on a side road about 30 kms into the ride with hot tea, coffee and double chocolate Tim-Tam cookies. I drank my fill and filled my fuel reserves with these offerings and headed back into the tempest.
About an hour or so afterwards Mother Nature decided to accept requests and generously shifted the wind, first to slightly abaft my beam and eventually to a full on tail wind. The rain continued but now I could travel with greater ease and speed. The remaining kilometres flew by. Along the way I passed over the tracks of the Marree and Port Augusta Railway. This line once carried coal mined in Marree to the power plants in Port Augusta. With coal fired generation coming to an end so did the mines and the railway as well.
Marree to Port Augusta Railway
Our stopping point was Leigh Creek and my first stop was at the bar and grill for a hot cup of coffee. When I arrived at the caravan park the aspect of pitching my tent on the soaked and muddy dirt was not too appealing. One of my travelling companions, Paul was of the same mind and we joined up to rent a room for the night. The warm shower and plentiful heat was well worth the extra cost. Tomorrow promises to be a dry and lovely day for our ride.
Thirty one hours in transit is exhausting. My flight from Ottawa to Vancouver was full but as comfortable as flying seems to be these days which does not really speak well for most experiences. However, I had a really nice Air Canada employee at the Ottawa check in counter seat me in a totally empty row for the gruelling Vancouver to Sydney leg of my journey. I was able to stretch out and get a little bit of sleep. They also feed you well on those long overseas flights. Better still, Air Canada got all of my luggage safely to Adelaide at the same time as I did. Kudos Air Canada!
The City Market in AdelaideThe City Market in Adelaide[/caption]
One of the thing I like to do when visiting a new city is take a ride on the public transit network to get a feel for the place. In Adelaide this is really economical and in fact, free. There are two, free bus loops that circle the city and both run buses ever 15 minutes or so in both clockwise and counter-clockwise directions. It is a nice way to see what is around and to plan your time there. I started with a nice breakfast at the City Market, a large collection of stalls each run by different independent merchants offering, food, produce, meats and other treats. It reminded me of the old Northeast Market back in Baltimore where my great-grandmother Edna used to work cutting meat in my Uncle Norman’s stall. Further north is Rundel Street where it appears Adelaide likes to shop and where the occasional strange sculpture pops up.The pigs of Rundel Street
Fully fed I walked on to the Adelaide Botanical Gardens, a compact but carefully planned park near the edge of the downtown area. It is a world apart from the nearby city. Well planned with serpentine paths and carefully identified botanic specimens both local and exotic, it is pleasant and peaceful environment cut off from the traffic and noise that surrounds it. The gardens are home to a number of interesting birds but please do not look to me for any information about them. When it comes to birds, I know nothing.
Adelaide Botanic Gardens
I know nothing about birds
I’m guessing here but a parrot?
The gardens also seem to attract school groups in abundance as well as folks who just want a place to peacefully do their thing. Among the trees and flora there are many quite spots tucked away where you can practice tia chi or MMA if you prefer.
Water Sculpture at the Botanic Gardens
Shadow boxing in the gardens
Amazon Water Lily
Later I was able to meet up Paul and Jenny, two of my riding mates for the coming weeks. We enjoyed getting to know each other a bit while having a tasty dinner at at Paul’s (not the Paul on the ride) Seafood Restaurant. Tomorrow all the riders will gather, load up and head to Port Augusta where we will begin our ride. Let the journey begin!
Bicycling South to North Across Australia May 4 to June 6, 2019
Introduction:
Working with the crew at Opeongo Nordic
You would think that riding across the USA four months after a major heart attack would be enough and so did I, for about six months. After a summer of regular riding and another self contained adventure down the George S. Mickelson Trail in South Dakota I was not looking forward to parking my bikes and settling in to my winter recreations of hunting and cross country skiing. Spring and summer had just been too much fun. Still, I decided to make the best of it and pitched in at the hunt camp and at Opeongo Nordic where I do my cross country skiing. By the end of November the snow was on the ground and we were in full winter mode.
Then one day a Facebook post from my friend, Chris Hinsperger appeared extolling the fun and virtues of fat biking on winter roads. Hmmm, I thought a fat bike, maybe I should just take a look. I was not going to buy one, just look at one or two and gain a bit of knowledge. I already owned three bikes and a fourth would put me into crazy cat lady territory. Next came December and the Annual General Meeting of the Ottawa Valley Cycling and Active Transportation Alliance, an organization I work with as a volunteer. Across the street from our meeting site was Martin’s Cycle and Small Engine and I needed to replace a kickstand I broke during the summer. I would just drop in and buy that one little part. But wait, they have fat bikes and what? They are on sale! Discount on all 2017 models and NO SALES TAX!!! Be still my little MasterCard. Using all my will power I walked away with just the kickstand. The next day, up jumped the Devil, kicked me in my butt, grabbed me bodily and made me drive back to Martins where I smoked the aforementioned credit card and walked out the door an official member of the fat bike community.
Blaze and the new fat bike
Breaking trail with Paul from GearHeads
Cruising through the snow
All the above led to a winter of fat biking and turned on the cycling adventure section of my brain. This led to checking out some tours. Europe looked exciting and interesting and having tasted the epic journey fruit, nothing less would do. The exchange rate between the Euro and my canadian dollar put the cost was somewhere in the vicinity of buying a new car and the down payment on a modest house, so that was out for the coming year unless I hit the lottery. This was unlikely since I refuse to pay that stupidity tax. Then one day while browsing the grassy fields of the Internet I came across the Outbike website and their Gulf to Gulf across Australia adventure. With the Australian dollar and the Canadian dollar nearly at par, this trip was affordable. I needed to know more. Some web searching and review reading confirmed this was a good outfit, the ride looked fantastic and the trip was definitely going forward. I put my hard earned dollars on the table and made the decision to go. Let the training begin!
Training in Winter’s Grip
February 2019
The good news is that through the use of a fat bike and some studded tires on my Kona mountain bike, I was able to ride outdoors in some tough winter conditions. I still needed my reconditioned, 1980s vintage Miele as an indoor trainer on occasions but no where near as much as I did getting ready for the Southern Tier last year. It still took some diligence to get out there for two or three hours on those sub zero days but on the plus side, my setter, Blaze was able to enjoy some run along trips when I took the fat bike on the bike and snowmobile trails.
Cold weather endurance.
Cruising with Blaze on Lake Clear
April Snow Showers Bring Longer Rides
April 5, 2019
A nice day for a challenging ride on the Monarch of the Mountains route.
A grey but warmer day
My wife and I were away in March retracing some of the Southern Tier route I rode in 2018 so I was able to get in some nice rides including one that involved wading in waist deep flood waters in Florida. This kept my legs in shape for my final push to longer rides this month. I was coming down to the final weeks before heading down under and everything was on track for another epic ride. My health was great and my physical condition a big improvement over where I was before The Ride of the Nearly Departed. I just needed to bump up the mileage a bit and physically, I was good to go!
GO Day
April 30, 2019
My last ride up the Foymount climb before leaving.
Today was GO Day. The bags were packed, plans in place and I was off to Ottawa for the first leg of the long trip to Australia. The last month saw winter hang on with a vengeance. Most rides were with a cold wind in my face and occasionally with snow sticking to my glasses. No worries though. While they were unpleasant at times, they helped toughen me up for whatever Australia had to throw at me. Mostly it was good to be outside watching the winter slowly melt away as the miles rolled by. The next two days were be spent in the luxury of Air Canada’s lap and a tour of some fine airports. At least the overseas leg of the journey promised a sparsely populated plane and maybe some room to stretch out and see what the insides of my eye lids looked like. I closed this day with a silent prayer that my luggage and I arrive together at the same time and airport. Amen.
This trip began with a Senior Moment. I intended to take two days to make the journey from home to the Black Hills of South Dakota with plans to start on the George S. Mickelson Trail the day after I arrived. Everything was set to coincide with the travel plans of my friend Dennis who was attending the big motorcycle rally at nearby Sturgis. Since I was riding the trail by myself I wanted the extra safety of having someone I knew nearby to lend a hand should I need one. Dennis wouldn’t be riding his Harley all the time and he already had a place to stay where I could mooch a few nights when required. For some reason known only to my aged brain, I thought I was starting as planned on Tuesday, August 1st which would have been perfect except for the fact that it was actually Tuesday, July 31st. It only took 150 kilometers of driving for this fact to make its way through the fog bank I use for a brain. In a bazaar turn of fate, Dennis made exactly the same mistake and started a day early as well. It appears that dull minds malfunction alike.
The St. Mary’s River
Rather than turn back and wait a day I decided to put the extra time to good use. I now had 24 more hours to make the drive to the trail head and time to see some sights along the way. My first stop was the city of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. The Soo, as most folks call it, is a blue collar town built on ships and steel. Sited on a isthmus of land between Lake Superior and Lake Huron it was naturally positioned to become a transportation hub. However, it is more than its steel, rail and canal locked past. Sitting at the door of Ontario’s far north and blessed with access to boundless hunting, fishing and recreational opportunities it is as much a playground as it is lunchbox and punch-clock. Arriving in the early afternoon, I slipped my bike off its rack and took a tour of the city’s newly reclaimed waterfront.
The Bushplane Museum and part of Canada’s heritage
Too many exhibits to keep indoors
Locking through the canal
Along the banks of the St. Mary’s River there is a network of mostly connected walking and bicycle paths that allow you to safely ride or walk while enjoying views of the river ripping its way between two nations. Along the way are a number of docks and boardwalks where you can take in the breeze on a summer afternoon or wet a line with hopes of catching dinner. On your way to St. Mary’s Island and Whitefish Island with their recreational trails, you can pass by the Float Plane Museum where lovingly restored and preserved aircraft tell the story of a land where lakes were the only runways. Paths take you across the working locks of the St. Mary’s Canal to the gravel paths of Whitefish Island and views of the rapids on the St. Mary’s River and a wild environment little more than an arrows flight from the working city. I watched anglers making their casts while nearby kids rode their bicycles and elderly couples walked hand in hand. A tour boat, loaded with camera clickers locked through the old canal on its way down river. It was a peaceful and relaxing spot despite being relatively busy. A pleasant way to pass an afternoon before passing on to Austin, Minnesota the next day.
One night’s sleep and 10 hours of construction delayed driving took me from Ontario, through Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Wisconsin to my second night stop over in Austin, Minnesota. Along the way I saw a sign that drew me in off the Interstate to Sparta, Wisconsin the self proclaimed Bicycle Capital of America. I had to know why this was so and I figured that since I needed a new bicycle pump, this would be a place sure to have a good selection. A trip down Main Street and through the entire business district yielded no bike shops so I decided to stop into the local Museum. Curiosity was driving me to learn just what makes this town claim such an august title. A large Penny-farthing bicycle was rooted just outside so I entered confident that this was the place to find my answers. I expected to be hit in the face with all sorts of bicycle related history when I walked through the front door but no, there was not so much as a tricycle in sight. I wandered around and took in exhibits about the town’s proud history and its heroic war veterans but nothing obvious about bicycles. Not ready to give up, I asked a staff person where I might find some support for the town’s marquee claim. She led me to a twenty four by eighteen inch panel at the bottom corner of a display explaining that Sparta was supposedly the first town in the USA to convert a railroad bed into a bicycle path back in 1962. It was an impressive move for that early a year and they certainly were well ahead of the curve on conserving these wonderful routes for public uses. Still, I think you might need a few more bells and whistles to truly make such a broad scale boast. I also expected the local museum to make a bigger deal out of the topic.
You can find these all over Sparta
What I did not know was that the Deke Slayton Memorial Space and Bike Museum was also housed in the same building on the second floor. There was nothing obvious to indicate this at the front door but given my track record for matching the date with the day of the week I am tempted to put the blame on my powers of observation. Still, given the question I asked of the museum staff, I might have hoped that she would have pointed me up the stairs to where the answer to my question and much, much more awaited.
Cheers for Sparta anyway! However, they really need to let museum staff and the folks at the visitor’s center know where the town’s only bicycle shop is located and maybe put it on the town’s map which is on display a stone’s throw from their giant statue of a Gay 90’s guy on a Gay 90’s bicycle!
Not sure why the bear is doing a handstand but it is different
Austin Minnesota, home of Hormel
Austin, Minnesota is definitely a bicycle friendly town. Miles and miles of human power only paths take you just about anywhere you could want to go. It is home to the world headquarters of the Hormel Corporation, processor of meat in all its glorious forms from raw to Spam in a can. While you might have expected such an operation to have been located closer to the source of pork and beef, you would be overlooking an important fact. In the early days of meat processing the ability to keep it cool or frozen was important to the processing process. Minnesota has plenty of cold and Hormel took advantage of that fact coupled with its excellent rail connections and middle of America geography.
What a great job of restoration!
Who would have expected this?
With Hormel providing a strong economic base, Austin has maintained a lot of Main Street curb appeal. Local stores flourish along with many parks and recreational opportunities. Everything looks clean, neat and well maintained and walking or riding through the business district is a pleasure. There is even an entire museum devoted to Spam! Monty Python, eat your heart out.
So long as meat is on the American table and Hormel is willing to and use Austin to put it there, this town will do well. Local residents can surely get their cardiovascular money’s worth if they make full use of this city’s network of safe and smooth bike paths.
My plan was to stop by Deadwood and pick up my trail pass from the nice folks at their Visitor’s Center. I arrived a little after 1pm and the town was already in full on Sturgis motorcycle mode despite the rally not starting in nearby Sturgis until the next day. Streets were beginning to be blocked off to make way for the flood of Harleys and other bikes that were already gathering. Deadwood is just a short roar of the tailpipes from Sturgis and acts as a surrogate host city for the rally. Having wall to wall casinos and saloons makes it a draw for the biker bunch even without it being the place where Wild Bill Hickok ate a lead sandwich. More about this later. While completely out of place with my pedal powered mountain bike, the folks at the visitor’s center were eager and helpful in getting my pass and supplying me with a map and other information about the George S. Mickelson Trail. The price was a bargain at $4 a day and $15 for a year.
Another hour’s drive through the Black Hills brought me to Keystone where my pal Dennis had a motel room that I was going to share. Finding a motel anywhere within a hundred miles of Sturgis is a neat trick any time during their big rally so I was happy that Dennis had a spare bed for me to crash on. I arrived a bit before check in and was deciding how to spend the next hour or so while waiting for the room when the desk manager asked if I had jumper cables. “Sure,” I replied and asked who needed a boost. He said that some guy had a dead battery on his bike and was unable to roll start it on the nearby hill. He was now stuck at the next motel down at the bottom waiting for a tow truck that would likely not be coming anytime soon. He said just look for a guy standing around with a forlorn look about him and blue Harley. Back into my Honda and down the hill I went.
I saw the motel and the blue Harley right away and looked around for Mr. Forlorn. Sitting in the shade nearby was some older dude who was talking on his cell phone. I did not recognize him until just as I started to lower my window. “Hey Dennis got a problem?” I asked. He looked up, not recognizing me for a second or so, and after a quick, “hey Bobby” launched into a dejected diatribe about motorcycles, the American Automobile Association, himself and other unsavory topics. It seems that his new Harley had this security feature that flashes the lights when the key is not in the ignition and if the bike is shaken or moved. It had been doing this for the past two days and 1500 miles, draining his battery at the same time. AAA would not jump start him and would only tow him to a service shop if and when they could get there. The Harley dealership in Sturgis was swamped in service calls and would also take quite a bit of time to arrive. No problem, my trusty, although rusty jumper cables were at hand and after getting his seat removed with the help of borrowed screwdriver, we were hooked up and ready for…nothing.
His battery was truly dead; as dead as a battery could be and my Honda and not too trusty cables were not up to the task. After 10 or so tries we admitted defeat and headed off to the nearest place to buy both some decent jumper cables and a battery charger. One and a half hours and number of dollars later were were back and ready to try again. This time we allowed his battery to charge off my Honda’s generator for about 30 minutes before giving his starter try and lo, like magic, his engine fired to life with that distinctive throaty roar know to all Harley owners. Time for dinner and an adult beverage or three.
I arrived at the trailhead in Deadwood as early as I could get there hoping to get a parking spot nearby. The large lot was already fairly fill with the vehicles and trailers used to haul the hundreds of motorcycles already in town. Luckily my Honda Fit is small and can be tucked into even the most unlikely of parking spaces. A few minutes to unload the bike, attach my panniers, take a look at my map and I was off for the first 60 or so miles of my ride.
Many views like this
The trail out of Deadwood is smooth packed stone dust as is most of the George S. Mickelson Trail. It mostly follows the old rail bed of the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad from Edgemont in the south, northwards through the Black Hills to Deadwood. As it leaves Deadwood and starts on its long uphill grade into the Black Hills, you can still see the old rails peeking through the stone dust for the first few miles. Over the next fifteen miles you climb steadily up a two to four percent grade while climbing just over 2000 feet. I found it to be the most strenuous part of the ride due to the steady pace needed throughout the climb. What it lacks in steepness it makes up for in distance but is still well within the abilities of most people in decent physical condition on bikes with climbing gear ratios. The compensation is some fantastic scenery along the way.
This first leg of my ride was by far the most scenic and interesting. The Black Hills are spectacular with vistas and interesting sites along every mile. The trail is well maintained and serviced by shelters, water pumps and historical information plaques at regular intervals. Old mines poke up along stream banks and ghost towns appear as you round a bend. Most of the land is private and cows sometimes graze along the trail in the high pastures. There are gates in these areas and although they are self closing, they sometimes need a bit of help. This section passes by the old Bulldog ranch which served as a stagecoach stop, bootlegger’s depot and “entertainment center” of the adult variety. Stop and read every sign, it is well worth the time it takes.
Tunnel D
The Bulldog Ranch
Just around milepost 90 my journey took a positive turn with the beginning of a nice nineteen mile long downhill grade to the Durmont Trailhead. The scenery became more open pasture and occasionally ran alongside the roaring thunder of Highway 17 with it groups of touring motorcycles. It was still a mostly quiet and peaceful journey with far less effort per mile traveled.
Arsenic barrel lids repurposed
Between Rochford and Mystic I passed through four tunnels blasted through hill tops as the old railroad route moved back into hill country. There was bit of up and down riding in this section with the up side winning overall. The ghost town of Mystic appeared as I rounded a stream side bend and it was time for lunch break and a refill of my water bottles. After a few hundred calories it was back into the saddle and upwards for another five hundred feet of so before the last downhill glide into Hill City and a stop to pick up something for dinner. Another 11 miles along the twisting Old Hill City Road took me to Keystone, my friend Dennis, a hot meal and good night’s sleep. Thankfully, the Old Hill City Road is mostly downhill to Keystone!
Dennis is great friend. Knowing that I had another sixty mile day ahead of me, he offered to save me another eleven uphill miles to where I left the trail at Hill City the day before. A quick ride up and over those hills took me back to Hill City and the George S. Mickelson Trail where we said goodbye and I put foot to pedal. The day started gray but was comfortably warm as I hit the uphill miles to Custer City. If you are used to other rail trails, you may have surmised by now that the George S. Mickelson Trail is of a different breed. Do not expect a long flat ride. In fact, there are very few flat sections and the hills, while gradual, are long and demanding. Added to this is the fact that you are riding at no less than 3500 feet above sea level and joining the mile high fraternity a number of times along the way. Be forewarned.
George S. Custer led what some would call an expedition into this area back in 1874. Others will have another name for it and I will leave the politics out of this blog and keep my opinions to myself in the interest of staying on topic. However, he did discover gold in them darn hills and launched a gold rush in the process. You can still see remnants of old mines and the works of present day optimists throughout the 109 miles of the trail. The entire history of this region rests upon the earth and what can be extracted from within its depths.
Crazy Horse Memorial as seen from parking lot
Crazy Horse much closer
My first stop was at the top of my first long climb and under the underpass into the Crazy Horse Memorial. I had been here before so there was no need or desire to stop in again. It is a daunting project undertaken by private funds and donations to build a mountain sized monument to this Oglala Lakota warrior who helped put a few arrows into General Custer at Little Bighorn in 1876. It represents the combines vision of Chief Henry Standing Bear and Polish-American sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski. If you decide to go there is an extensive museum describing the project, its status and history as well as containing information and displays about the Lakota culture. If you actually want to view the monument any closer than you can from the parking lot, there is a bus ride up to it for a few dollars more than the seven or twenty four dollars you already paid depending upon you mode of transportation. I decided to view from afar.
Bicycle Hill at Pringle
If it is a bike, it’s in here somewhere
Bet you can’t remove just one!
From the memorial it was mostly downhill miles to Custer City which is touristy, but interesting place with some nice places to browse if that sort of activity is to your liking. It was at flood tide with motorcycles on this day so I gave it a quick pass by. However another eight miles took me to Pringle and one of the strangest sights along the trail. Just off the trail along a dusty side street you can find what may be the world’s largest collection of old bicycles. Bicycles, tricycles in every style, size and color have been heaped into a small hill of metal, wheels and gears with an honor guard mound of still more bikes on either side. You can walk a short path through a wheel studded gateway around and even into the pile if you dare. In a state where monuments tend to be on the large side this one could truly use some explaining. It remains a unique mystery to me for now.
My long road ahead
A false flat in my favor!
Yellow moths every few feet along the trail
South of Pringle the trail flattens out and becomes a bit less interesting until after the Minnekahta Trailhead at milepost 16.2. Still the scenery was pleasant and my path was decorated with clusters of small yellow moths that broke apart and fluttered around me every so often. With this portion being a “false flat” in my favor, I made great time with easy pedaling.
Custer’s view today
Custer’s photo journal
Half way between Minnekahta and Edgemont I came upon the Sheep Canyon Trail Stop and the site of an old trestle bridge so rickety that it was said that engineers would hop off the train before crossing it and only jump back aboard once safely on the other side. Sadly, that trestle is gone today replaced by a safer and far less interesting earthen breastwork across the canyon. If you look closely at the canyon walls you can see small tunnels blasted through to allow ranchers and their cattle access to the rich grazing lands at the canyon floor.
The town of Edgemont looks as though it has see better days. It is primarily a railroad town located at the end of a segment of the Burlington Northern Santa Fe (BNSF) railroad network, the largest in the USA. Here, crews on this freight line lay over for the night in a local motel that is completely devoted to their needs. This is so much so that despite it being listed as a Travelodge and sporting a Travelodge sign, I found it hard to get a reservation there. Yes, they were open and yes, they had room available but they seemed reluctant to take a reservation. The person I spoke with was adamant that no reservation was needed and that I could just show up anytime. She went on to say that they were not your typical motel and that the rooms were small. Knowing that motorcyclists from around the world descend upon every room within a hundred miles or more of Sturgis during the annual rally, I was determined to have one reserved to ensure that I would not have to sleep in some cow pasture or under a bridge. With reluctance she took my reservation and it was well that she did.
Welcome to Edgemont
Downtown Edgemont photo by pandomonium
Best steak in South Dakota!
I arrived mid afternoon on a Saturday. There was not much motorcycle activity in this dusty little town but I was told that the Fall River County Fair was on at the local arena. From the outside the Travelodge looked like a motel but inside had a look more common to a college dormitory. There was a small reception window, a long bench loaded with duffle bags and coolers. A large, dorm style lobby with comfy chairs and a big screen TV was just around the corner as well as a locker room. Once the desk clerk was rounded up I tried to check in. She seemed confused that I would want to do so and I was told by her and some railroad workers who happened to pass by that this was not a motel but only a place for railroad workers to stay. There was only one other motel in town and with the fair and rodeo being on I doubted my chances of finding a room there. I was just about to ask where there might be a cow pasture or bridge I could use for the night when the desk clerk decided to call her counterpart who worked the window when she was off. Her name was Debby and she knew all about my request and reservation. Why yes, they did offer rooms to more than railroad workers and in fact they had a policy of not turning anyone away so long as they had a room available. She had a nice room put aside for me and the key was in the cabinet above the phone. For little more than the cost of a campsite I had a comfy bed, a spotlessly clean room, hot shower and the prospect of a good night’s sleep.
Inside the Victory Steakhouse and Lounge
My dining options seemed limited when I rode down Edgemont’s dusty but interesting main street. There was a place called the Victory Steakhouse and little else open that afternoon. Near to the motel were two gas stations with some groceries and food as a sideline but I had little appetite for reconstituted gas station pizza, roller dogs or whatever they served at the Fresh Start Casino and Cafe. A short walk with some music courtesy of the Fall River County Fair took me back to 2nd Avenue, the Victory Steakhouse & Lounge and my best meal of the trip; Thick juicy steak, salad bar and fries. All a calorie burning old guy could want with a lot of friendly folks to make the experience complete.
One last interesting fact about Edgemont: If you are looking for a place to wait out Armageddon or the zombie apocalypse, you may want to plan a visit. Just south of town sits an 18 square mile compound formerly know as the Fort Igloo Munitions Depot. Inside are 575 hardened concrete bunkers now owned by the California survival company Vivos, comprising Vivos xPoint “the largest survival community on Earth.” For as little as $7,500 (US) down you can have your own, personal bolt hole if you are willing to share some space with others. Or you can spring for a $25,000 down and $1000 per year personal cavern rated to withstand a 500,000 pound blast or brain eating hoards. While you are waiting for the feces to hit the fan, you can relax in this vacation mecca and have a great steak dinner at the Victory Steakhouse. Hurry, these babies are going fast!
A good night’s sleep brought me to a gray and misty morning to begin the longest and most uphill portion of my journey. Breakfast options appeared limited to a choice of the Fresh Start Neighborhood Market or go hungry. The early morning clerk at Fresh Start was bright, chipper and quite interested in my cycling garb. He had a relative who was into all sorts of bicycle stuff so we talked while I munched my microwaved egg sandwich and pastry. While the food was not great, the price was right and the guy at the register sent me off with good wishes and a full belly.
I decided to skip the first few miles of the trail since it was little more than an undulating, rutted, dirt track between a railroad siding and US 18. The nearly non-existent early Sunday morning traffic and the smooth wide shoulders made Highway 18 a fast and easy choice. The railroad siding was occupied by a three mile long collection of autorack style rail cars complete with a gallery of graffiti. Most of these artistic endeavors were the run of the mill, kid with a spray can variety but a couple stood out as having some artistic merit. Unfortunately, such museum works are difficult to display properly and do not get the sponsorship and support of mainstream art.
Autoracks all in a row
Railside Art Gallery
After paying homage to this exhibit it was onward and upward to the Cow Patty Trail. This delightful section of the Mickelson Trail has been carefully paved with bovine excrement lovingly deposited by the herds of cows that use this section as a shortcut between one pasture and the next. They also seem to have a strict don’t poop where you eat policy. Dodging the pies made for an interesting, skill testing exercise.
The Cow Patty Trail
My ride started at around 3500 feet above sea level and would continue its gradual climb over the next 50 miles eventually reaching just under 6000 feet in elevation. The trail looks most flat at times but my legs spoke of a different reality. No single effort was difficult but the grind of the relentless uphill eventually results in fatigue. By the time I passed through Pringle at milepost 32 I was ready for an energy boost. What could be more appropriate than to pop open a can of Pringles in Pringle? While taking a break I was able to swap tales with a fellow bicycle trekker heading the opposite way.
While the ride was the literal definition of an uphill grind, there was still plenty to make it a great experience. Along the way I passed a herd of Buffalo, numerous wild sunflowers, an old car left to rot where it stopped as well as a number of interesting building in various states of disrepair. Even though it was a Sunday, the trail had very little activity either due to the gray skies or the fact that the big motorcycle rally scared other tourists away. If so, they missed a great day for riding and some great sights as well. The only down side to the day was losing my fifty year possession of an official Boy Scout eating utensil set somewhere near Custer City. Anyone who knows me will know that this priceless heirloom has come close to being lost on a few occasions only to be rescued from oblivion by a lucky find or a dedicated daughter. This time its departure was final and no amount of searching was able to bring it home. May whoever found it get their fifty years of service before passing it on to another.
