Rolling hills of South Dakota

August 02, 2008

Debbie Ingram

The land and the bikes

Debbie Ingram

Please bear with me on the frequency or infrequency of these posts. Either Verizon does not like South Dakota or South Dakota does not like Verizon. Signals fade in and out with the hills.

What strikes me about this place, just east of Rapid City, S.D., is the vastness of the land. You can see for miles and miles and miles. Homesteads are few. Towns too. Exits are spaced out and it comes a time when you better fuel up when you can. This is rural country.

A lot of bikes are on the road. Gas station lines are forming and a 25-foot trailer is not the easiest to navigate in and out next to diesel pumps. I don’t even want to think how much fuel we have consumed. But we have driven 1,585 miles at about 9 miles to the gallon.

As many bikers rode their bikes out, as trailered. We see a lot of folks where the girls are pulling the trailers and the guys are riding. We see all-girl groups riding. Couples, large groups, small groups and singles. Traffic is picking up as we approach the Badlands.

It feels like fall here. Maybe this is their fall. This morning I actually shivered when I stepped outside. But, I shiver around 72 degrees. Many must share my thoughts, though because we’ve seen lots of riders with leather jackets on, even though it has warmed up to 88. It is not a south Alabama 88 by any means.

I was hoping when we stopped last night we could find a cheap motel. Motel 6 several hours out from Sturgis was $89! Two double beds crammed against the walls. The husband, who is 6-6, his feet hung way off the edge of the bed. No continental breakfast. No hair dryers. No complimentary shampoo. A bed, a TV and a shower. It was enough.

We are over another hill and there is more road. More hills. More, more, more of vast nothingness. I find it peaceful as I imagine the settlers heading west and the settling of this great country.

OK, I was getting caught up in the experience until a voice broke the silence. I am signing off for a while. The husband says to put that in all caps. A WHILE. CLOSING OUT. FOR A WHILE. OK. OK.

Look for bike pictures via the cell phone later today. Thanks, Whitney, for posting for me. And I wanna give a shout-out to our friend, Tim L. in Alaska, who is reading the blog. Wish you were here, man!

114 miles to Shade Valley Campsite in Sturgis, S.D.

Day 3: We made it to South Dakota!

Debbie Ingram

Yesterday was another long, hard day of driving. Not for me, mind you, but I’m the front seat support person, checking exits and miles and retrieving water and cell phones and just trying to keep the driver happy.

Yesterday’s pledge to “shut up until we get to Sturgis” went pretty well but the husband’s mood was greatly lifted by the fact that all things trailer are functioning at 100 percent. The man is happy.

Our last fuel stop was around 10 last night near Sin City, Iowa. (That’s Sioux City; see previous post.) We decided to go ahead and eat something at the little truck stop diner as well. The husband had something called a pork fritter and I had a cheeseburger. I can’t recall what William and Richard had. We topped it off with cherry pie a la mode. Regrouped and ready to drive another hundred miles.

The truck stop had all these cheesy trinkets that truck stops often carry. Shot glasses that say “Iowa.“ Little die-cast semi trucks. Little school buses with monster tires. Big ceramic looking knives with Indian faces. Wolves and dream catchers. And then there was the fiber optic Angel with moving pink wings atop a unicorn. $29.99.

“Why is it fiber optic?“ William asked. “So they can see it in China?“

I asked Richard if he had a wedding anniversary coming up. I reminded me that I did.

One dude came up and bought a semi-cab replica with flames down the side. He cradled it in his arms like something holy.

What is funny about all of this is that ALL these items were displayed in three huge LOCKED glass cases. That’s right, can’t have just everybody touchin’ these treasures.

We crossed into South Dakota around 11:30ish. Drove a bit further—not a lot of exits out here, folks—and thank God Motel 6 left the light on in their last two rooms! More on that later. We’re packin’ up to go.

Sturgis: 390 miles

Missouri and Iowa

August 01, 2008

Debbie Ingram

Old barns dot the landscape throughout Missouri and Iowa.

The children of the corn live in Iowa

Debbie Ingram

Bike traffic continues to pick up on Interstate 29 north of Omaha.

I have been to Iowa once before and my impression was, “These folks ain’t like us.“ Here, women drive tractors. They are workers. I would buy anything made in Iowa.

I look around and see nothing but crops. Miles and miles of corn. Acres and acres of soybeans. More corn. More corn. There’s something great and wonderful about it. America’s breadbasket. Too bad bread is so, so, carbohydrate. Corn. Maybe it will save us all one day.

The roads that cut through these magnificent corn fields—they are crap. Had we not fixed our leaning bike problem in the trailer, the husband’s Harley would have been down a thousand times. These are the worst roads in the history of my travels. Gaping holes on the edges of the interstate. Patch upon patch upon patch. Herky, jerky motions going down the road.

There are tiny rest stops here that resemble produce stands, minus the tomatoes. There is a lot of one-lane travel on this four-lane highway because of construction. I think we saw one guy working, miles and miles back. He was flagging. Who or what, not sure. Surely not the mowers.

The grass in the median on I-29 rivals the corn crop. It is beginning to tassel and it smells of fruit. Didn’t this state know that thousands of people would be taking this route to Sturgis? Come on, Iowa! Cut the grass.

So, we pull into the first rest stop in the state, you know, the one that makes a lasting impression on travelers, and needs to be inviting. Well, what struck me was they had wi-fi. IDOT has wi-fi at the rest stops! Amazing! Well ... maybe not. The little curser on the computer just spins and spins. The Internet is out there, somewhere in the midst of all this corn, but I cannot find it.

A biker dude walks by: “You been able to get on?“

“It’s coming!“ I say.

“It’s slow,“ he warns. I finally give up, wait a few more miles and find Verizon Wireless Broadband.

We just passed our second rest stop. It was a pull-off with a dumpster. I swear. Ladies, bring your freshette!

Seriously, as far as road reports go, a lot of bridges north of Kansas City are under construction. It was a very slow go from K.C. to St. Joe, the home of the Jessie James Museum. I’ve seen it before. It’s worth a visit.

The interstate bridges in Iowa are about 10 feet wide. If you are going to Sturgis by way of Omaha, pulling a 12-foot-wide trailer, you are in deep trouble. There are inches between huge blocks of concrete and us as we go over the Soldier River and then, the Little Sioux.

Quick story. Years ago I went to Omaha. I was shopping in a big mall and the clerk got chatty when she saw my Mississippi license. We talked a bit before I asked, “Are you from here?“

“Oh, no, honey. I’m from Sin City,“ she said, gesturing to the east.

“Sin City?“

“That’s what everybody over here in Nebraska calls it cause we have casinos,“ she said, referring to Iowa.

Wonder what they do with those casino tax dollars? Maybe they got kickin’ schools.

Sturgis: 470 miles