Thursday, June 30th
I reached the top of a hill, a few miles outside of Gackle. It was the site of a Finnish church which burnt down after being stuck by lightning in the early 1980s. Now there were a handful of headstones comprising a small cemetery and a flag flying high in the wind.
I came up here to confirm what I felt was true, that the wind was blowing south, giving me a strong tailwind for more or less the first time. And sure enough, the flag was flying upright, directly south, pointing down the road I’d soon rejoin. It was at this point I knew that today would be an easy day.
When I got the chance to check online I found out the windspeed was around 16mph, and over the course of the day – 87 miles from Gackle, North Dakota, to Eureka, South Dakota, this helped me maintain an average speed of just under 15mph. Usually I’d manage 11-12. There were long stretches were I was above 20. Every hill felt that little bit easier, like there was a hand supporting my weight and gently pushing me up. I watched the miles fly by.
I left late, at 11, but only stopped twice. Once at Fredonia. A speck of a town 20 miles from Gackle. Cycling up it’s gravel streets I felt like I was intruding on someones private property, and when I entered the cafe there, I felt like i’d stepped inside.
Sometimes these small places react to you with amazement – amazement that you, an English person, ended up in their town of all places on this earth. Other towns feel more shut off, locals only kind of place. I can understand that reaction. In this part of America, according to what one guy told me, life seems to be mainly abut working, hard. The idea that someone like me can have the privilege to cycle across a country, stop at their town, and take photos in their diners and at outside their gas stations, yes, I can see how some people wouldn’t care for that.
Thankfully I’ve experienced the first category of town a lot more frequently. And though the gravel voiced waitress in this cafe greeted me with what I felt was disdain, over the course of me eating eggs, toast, and fries, and three cups of coffee, she warmed up and totally changed my impression of the town as I result.
My second stop was at a coffee shop called Jitters in Ashley, the biggest town in a day or two, but still the kind of place you had to zoom in hard on the map to realise it existed. It was big enough to have a paper at least – the Ashley Tribune (“telling it like it is!”), who shared the space with the coffee shop. In fact it was more of an office for the paper which happened to serve coffee. But when they found out about my trip a photo was taken of me outside, a few questions answered and words jotted on post its. With any luck I should be printed into their next issue.
Inbetween these two stops was, more or less, nothing. Rolling hills, fields, more cows than yesterday. A sign marking my sudden unexpected entrance into South Dakota. Without the wind behind me it would have dragged, but at the speed I was going I enjoyed the emptiness of it and the whole place felt like a playground for bikes.
Other than the sound of the wind it was incredibly quiet and it was kind of exciting to think that at any point I could likely be the only person within a 35-50 mile radius. Probably the only cyclist within 200 or more. The space between things, the lack of a McDonalds, any attempt at commercialisation and development, or really any human touch other than that which put up the barbed wire fences marking the fields, and the yellow paint on the road, would be something i’m sure i’d come to miss once I was in more built up surroundings again.
I’d spent last night zooming in on satellite views on Google Maps, right down to see if the roads I was choosing to cycle on were surfaced. I felt like I was carving my own path more than any other point on this trip. It was unusual to go from the North, South-West, down to the middle like I was right now. Maybe there were good reasons for that, or more likely, no particular reason to do so. But it was enjoying the detour so far.
I arrived in Eureka sometime around 7, and headed right to the city park, down by the lake on the Western edge of town. It was busier than I was expecting to find it. A handful of campers, and later on, fireworks. Early July 4th celebrations.
My plan for tomorrow was 1. get up early and shower 2. eat a big breakfast 3. try and cycle 130 miles. If the wind was the same as it was today, which from what I could establish it would be, then this shouldn’t be as ridiculous as it sounds. It’s only an extra 15 miles than my longest day so far, and the conditions – in terms of the route and the roads and what’s on the way, are a lot more predictable now.
I’m aiming for Pierre, a town directly South where I would cross the Missouri and make the approach to Badlands.
I set an alarm for sunrise – 5.55.
