Friday, July 8th
I slept for almost 9 hours. That’s probably a record for me. I needed it. But I didn’t want to leave my tent. I’d ended the previous day feeling pretty faded, this morning was no different. But I dragged myself to the shower block and began the now routine process of putting what I’d taken out of my panniers back in, packing my tent, and assembling the lot on my bike, leaned against a nearby tree since my twenty something dollars didn’t afford me the luxury of a picnic table.
Custer was a 4-5 mile cycle away. Thankfully mostly downhill since any uphill, even the slightest incline, ground me to a halt. I stopped at a supermarket and bought fruit and a few supplies, including three doughnuts, some nectarines. Custer was like a small, slightly more tasteful version of Keystone, the touristic hub of mt Rushmore I passed through yesterday. Buffalo sculptures painted different colours lined the streets. I got coffee in and 1880s building which used to be a bank, wrote a little and looked ahead at my route. I was aiming for Spearfish, via spearfish canyon – another scenic byway I’d been told about, but riding that might have to wait until the following morning.
Back on the highway the ride is mostly downhill with a view of the surrounding grey stone hills, I reach Hill City in under an hour. It’s a perfect summer day, like the day before, and the tornado and storm warnings which constantly flashed up on the tv in my motel room seem, for now, to have been for nothing.
At Hill City I pull into a gas station for a coffee and to fill up on water. You can tell its tourist territory when even the thimble sized plastic containers of milk are priced at 15 cents. People are just walking dollar bills around here. I sneak six of these milk containers in my pocket for my morning coffees.
Leaving the gas station with my stolen milk I search for the trailhead for the Mickleson trail – a 108 mile section of rail trail that runs from Edgemont to Deadwood. I’m apprehensive about joining it, mainly because it’s unsurfaced gravel which I’ve learned the hard way is not always ideal for a fully loaded touring bike like mine. Google tends to go out of its way to route you on to tracks like this, though sometimes the highway is an easier ride. But I’m glad I trusted it today as the next five or so hours are brilliant.
The track runs parallel to the road at times but on the most scenic sections cuts a beautiful route through the mountains, often providing stunning overlooks into the surrounding valley, or terrific downhills through corridors of pine trees.
It’s incredibly quiet, the only noise once away from the road is the rush and bubble of a river which runs alongside the trail, and the occasionally scramble of a chipmunk or squirrel. There’s snakes too. Though I’ve lost my fear of them I’ll still hallucinate that a twisted twig or branch is really a rattlesnake waiting to strike, or a strip of bark crossing the path is another sunbathing. When I do actually see them it’s too late – a cycle over a dark coloured one by accident and the body of it makes my wheel squirm on the gravel. Then I see two or three small green ones – bright green, which looks out of place in these distinctly untropical settings.
There’s a whole bunch of deer – several times I see a mother and two young in the middle of the track, though they always make an escape before you could ever hope to draw a camera. Last but not least are cows who seem to have free reign of this area. Later along the road I see a sign which reads ‘livestock at large’ or in other words ‘loose cows’. At one point I enter one of several tunnels dynamited through the mountain in the darkness only to be met with an entire heard. I make some noise and they pick up the speed and move forward down the river. They can be surprisingly swift and agile animals.
This tally of animals alone is enough to paint some kind of picture of time on this trail. A world away from the gift shops and cash-ins which seem to define this area somewhat. And of course a different world to the flat South Dakota I’m happy to leave behind. There are some less interesting stretches of course, long gentle inclines which go on for several miles, but on the whole I think it will stand as one of the most memorable afternoons on this trip.
As I’m aiming to ride into Spearfish Canyon tomorrow, I target a campsite at Hanna, which should set me up well for the ride which I plan to complete early in the morning giving me the rest of the day to reach the Devils Tower in Wyoming.
I stop at the trailhead at Dumont and cook up a quick cup of coffee on a picnic bench. There’s been no services for 40 miles and I need a little kick for this last section. I take some time to enjoy the silence, and then pump some water from one of a series of old fashioned water stations which dot the trail.
It’s around 6.30, sunset is around 8.30 now so I try and pick up the pace. Back on the trail it’s another brilliant downhill which I enjoy whilst engrossed in this podcast. Without knowing it I’ve overshot the turnoff to the road leading to the campsite and now the trail is splitting off away from the road so turning back could take a while. Retreading ground is something I dread, even just a mile or two feels like the undoing of so much hard work. On a trip like this you never want to have to look back.
I figure out a route back without retracing my tracks, via a few rough and ready country roads. It’s not the best ride, but it passes fairly quickly and I reach the turnoff toward Hanna.
The road quickly goes from paved to unsurfaced. A country club on the right declares ‘the highest country club east of the Rockies’. It’s unclear who exactly this proclamation is aimed at.
Soon the road turns to downhill. A huge descent into a valley. Hills lined with trees which I become submerged in. It levels out a little but I’m still descending as I draw closer to the campsite. I feel like I must be the only person there but soon enough a few parked vehicles come into view and I pull in after checking with a girl that I’m in the right place.
There’s an area for vehicles and an area for tents. In the shadow of so many trees it has the feel of Sage Creek, the area I camped in at Badlands, it’s remote and simple and would only draw the more hardened camper in. The river runs along side the campsite, I cross a wooden bridge over this and find a picnic bench to camp beside.
I do my usual routine at this point, which is leaning my bike on the bench, stopping Strava, lying down on top of the bench to appreciate the first few seconds of a days ride being over. As I look to the sky a jet passes overhead just at this moment leaving a trail through the air which disappears behind the tree line. Another reminder of scale.
It feels like I’m going to get away without paying the $18, then, after I’ve cooked dinner and its beginning to darken, a red truck slowly makes its way up the road, then reverses to a gap in the trees where the driver has a clear view of me, she calls me over. I retrieve my wallet from the tent.
The truck pulls in and I go to the window. I’m met by a cheerful park ranger, who at first thinks I’m Australian, but I forgive her. We talk a bit about badlands and the buffalo there and show each other photos on our phones. This small talk seems to earn me a discount as she says how it’s not fair to charge me $18. Of course I agree and pay $9, she uses her senior citizen number or something to take the money off. Either way, I’m happy to be paying a fairer price for once.
I’d been preparing myself for a long, tough uphill ride in the morning tomorrow, out of spearfish canyon, but the ranger reassures me it’s almost entirely downhill from the angle I’m approaching it from. This is fantastic news. Though for the past couple of days I’ve taken the scenic / confused route, it’s starting to feel like things will get back on track and I look forward to heading directly west once again.
Map