Day 02

July 26

As we meander into town in search of my daily dose of pig meat and cackle fruit, we cross an old-fashioned bridge across the Missouri River. It's one of those old metal bridges with character that are giving way to shapeless, tasteless concrete monuments to sameness. Upon close inspection, we find Rulo is the home of two taverns, a few derelict buildings - but not one restaurant. Oh well, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but you never know til you roll the dice. We head back to the slab and on to Rapid City. We ride along, admiring the farms and vast fields of the Iowa countryside. Not being a flatlander, I'm wondering how it feels to live in a place where the horizon seems to go on forever. Me, I've got to have a high spot to look out or I go a little crazy. Somewhere short of Omaha, we find a place for gas called the Trail's End. I see a bunch of local pickup trucks outside, so I suspect there's pretty good grub inside.

Nothing fancy, but we wander into a place decorated in late barn Gothic. Congregated round several tables are the local farmers, puffing on their cigarettes, cussing and discussing the local news, the weather and the economy. I get my usual – ham and cheese omelet, side order of sausage and unsweetened ice tea. The waitress is kind and the service pretty good. She is amazed at where we're from and where we're going. I will find that to be the usual response in many of the places we stop. I reckon I could carry on a conversation with a doorknob, so I end up talking to a lot of people along the way. Everybody has got a story and if you just take time to listen, you can learn something and be better for it. We make short work of breakfast and are on the road quickly. Rapid City is a long way from where we sit and we know it. As we approach I90, the ribbon to Rapid City, we hit a major traffic jam. I know immediately that I am in trouble because my hands won't take much stop and go clutching. Doug's ST starts to heat up a bit, causing him some concern this early into the trip. We hear on the CBs that there's some cars that have tied up ahead and it doesn't look good. Doug rides on down the side of the interstate, but I decide to stay put. I know if I have to make a sudden stop going down the side, I probably could not pull the front brake lever hard enough. The pain is bad with continually clutching, but the alternative isn't pretty either. Finally I clear the mess, reach the ramp to I90 and thankfully get on it. I pause at the end of the ramp, with no Doug in sight. We had decided that would be what we would do if we got separated. So I sit there a few minutes, wondering if he got cut off or missed the turn. Finally, I move on toward Rapid City, assuming he is up head somewhere. Sure enough, he is waiting under a bridge several miles down the road. We get back into the rhythm of the road, knowing we have most of the state of South Dakota to cross. The crosswinds are tough and the heat is tougher. I find it kind of a new experience to travel straight down the road leaning at what seems like a 45 degree angle. As the trip progresses, I will get a lot of practice at it. But I find the ST is like a good horse that's used to running - just give it a little reign to find it's place, and you'll be just fine. Death grip either, and you can end up on the ground pretty easy. As we move along, I notice a slow moving car pulling a pop-up camper ahead in the right lane. There's a lady driving a van full of kids in the left lane but she seems to be moving along okay. I shift over into the left lane to pass the car and then I hear it – cha ching – something akin to metal shearing off and then a loud thump. Out of the corner of my right eye I see the trailer has just ejected it's left tire clean off the spindle and the driver is in a frantic death weave. Here I sit – the van in front of me and a weaving car and trailer to the right about to flip over on me. My options are somewhat limited at this point - I need to get out of the way. To my dismay, the lady in the van who blocks my escape path has decided to slow down to take a look see at the action. I look to the left and see there is not enough shoulder to go around on the left. I honk my horn, such as it is, and determine she will either speed up out of the way or she will have a big red motorcycle buried in the back doors of her van if I can just manage to get that front tire in the air. Thankfully, she gets the rather subtle message as I rapidly approach her bumper and floorboards it out of my way. I put some distance between me and the car and it's panicked driver. He has meanwhile somehow managed to get off the road and come to a stop. I look back for Doug, knowing he has faced the brunt of the disaster and not knowing what I will see. He's still upright but visibly shaken. The tire came out right in front of him and he has to do a major panic stop from at least 70 MPH to avoid hitting it. He does a tank slapper so hard that the tilt switch kills the ST. In his own words,

“I saw my whole life pass before my eyes!”

We both realize how close we just came to the end of the ride in a less than pleasant fashion. It is the reality that we as riders never like to consider but it is real and hard as a pine knot. Here we are almost taken out by circumstances unforeseen and beyond our control. This will be a day we will not forget for a long time. We collect our wits and move along rapidly, vowing to pass all trailers very quickly from now on. Rapid City arrives none too soon. We get off to the road to Mt. Rushmore and Custer State Park. Time to gas again, and my stomach is asking me if my throat has been cut.

I ask the dear lady behind the counter, “Where might a feller get a good piece of dead cow around here?”

She laughs and kindly tells us “The Colonial House is just up the road on the right before you get to the Best Western.”

I thank her and we head out for it. We see the place with the lot already crowded, pull in, and park the STs near the road. I figure Coop will come this way and probably is not too far behind us. I place my order for a ribeye and a half-gallon of ice tea in honor of Guy, and sit back to talk with Doug about the events of the day. As our salads are delivered, I look up and who should wander in but my friend Coop.

“How'd you find us, see my flag?” I ask.

“I saw the river bags” Coop says with a grin.

I guess if anybody sees an overloaded red ST with a yellow riverbag on it, they can figure it must be me.

We have a big laugh and have a great meal, doing some catching up. We haven't seen each other since the Triple T so we enjoy the time over a good meal. Coop is always a gentleman and a pleasure to ride with and I am looking forward to his company again. We finish up our meals and then head for the campsite Coop has reserved for us in Custer State Park.