Days 19 and 20-Mb2Cb Tour-Hot Springs to Crazy Horse to Hill City to Deadwood to Spearfish, SD.

I'm not nearly gifted or skilled enough to describe, so you can really understand, the excitement I've experienced the past 2 days. That said, I'll try anyways.

I'm in Spearfish, SD. this Thursday evening .The songs of Paddy Moloney and The Clancy Brothers are playing in Flanagan's Pub,  A cold front has blown in plunging the temperature from the 80's to the low 40's. A hard, cold, rain is expected for tonight and all day tomorrow. I've settled in to an old stuffed chair by the fire. Robert, the barman, tells me the keg is full and the jukebox stuffed with quarters. Later on, if I can stay awake, live Irish singers will take the stage. Because of the expected hard rains and because the bike needs maintenance and the body some rest, I will take the first rest day of this tour tomorrow.

I left Hot Springs two days ago in the face of a stiff 20-25 mph wind blowing in my face. About ten miles out of town I entered Wind Cave National Park. As soon as I entered the park there was a sign "Buffalo Are Dangerous. Do Not Approach!!!!" Since I was busy fighting the wind, I didn't think much of it. I struggled up a hill, took a sharp curve, when all of a sudden, not 10 feet in front of me, in the middle of the road, stood the biggest, meanest, nastiest, buffalo in all creation. I slammed on my brakes. Now I don't know much about buffalo, but I do know that when they're snorting and kicking up their heels, they aren't very happy to see you. I'm not ashamed to say that I was scared. I was stopped on the upward side of a steep hill, and there was no way I could turn the bike and out run that beast if he decided to charge. Just when I thought it was lights out for me, a car came around that same sharp curve, and honked his horn at me and/or the buffalo. I wish I had thought to photograph the beast but there was no time, and anyways my hands were shaking too much to snap the shutter. The buffalo must of thought better of tangling with the car, and ran off up the hill to join the herd. It all happened in a flash and served to remind me that passing through wilderness at 10mph on a bicycle is different than zooming through in a two ton vehicle at 70mph. Needless to say, I was much more aware of my surroundings from that point forward.

I thought all day how I could describe the ride through Wind Cave and onward to Crazy Horse, and finally to Spearfish. If you are a serious road racer I think this is the place for you. For me, the casual tourist, this place was heaven and hell. The road, highway 385, from Hot Springs to Spearfish is one of the most beautiful and scenic roads anywhere. This is a land of soaring vistas, shimmering lakes, big trees, log cabins, and hills. Many, many hills. Sitting here, comfortably in my stuffed chair, my legs still cramp up when I think of scaling those hills. The distance from Hot Springs to Spearfish is about 100 miles. About 50 of those miles are uphill and I'm talking real hills, with 10-12 percent grades, at a max altitude of over 5000 feet above sea level. The agony of those hill climbs was exceeded only by the ecstasy of the descents. Coming out of Deadwood this morning, I encountered the most fearsome hill ever, at least 2 miles long with a sustained 10 percent grade. My knuckles were white from gripping the handlebars so tight.  I was certain that my lungs would burst or my heart come shooting out from my chest. When I finally reached the top, I found heaven. For the next 10 miles I rocketed downhill at speeds that would have exceeded 50mph had I not braked down. Hard to describe that sensation, almost like free fall, and it went on and on and on. Just me and the bike. If you can find a better way to spend a Thursday morning, do it.

The climbs and descents, on these Black Hills, are the story of this tour, for me. The sheer physically and intimate interactions with the environment tend to over shadow everything else. I would however be remiss in my responsibilities as blogger if I did not at least mention the other powerful force at work here. The Black Hills are sacred to the Sioux and other indigenous peoples. Those folks believe that the valleys, trees, man, and woman sprang from a font deep in these hills. They believe that the spirits of their ancestors live in these hills and stand watch, waiting for the day that the land will be restored to the rightful creatures. The Crazy Horse monument, being blasted and carved from the mountainside, is a testament to the beliefs of these native people. As mentioned before, I'm a skeptic, but as I rocketed down these hills, with those incredible vistas unfolding before me, I could almost believe.

So as the rain starts to fall and Robert pours another, I sign off. You will forgive me if I fade off into my cups. I've earned it.