The alarm went off at 5am on Saturday, July 30th, and despite the amount of Tylenol PM I had taken the night before, I hadn’t slept a wink.   The bikes were loaded, and in minutes we’d be cruising west on I-94, in the direction of our dreams.  This was the day we’d been waiting for since we last arrived home on August 21st, 2010, and our excitement was through the roof.

The weather in late July, early August this time of year is strange, hot and cold at the same time.  It was a warm summer morning, but the humidity made it cold enough for a jacket, helmet earflaps and gauntlet gloves.  For me, at least. My husband just shook his head and hopped on his bike wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

We gassed up at the same gas station that we do every year before getting on the freeway, doing last minute checks, and grinning from ear to ear.  Soon we were off, and the morning sun burned off the moisture and dew.

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On I-94 just past Jackson, traffic came to a dead stop, the first of several traffic jams that would result in the blisters on my right leg from the hot pipes.  We inched forward and got around the accident in the right lane on the left shoulder, as the police swept debris and broken glass directly into our path.  Not toward the right shoulder where there was no traffic, as that would have just been ridiculous.

The rest of the ride was uneventful until we got near Chicago when were almost taken out on two separate occasions by a-hole drivers who apparently “didn’t see us”, and I wished for a pocket full of ball bearings.  Our excitement returned once we were further west, and crossing the Mississippi River, when it really hits home that we are on our way.  For the next two weeks, we’ll be staying at Chris’ Camp, in Spearfish, South Dakota, the place we dream of, talk about, plan for.  We will arrive one week prior to the Sturgis Rally, but the bikes and the parties and the concerts are not what draws us here.

This is.

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This is what I see in my dreams every night.  I feel the wind, the warmth of the sun and the sting of the grasshoppers through my jeans. The road seems to never end, and it never gets old.

Today we’ll ride through Indiana, Illinois and almost all of Iowa until we stop for the night in Walnut, Iowa, 683 miles from home.  The humidity in Michigan is nothing compared to this, yet I learned that thankfully, it’s not like that every day. The next morning was so humid, I took photos through the hotel window, capturing a thick blanket of mist you could barely see through.

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Back on the road.  Failing to tie my bandanna on tightly, (of course it was my favorite one) it flew off into the tall grasses beside I-80 and my hair was on it’s way to becoming a rats nest.  We took the next exit, and found a gas station, where I (still fuming) grabbed my camera and darted across the road to the remnants of a gas station from years past.  From the aging cement foundation of the building, I was able to photograph the cornfields whispering in the breeze as traffic on 80 roared past.  When I returned to the bikes, a new bandanna was hanging on my handlebar.  What a guy.

This was the final stretch of I-80 heading west, we continued onto 680 and then proceeded north on 29 and into South Dakota.   29 South was closed due to flooding, and we rode past several stretches of highway that were lined with sandbags, both sides of the highway completely flooded.  Approaching Sioux City, it was worse, stop signs emerging only a few feet above the surface, parks and roads, completely underwater.

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We were almost to I-90 when Bill’s left saddlebag lid flew off and almost hit me square in the windshield.  Luckily it landed in front of me to my left and bounced into the grass..  Parking on the left shoulder, we walked/ran half a mile back along the highway, scanning the median, and found it with just a few small scuffs.

Now we really had to make up some time, and had the longest stretch in front of us.  The temps were in the 100s and the wind incredibly strong, coming out of the north.  I fought the handlebars to stay to the right, to avoid having the wind push me into the left lane.  At each stop we downed water and reapplied sunblock.

Our next stop was Jan’s Frosty King in Chamberlain, to meet up with Maria Birch, a friend newly introduced by another longtime friend, Liysa Callsen, who lives in Wisconsin.  We enjoyed conversation and hearing about the locals, life in Chamberlain. My blizzard was no match for the hot day, and turned to liquid in minutes.  Saying our goodbyes, we hopped back on the bikes and continued west.

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Later that sweltering afternoon, the Black Hills started to faintly emerge on the horizon, and soon we could smell the pine. There was a storm off in the distance, and we pressed on hoping the road would take us around it.  The beams of sun breaking through the clouds was like being led to the promised land.  Bike traffic was increasing, as were the signs and billboards advertising the events of the coming week.

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At around 7pm, we pulled into Chris’ Camp, our home for the next two weeks. We made it, we were really here.  It had finally sunk in, and our lives back in Michigan seemed like a faded, distant memory.

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Tonight we would drift off in our tent under a sky ablaze with stars, as the wind rustled through the trees.  Our two week dream had begun.

2 thoughts on “South Dakota 2011 – Part 1”

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