My alarm went off at 4:30am. I jumped up. The wife said "Don't you want to hit the snooze??". Nope. I'm ready. It was my intent to be on the road at 5am, but after checking email and tying up some last minute loose things, it was actually about 5:20am. Still not a bad start. Several people knew that I was planning to go beyond 1000 miles this day, but I actually had a little secret that I only told a few. It was my true intent to make it all the way to a campground in Sturgis, about 1260 miles. I didn't tell my family because I didn't want them to worry. I told my Dad. That was a mistake. He worried. Regardless, that was my goal. It wasn't something that I HAD to do, and I was prepared to stop whenever I felt like stopping. It didn't really matter if I went 1260 miles, or a 1000, or even 600. I had decided just to go as far as I was comfortable going, and call it a day.
100 miles down the road, I was tired, my butt was already hurting, and the Sun had not yet come up. I was asking myself "What the heck am I doing?". But every mile that went by, the easier it became, and every minute that went by, the better I felt. Yeah sure, it was my intent to do 1260 miles today (only because that would essentially put me a day ahead of schedule, right from the get go), but more important to me was to keep the day interesting and see some stuff. Anyone who has crossed through the States to the West, knows that there is a whole lotta nuttin. My first tourist stop, Antique Archaeology, just across the Mississippi in Iowa.
The History Channel has a TV series called "American Pickers". This is the place. I had done a little research prior and discovered that it was only a few miles out of my way. It took me a little while riding around the area to find it, as I didn't know EXACTLY where it was. As it turns out though, it was pretty easy. It's not on a main street or even the street as the listed business address, but an adjoining alley.
Unfortunately, they were closed. Or maybe it was fortunate, because that limited the amount of time I spent here. I rode down the street, stopped for lunch, considered waiting around another hour for them to open, but then just decided to continue on. It wasn't that important to me, and I was mainly just wanting to see the place and snap a photo. Even though I didn't stick around, the time I spent looking for this place, taking photos, and stopping for lunch, was over an hour. Time flies.Back on the road... I'm now West of the Mississippi, time to make some time. I began seeing gas stations that offered a choice in the fuel. Ethanol or 'Real" gasoline. I know it probably sounds silly to most, but many of you know my dislike for E10 and can understand my excitement in finding real gasoline. The Trophy runs better and can go much further. I'll snub the Ethanol any chance I get.
Somewhere around 600 miles into my day, I stop to make a cargo adjustment. My duffel bag had shifted a couple inches to one side, and although still secure, it was simply bugging the crap outta me seeing more sticking out behind one elbow than the other. I guess I'm a little OCD (duh). Hehe.... At this exit was the "World's Largest Truck Stop". I had not planned to stop here, but it was worth pulling over for the photo.
I did some off-highway zig-zagging diagonally through Iowa, saw some rural areas, took a photo here and there, but otherwise fairly non-eventful.I crossed into Minnesota.
I crossed into South Dakota.
Somewhere in SD, I crossed the 1000-mile mark. I had accomplished this in about 15-1/2 hours, of which 2-1/2 hours were spent on fuel stops, breaks, and tourist activities (my Antique Archaeology stop). I'm pleased. My travels so far had been far far easier than I anticipated.
I was feeling good. REAL good. I was absolutely confident that I could make the 1260 miles. In fact, I was a little disappointed that I needed to stop at 1260 miles and actually dabbled with thoughts of pushing beyond that. The timing just wasn't there though, as I was meeting up with a friend in Sturgis.
But then, off in the distance, I see this....
This ended up being my first real mistake. Rather than pull over immediately and put on my rain gear, I decided to make a run for the next exit 10-miles ahead. If I get wet, no biggie. I'm wearing mesh gear and it dries out quick. I was also thinking that maybe, just maybe... I wouldn't even stop and simply punch through the storm. BIG mistake. It probably dropped 20ºF within seconds, and I got absolutely slammed by a very hard rain and brutal winds. I didn't stop. It was too late, damage done. I pushed on those next few miles to the next exit, in misery. I stopped at a gas station, topped off, and it continued to pour. At the gas station was a small diner. I walked it to get out of the storm and discovered that it was actually a Dairy Queen. I bought a meal and tried to dry out a little. I'm sure the workers were not too pleased with me dripping all over everything. I hung out at the DQ for a while, but the AC was cranked and not really a good place to warm up. I was cold, and it was just getting worse. Soon after, the worst of the clouds passed over. It continued to rain though, albeit a much lighter rain. I wanted to get moving again.
I was eye-balling the Inn across the street as an easy way out, but it was a nice place, looked really expensive, and had obviously filled up quick with travelers bailing off the highway.
I pushed on. The calm after the storm was beautiful, but the damage was done. I had just received my first ass-kicking by Mother Nature.
I wanted to continue on, and I tried for a ways, but I was cold and spent. I knew from previous research, that there was a cheap $40 hotel up ahead. It was part of my bail-out plan, had I gone the 1000+ miles but couldn't go any further. Now I'm looking at it not as a place to recover from the miles, but to recover from my ass-kicking. It's about 50-miles further.
I was aiming for "Hutch's Hotel" in Presho SD. It had received some bad reviews online, noted as a stinky hotel used mostly by local hunters and their wet dogs. It was cheap though, and the only thing around. I didn't really have a choice. By the time I had reached Presho, it was dark. I missed my exit. Not much in Presho, and it is not lit up well. A second Presho exit was only a 1/2-mile down the highway though, and I jumped off and back tracked a short ways. I came to an establishment called "Hutch's Bar/Cafe" or something like that. There were a bunch of plastered Harley guys out front, staggering around, and one getting busy with his gal in the parking lot. I asked one of the fellows if there were any rooms around, he says "Yer... go ashhk the bertennerrr in dar.". I walk inside, ask the bartender about rooms, and he points me next door. There is a walking path from the bar to the motel and he tells me that I can take that, but I decide to hop back on the bike and ride it next door. I walk into the front office, which smells like stale smoke and looks more like a storage room for old worn out furniture. No one around, and the sign says $55/night, self-checkin. I'm confused. I wait around for a while, trying to figure out the whole self-checkin procedure, and after a few minutes a tired and weathered individual walks in from the back room and asks if he can help. I think it is Hutch, but I'm not sure. I ask about the $40 rooms, and he says "Its been 'bout 4 or 5 years now since we had $45 rooms. You're lucky. We go up to $135 come Friday.". He's right. $55 for a room this close to Sturgis is probably a deal, and certainly the best that I can do under the circumstances, even for a "Cheap Hotel". I take it. I pull my bike around to the side entrance. As I'm removing the essentials that I need for the evening (my tank bag, primary GPS, overnight bag, etc), four other Harley guys ride up. They stagger about, trying to dismount, and trying to find their room. They're vulgar and abusive to each other. I can't understand half of what they are saying. At that point, I try to expedite the process of getting my gear into my room. In fact, I made a couple more trips removing anything and everything not physically bolted to my bike. I get everything into my room and find a very basic room, with three beds. The walls are block, it has a small basic TV wired to a switch next to one of the beds, and there are plenty of hooks and hangers for hunting clothes, and a place for dirty boots as you enter through the door. There is a slight odor in the air, but honestly it's not too bad. It is obviously set up for a small group of hunters, but as it turns out, works well for a weary motorcyclist with lots of wet gear. The beds and the bathroom are clean, and I'm quite happy. In fact, as I look around and see that the room is actually setup to sleep six comfortably, $55 doesn't sound like a bad deal. A room for six seems like a bit of a waste for one. I snapped off a couple photos of the room, but I don't know where they have gone at the moment. No biggie, it's really not that interesting and not needed to tell the story.
My final mileage for the day, 1062 miles. An EASY 1000 miles, and a brutal 62.
I've had a LOT of people ask me about applying for my IBA certification, but honestly, I'm just not that concerned with it. It is not documented. I never tried to document it. I knew heading out that morning that I was not doing the things necessary to document it. I don't need someone else to tell me I did it. I know that I did. That's all the matters. I'm not knocking others for spending the $30 or whatever it is to get your certification, but to me it's just not that important and not something that I feel compelled to do.
