Travels with Pops

LAND OF GHOSTS: Black Hills and Badlands

A strange convergence of sky and land, plains and mountains,

sacred and profane, past and present

First sightings:

A Great Plains tradition, we saw these old cowboy boots on fenceposts somewhere in north central Nebraska. Kinda spooky.  

Our first sighting of a prairie cactus. I wasn't prepared for cactus that far north. We later learned quite a bit about the plants of the region.

Our first sighting of a Buffalo, at Niobrara Wildlife Preserve. As the days passed, they would become as common to us as gators in the Everglades..

The Niobrara Preserve is located somewhat in the center of North America, and the landscape is a combination of rocky foothills, northern pines, eastern deciduous ravines, and dry, windy prairie. 

Our first sighting of prairie dogs. It was also Supe's so she promptly jumped out of Karen's window and went chasing after them. Horrifyingly funny. I thought we were busted big time since it was a game preserve, but also comical  as two tourists chased their pet through a prairie dog town. We later found out that prairie dogs can carry Black Plague!

Our first sighting of Paha Sapa, the Black Hills, after driving through the village of Pine Ridge, the center of one of the most impoverished Indian Reservations in the U.S. A tough place.

After seeing large herds of buffalo at Wind Cave National Park, we got stopped in a buffalo jam on the Wild Life Loop at Custer State Park. The heifers had their calves with them so we gave them plenty of room. Seemingly wild, they are in fact carefully managed by the park system and are habituated to the presence of humans.  

The view from atop Lookout Point near Heddy Draw. The radio towers were a landmark we could see all the way from the northern hills. Kind of a desecration to the view of a place so highly valued as the source of all life to the Native People.

7000' Harney Peak to the right. Rushmore is in there somewhere.

The Black Hills fading into the Great Plains.

Our cabin at Blue Bell campgrounds, one of the best places we've ever stayed. The only downside was the pollen from the ponderosa pine, but otherwise, the place was clean, comfortable, quiet and relatively private - it even had an air conditioner! 

The shitter was divided into three separate full bathrooms - a very cool set up, in my opinion. The Centennial Trail was close by, and French Creek was accessible with a short hike down two-track into the surrounding canyon. We agreed that we could have stayed there a long time.

My first ride, at Storm Mountain near Rockerville. Although it was an hour drive from the campground, Storm Mountain turned out to be one the best trails I've ever ridden. It wasn't easy to find and it's not marked as a mountain biking trail at the trailhead. When I arrived, there were three teenagers wearing skating helmets ready to ride the trail on the other side of the road. I asked one them about the route and he said he'd always just followed the orange arrows. They took off on what appeared to be beginner trails, and I was left wondering what I was going to deal with. Turns out they were total sandbaggers: the stuff on the other side of the trail was a series of highly crafted downhill runs.

Little did I know that I would be riding the much tamer cross country trails.

Tame is a relative word. 

The trail turned out to be minimally but appropriately marked, and it took me through a landscape that varied from scenic meadows to rocky, rooty twists and turns through stands of maturing ponderosa pines. Every once in a while I could see Storm Mountain rising off to the west, and what appeared to be Rapid City way off to the east. It was one of those trails where I had to force myself to stop riding and snap a few pictures: the scenery was as awesome as the riding. Once I stopped riding, it didn't want to stop taking pictures, and once I got back on the bike, I didn't want to break the rhythm of a trail that was both carefully constructed and as natural-feeling as any trail I have ever ridden.

The trail reminded me of Dark Mountain in North Carolina as it wound it's way up a hillside to a ridge then back down into a riparian ravine alongside a creek then back up to the ridge. The trail bed was a mixture of hard-packed red clay and sharp but smallish rocks, enough to keep you one your toes but not enough to impede the momentum of 29 inch tires. Occasionally, it would wind among apartment-size boulders and slightly eroded root systems, requiring some heads up moves and hard cranking to avoid stalling out. The only ball-buster climb was the one out of the ravine, with at least one hike-a-bike section (for me at least). The downhill sections were bomber fast and swoopy. One section required a tricky technical maneuver and held some big consequences, but the trail markers gave plenty of warning. There were also some spurs trails that led to 3-5 foot rock jumps that the locals must have a blast on, but since I was unarmored, I decided to just imagine what they must be like.

At one point, I came to a spur trail that led to a rocky descent. It looked cool and I felt good so I hit it. After about 200 yards of descending I started to hear rushing water, then the vertical rock walls of a steep gorge started to appear through the trees. The riding got steep so I left the bike and hiked a little was to some ledges where I could see the rock walls more clearly but not the bottom of the gorge. Peering further down the trail. I saw a number of fallen trees and steepness that I wasn't ready to tackle on a solo trip, so I headed back up to the main trail, grinning about my discovery the whole way. (I've decided that the number of grins and out loud giggles a trail provides for me when I'm riding it alone is equal to the quality of the trail. And this one ranks damn high on my list.)

The only problem came near what I thought was the end of the trail. The markers appeared to point in the direction of a gated two-track which seemed to lead to private property, so I decided to backtrack and found some marked singletrack. It took me back to the beginning section of the trail, which was a blast to ride back down, but I found that I had missed quite a bit of single track. I got back to the car and decided since it was already around 6:00 and I had had an excellent time,  there was no point in tempting the ghosts.

I was still wondering what the trails on the other side of the road were all about so I rode over and started climbing, only to find a kick-ass series of downhill hill descents that bombed through and over rock outcroppings all the way down a formidable hillside. The berms, booters and lines were the product of a ton of work from local trailbuilders.  Since I was on a hard tail and I have a descent amount of self-preserving common sense, I carefully picked my way down one of the lines, and again imagined what it must be like. This was full body-armor territory and was amazing to just look at. I wondered how the teenagers had fared since their bikes weren't downhill rigs. Must be nice to have a trail system like that as a local trail.

(to be continued)