BLACK HILLS NATIONAL FOREST: Animal Behavior Along the Mickelson Trail

August 26, 2017

The American west has a few roads that seem to be designed as a cruel, cruel joke on bicycle riders. Today I was the victim of such a road. Highway 85 leading into the Black Hills LOOKS like it's a mild downhill, so what's up with having to work my ass off in the granny gear? There was no wind. My tires had plenty of air. A porcupine hadn't hopped onto the back of my bike.

I know it's an optical illusion. I think there's even a name for it, but damn it all, it was a messed up deal and I was pissed.

As frustrating as the fake downhill was, that was just one of the problems I had with U.S. 85. Before I get into that, let's catch up with a few photos.

Nice rolling plains outside of Belle Fourche

It was hard to tell where the human dwelling ended and the goat dwelling began.

The freshly paved and little used St. Onge Road.

Once I passed the Black Hills sign, the optical illusion ended and there was absolutely no mistake that I was going uphill at a pretty serious grade. That's okay. I accept that. I also accept that the highway was extremely busy. What did I expect on a hot weekend in mid-America's vacation land? Even so, which one of satan's bike-hating underlings designed the vengeful rumble strips?

Both the main road and the shoulder were in very good condition--smooth, clean, wide, and probably brand new. However, every 20-feet came a rumble strip that spanned the entire 4' shoulder. It was bad enough pedaling up into the mountains on a hot day and on a busy road, but having to endure that damned D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D every few seconds was a little too much. (The alternative, riding on the highway, would have been suicide.)

But the rumbles were even worse on the terrifying descent into "historic Deadwood." DDDDDDDDDD. DDDDDDDDDDD. DDDDDDDDDD. DDDDDDDDDD . . . every half-second. When I reached the outskirts of town, I couldn't take it any more. I walked my bike the rest of the way downtown.

I knew Deadwood had the Wild Bill Hickok history and it had built up a reputation as a gambling and motorcycling Mecca, but I still wasn't prepared for what I saw there. I thought the gambling would be more quaint--something like poker games in little saloons. No, this is big time Vegas-style gambling in huge hotel/casino operations.

Still, I was intrigued enough to lock up my bike and walk up and down the streets for a while. The place was crazy. It was fun for a while, but it wore on me and before long I couldn't wait to get out.

A long line of cars waiting to get into Deadwood. This place is crazy.

There's going to be a concert this evening. Concert-goers have staked their claims by placing lawn chairs on the street several hours before the scheduled start time. Also, note the big screen a couple of blocks ahead. It's there so people in back can see the band, which will be playing on a stage another couple of blocks ahead of that.

To escape the frenzied Vegas-like atmosphere, I snuck into The Deadwood Winery for one of their advertised "24 craft beers on tap." Ironic?

My advanced deductive skills tell me that The Deadwood Winery is housed in a former bank building.

My route out of Deadwood was the famous Mickelson Trail. It was enclosed by view-blockers a lot of the time, which is something I jokingly criticized Minnesota's fine bike trails for, but there were also some pretty nice views. Here's one of them:

Looking down on the town of Lead, SD. I had already climbed about 1,000 feet in five miles since Deadwood. That's something I'd never be able to do on a Minnesota bike trail.

Every 7 to 10 miles on The Mickelson, there is a small shelter. Most of them have a water pump. Nice!

I took a break at the Englewood shelter and noticed a bird's nest up in a corner. I think the birds were swallows, but I'm not sure. There were at least three babies in the nest, but I was mostly fascinated by the mother bird, who flew tirelessly back and forth from the nest to a field and back again to feed tiny tidbits of baby swallow food (seeds? insects?) to her babies. Every time mom returned to the nest, there was intense cheeping, nudging, and sibling rivalry going on in order to be the first one fed. Each feeding took less than a second, and then mom would fly off again to get another morsel of food. She was so fast that it took something like 10 attempts to get a picture of her at the nest.

The babies are waiting, not-so-patiently, for their food.

Mom flies off to get more baby food less than a second after feeding one of those hungry mouths.

I've met quite a few friendly and interesting people on this trip, but it just occurred to me that I haven't written about them much. Interesting, isn't it, that I frequently comment on cows, deer, antelope, prairie dogs, and birds, but not on people? Could it be that animal behavior impresses me more than human interactions?

While watching the swallows I heard some rumbles of thunder, so I figured I better hop on Nicycle and begin searching for a perfect campsite. But when it starts raining and I see a flash of lightning, even I know enough to settle for something less than perfect. I pulled my bike up over a hill next to the trail and hurriedly set up my tent. I can do that task in just a couple of minutes, but I got wet anyway. I threw all my gear inside and dove in right behind. I ate some snack food and then fell asleep to the sweet sound of rain pelting the tent.

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Today's ride: 39 miles (63 km)
Total: 524 miles (843 km)

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