On Wednesday last I resolved to take a solo ride. Everyone else had plans that didnt interest me, and I was intent on visiting Custer State Park and riding the legendary Needles Highway. Id missed this ride last year, and wouldnt let that happen again. Its called Needles because it peaks in wild, thin, pointed stone spires, and an eye, which you can see in the attached picture. Threading out below is a series of sharp looping turns, almost unlikely in their severity; at times you expect to hit yourself in the ass! Custer State Park is a beautiful piece of the Black Hills, made no less by the presence of thousands of awesome motorcycles. I had removed the tour pack and lightened my load to make my half-ton honey as nimble as possible. I took the wildlife loop and saw a pronghorn antelope, a herd of wild donkeys, several deer including a spotted fawn, and a large herd of bison that snorted and ran and rolled around, but mostly the clogged up the road and posed for pictures. From there I rode to the Needles, and it was all Id heard. The series of double-back turns were challenging and technical, particularly as crowded as it was for Bike Week. As I came up to the first tunnel - a narrow single lane blasted through the living stone - the flag man stopped me as a Bighorn Sheep tiptoed from a pinnacle down the sheer side. I fumbled for my camera, but couldnt without taking my eyes off the sheep. It was one of the most amazing things Ive ever seen! I went up and through the eye of the needle and down the other side - Im much better uphill than down, and though I was eating other riders up as I ascended, many returned the favor as I descended! I stopped at an outdoor roadside barbecue for a bison burger and a beer and headed back for Rapid City, then on to the Katmandu Campground to meet my friends and plan the evening. The road was packed with bikers and I came down from the hills in in a group of at least two hundred. Heavy storms were predicted all day, and flash flood warnings had been posted, but so far I hadnt felt a drop though the threat was everywhere. When I got a mile from camp, the skies opened up and I slogged down the dirt road and slid into my slot under the awning that held three other bikes and four people huddled against the heavy rain. I rummaged through my tent and found a full quart of Jamesons Irish whiskey, cracked the lid and passed it to my right. A case of Bud appeared and tales of the day began!
Posted on: Sat, 09 Aug 2014 23:23:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015