BRAN Report: Day Four

A rainbow to start Day 4

With it having rained all night long Michael declared straight away that we were not chancing gravel due to the possibilities of bad roads. He was part of the BRAN braintrust that came up with the gravel routes, so I took a lot of stock from his statement. I would have been disappointed, but this meant I would get to ride roads that I had already ridden before. Roads I was on 31 years ago during the "Race Against Death Tour", which you can read all about by clicking the link. (There are two tours documented there.)

So, we ate a breakfast there in town and then headed out slowly, but this time it was just Jayme, Michael, and myself. Residents of Verdigre sent us off with a blessing as they said "we brought the rains" and we were welcome back anytime! Ha! Apparently it had not rained there for quite some time.

The day wouldn't be all that long and at 40 miles, it was only five miles less than the gravel route. 

We started out heading to Niobrara. This was where I met Jo back during my tour in '95 and she worked at a gas station there where we stopped for resupply. Much to my surprise, the building was still there. It was kind of a surreal feeling to look upon that place knowing I had been there once long ago. 

The day was cool-ish, overcast, but a bit breezy. Nothing terrible. We were enjoying the ride as much as possible being stuck out on the road. There was a bit of faffing around in Niobrara looking for a coffee shop but eventually we just rode onward. 

BRAN barns for Jason

The Niobrara River (Yes, the roads are pink here)

The convenience store in Niobrara I had been to 31 years before. 

After Niobrara things were pretty mundane. It was essentially a nice jaunt into Crofton, Nebraska. Michael and Jayme bailed on me and did the last gravel section after all. I did not consider it  because I had the paved route called up on my gps unit and I did not want to suffer issues when trying to shuffle back to the gravel route again. 

So, I rode into Crofton all alone on pavement. It was hilly! Fortunately the wind was not a factor. I was able to bomb the downhills and the Black Mountain Cycles MCD was stable and felt great.  

One of the final hills was a long one, much like the climbs are out this way, and I was able to hit 46.8mph, my fastest recorded speed on the trip. That was fun, actually, and not scary at all. The lack of winds probably attributed to this. 

Crofton was reached and there was an option to go North to Yankton, South Dakota and back to bag a century (100 miles) , but I was not interested especially after the day before and having been so hot. By the way, it wasn't much cooler by this point in the day either. Instead of doing the loop, I stopped at a big convenience store and grabbed something to eat quick before heading into town and to find who knows what. 

A rider munching on a burger and Fritos there told me to make sure I stopped at Crofton's "Welcome Tent" at the bottom of the hill in town and try out the milk. I thought this was a curious welcome to town, and so I checked this out. Turns out this was in the park where we were to camp as well, so this worked out just fine. 

A little something I had in the park at Crofton. This town had a great set up for us!

 The milk, as it turns out, was from Burbach's Dairy, a local farm where dairy products come out of and are distributed to many Eastern Nebraska grocers for resale. The samples in Crofton were excellent. These were regular milk, chocolate milk, orange milk, and cotton candy flavored milk. I had the orange and cotton candy flavors. Highly recommended! I'll have more to say about Burbach's tomorrow. 

I grabbed a brat and Fritos with some macaroni salad at one of the booths set up in the park and ate. Then I saw Jayme and started talking with him about the day and what we were going to do for the evening meal. We were standing by a towering cottonwood tree and the band stand was near by. There was a guitar player singing songs and a large crowd of folks were sitting in the shade enjoying the afternoon. Just then, Jayme jumped around and stifled an outburst, "What the....?"

It was raining ducks in the park at Crofton!

 A tiny duckling fell to the ground with a thud besides two others, I assumed these had also fallen to the ground. We barely had time to vocalize our disbelief when another fell, and another! Someone nearby said these were wood ducks. Where was Momma Duck?! What the heck is going on here! 

Eventually nine ducks were on the ground in two groups. One heading down the hill and the other getting closer to the tree trunk of the tree they jumped ship from. The crowd nearby was aghast and worry grew that these two groups of ducklings would be permanently separated. However; the ducklings were whistling and tweeting which was picked up on by the downhill traveling group which then made a wide arc back to join the other siblings of theirs. 

The last I saw the ducklings were all in one group, Momma Duck was spotted flying anxiously around the park, and a county conservation officer had been called. Hopefully the raining ducks of Crofton were safely reunited with Momma Duck! 

Spaghetti dinner was what was for supper that evening. I also found out we were supposed to visit the dairy farm of the Burbach's the following day. I was excited to see the cows! The tent was set up by a drainage ditch in the park which kind of separated the tent city into two parts. Fortunately no serious rains were forecast for the evening, or I'd have been more wary of the ditch than I was. 

While Crofton had an excellent set up and a wonderful welcome for the riders, there was one thing I found which was rather strange. There was no potable water for the riders in the park at all. Crofton citizens placed water coolers full of plastic water bottles near the park rest rooms for anyone to take. An okay solution, I guess, considering the circumstances, but I'd rather avoid plastic water bottles if at all possible.  Unfortunately, Crofton was not the only place where plastic bottles of water were offered like candy to riders. 

The Touring Series: A Welcome Home Party

This is the final post in the "Touring Series" Thank you for following along! Next week I'll pick up with new entries which will fill in the time between this tour and the first Trans Iowa. Look for an outline of what to expect next week. 

This entry isn't really part of the "Race Against Death Tour" proper, but since it is having to do with that tour, and since a significant event happened along with it, I have always thought of this event as the "period' at the end of the story of this Tour. With that, I hope that you enjoy this entry and will stick around for the next series. Thanks! Now, on with the last chapter.......
 
With the "Race Against Death Tour" over and done with, a few days after arriving at home a party was thrown in honor of the three travelers at the home of their boss from the bike shop.....
______________________________________________________________________________

August 19th, 1995: With the tour behind us we went back to our "regular" lives at the bike shop. It was still pretty busy, being August and all. I slipped right back into the regular routine. Saturday after work was going to be a big party at Tom's house for our return home. More of an excuse for a party, rather than a real reason, but what the heck, ya know?

So I decided to ride my bike over since I planned on having a few beers and escaping the notice of "The Law" on my bicycle after being "under the influence" was easier on two wheels under my own power. So it was that I pedaled over and found the party just beginning. It was just like any other gathering for me. I never was too adept at being "in the flow" of a party with a bunch of people, and this time was no different. Troy and Ryan were there, of course, but I didn't really connect with them.  I sat around, made a few comments, and had my fair share of beer. Later in the evening, I decided to bug out. I wasn't really feeling it.

And to be honest, it was an anti-climatic deal anyway. I was done with the most exciting thing I had ever done on a bicycle with no prospects of anything around the corner, an empty house, and no one to share my experiences with. WooHoo! Yeah.....big deal and all. So I turned the ol' Mongoose towards home and waved goodbye.

Now in those days, I didn't ride much with a light. I usually went at a fairly easy pace in the dark and just took it easy. We had bike paths, so staying out of harms way was easy to figure out. Back streets and bike paths all the way home, and I'd be in the sack trying to forget about all of this. Or so I thought. Turned out that this last hurrah for the tour had a pretty weird punctuation mark!

My plan was to hit the main bike path through George Wyth State Park, link up to the East Lake Trail, which would dump me out near the San Souci bridge. Then some industrial area back streets would guide me to my neighborhood and home. About a ten mile ride in all. It started out just grand. No wind, coolish temperatures, and plenty of street lights to guide me on the way into Geo. Wyth. That's where the speeds were dropped down really low. Darkness in that canopied trail was thick and it was hard to see. That being gotten through, I figured it was a no-brainer now the rest of the way in. That is until I got to the start of the Sans Souci bridge.

I heard crying. Crying like a young ladies cry, and it was saying, "Please help me!" between heavy sobs. I stopped to make sure I was hearing this for real. Yep! No doubt about it, and I could tell it was coming from the direction of the grassy sided dike that lined the river here. I dismounted my bike in search of the source of this crying. Well, it didn't take long to find it. A young woman laying in the grass. She looked to be a teenager. Maybe in her very early 20's at best. I told her I wasn't going to hurt her as she shrank away from me at first. I said I only wanted to know if she needed help. She sat up and said yes, she did need help. She had been pushed out of her boyfriend's car and had no way home. I said, "Pushed out of a car! Are you okay?!" She said she didn't know.

I asked her to stand up if she could, and she did with little effort. Well, at least she was moving all right, and I couldn't see any outward signs of trauma. I began to suspect her of lying about the car deal. She seemed really out of sorts too. Maybe high on something. Who knows in this town! Well, things seemed odd, at best, but I figured I could at least get her home. I mean, after the last week plus of weirdness, this wasn't too far out of the ordinary for me. She steadied herself on my arm as I pushed my bicycle with the other, and we started out down the side walk.

I asked her again about the car, since it seemed rather incredible that she could have been dumped out of a moving car without injury. Well, it seemed the car had been at a stop when she was shoved out. Okay.......maybe she's legit, I am thinking now. Well, apparently she had broke the news that she was pregnant. Okay......now I'm upset and concerned!

I felt really bad for this gal now and was determined to see her get home. I kept telling her it would be okay- we'd get there- don't worry about me. At one point she tugged me to a stop and asked, "Are you an angel?" Hmmm.....I shrugged that off. I was taken aback. Surely this was the oddest thing anybody had ever said to me. I just wanted to keep moving, but I felt an odd feeling inside me when she asked that question. Then, in an instant, all hell broke loose.

Red lights were flashing all around us. An intercom voice said, "Put your hands where we can see them and move away from each other! Slowly!" A blinding light was in our eyes. It was two squad cars and I could see men moving cautiously towards us. Well, I was confused! What the........... And then I was answering questions. "No sir, I don't know her name. No, I have no idea why she was there. I was just trying to help her." Meanwhile, I could hear her upset pleas to not bother me. That I had nothing to do with the deal. I told the cop my story, and then he asked that I just stay put for a bit while they pieced the story together from the young women's side. I agreed to stand still and wait.

Maybe it was ten minutes, I don't know, but it seemed like an hour. What would happen now? Would I be arrested? Would I be taken in? I stood there and then after that excruciatingly long wait, a cop ambled back towards me. He said, "Well, it's obvious to us you had nothing to do with her and what happened to her, so we're going to let you go. But, I suggest you head straight home!" he stated firmly. I said, "Don't worry about that, Sir!" And with that, I mounted up. As I pedaled away, I heard the young lady say thanks. I waved goodbye.

As I started across the street to hit the last couple of miles to the house I was freaked, amazed, happy, and wired all at once. I swore I would get home as fast as I could. I didn't want anymore weirdness on this night, as I figured I had burned through all my "good luck cards" already. I passed through quiet city streets quickly, reached my house, and hit my bed still breathing hard. I was at home.

It was all over. Some welcome home!
______________________________________________________________________________

Yes.......that happened. I never really found out what happened to the young lady. We watched the newspaper at work for any news, and we only discovered a report a few days later, basically telling us what I already knew. The young man who pushed her out of the car was being sought by the police, and there was no further update. Curiously, it was reported that the police were summoned because the young lady, desperate as she was, had been knocking on doors, crying for help. Apparently the residents were scared and reported her to the authorities. She, having no further recourse, threw herself into the grass, having given up on finding anyone to help her, and that is where I found her. That was the end of her story as far as I ever knew it.

But it wasn't the end of my story. Next week I will lay the outline out for the next series- "The Story Of Guitar Ted". This will be about bicycles.......kind of. It will be about my background. It will be personal at times. It will fill in a lot of gaps about my past that many of you are not aware of. It will, maybe, help you see why I did things the way I have done them in the recent past. I hope you will join me on the journey of a different kind.

The Touring Series: A Welcome Home Party

This is the final post in the "Touring Series" Thank you for following along! Next week I'll pick up with new entries which will fill in the time between this tour and the first Trans Iowa. Look for an outline of what to expect next week. 

This entry isn't really part of the "Race Against Death Tour" proper, but since it is having to do with that tour, and since a significant event happened along with it, I have always thought of this event as the "period' at the end of the story of this Tour. With that, I hope that you enjoy this entry and will stick around for the next series. Thanks! Now, on with the last chapter.......
 
With the "Race Against Death Tour" over and done with, a few days after arriving at home a party was thrown in honor of the three travelers at the home of their boss from the bike shop.....
______________________________________________________________________________

August 19th, 1995: With the tour behind us we went back to our "regular" lives at the bike shop. It was still pretty busy, being August and all. I slipped right back into the regular routine. Saturday after work was going to be a big party at Tom's house for our return home. More of an excuse for a party, rather than a real reason, but what the heck, ya know?

So I decided to ride my bike over since I planned on having a few beers and escaping the notice of "The Law" on my bicycle after being "under the influence" was easier on two wheels under my own power. So it was that I pedaled over and found the party just beginning. It was just like any other gathering for me. I never was too adept at being "in the flow" of a party with a bunch of people, and this time was no different. Troy and Ryan were there, of course, but I didn't really connect with them.  I sat around, made a few comments, and had my fair share of beer. Later in the evening, I decided to bug out. I wasn't really feeling it.

And to be honest, it was an anti-climatic deal anyway. I was done with the most exciting thing I had ever done on a bicycle with no prospects of anything around the corner, an empty house, and no one to share my experiences with. WooHoo! Yeah.....big deal and all. So I turned the ol' Mongoose towards home and waved goodbye.

Now in those days, I didn't ride much with a light. I usually went at a fairly easy pace in the dark and just took it easy. We had bike paths, so staying out of harms way was easy to figure out. Back streets and bike paths all the way home, and I'd be in the sack trying to forget about all of this. Or so I thought. Turned out that this last hurrah for the tour had a pretty weird punctuation mark!

My plan was to hit the main bike path through George Wyth State Park, link up to the East Lake Trail, which would dump me out near the San Souci bridge. Then some industrial area back streets would guide me to my neighborhood and home. About a ten mile ride in all. It started out just grand. No wind, coolish temperatures, and plenty of street lights to guide me on the way into Geo. Wyth. That's where the speeds were dropped down really low. Darkness in that canopied trail was thick and it was hard to see. That being gotten through, I figured it was a no-brainer now the rest of the way in. That is until I got to the start of the Sans Souci bridge.

I heard crying. Crying like a young ladies cry, and it was saying, "Please help me!" between heavy sobs. I stopped to make sure I was hearing this for real. Yep! No doubt about it, and I could tell it was coming from the direction of the grassy sided dike that lined the river here. I dismounted my bike in search of the source of this crying. Well, it didn't take long to find it. A young woman laying in the grass. She looked to be a teenager. Maybe in her very early 20's at best. I told her I wasn't going to hurt her as she shrank away from me at first. I said I only wanted to know if she needed help. She sat up and said yes, she did need help. She had been pushed out of her boyfriend's car and had no way home. I said, "Pushed out of a car! Are you okay?!" She said she didn't know.

I asked her to stand up if she could, and she did with little effort. Well, at least she was moving all right, and I couldn't see any outward signs of trauma. I began to suspect her of lying about the car deal. She seemed really out of sorts too. Maybe high on something. Who knows in this town! Well, things seemed odd, at best, but I figured I could at least get her home. I mean, after the last week plus of weirdness, this wasn't too far out of the ordinary for me. She steadied herself on my arm as I pushed my bicycle with the other, and we started out down the side walk.

I asked her again about the car, since it seemed rather incredible that she could have been dumped out of a moving car without injury. Well, it seemed the car had been at a stop when she was shoved out. Okay.......maybe she's legit, I am thinking now. Well, apparently she had broke the news that she was pregnant. Okay......now I'm upset and concerned!

I felt really bad for this gal now and was determined to see her get home. I kept telling her it would be okay- we'd get there- don't worry about me. At one point she tugged me to a stop and asked, "Are you an angel?" Hmmm.....I shrugged that off. I was taken aback. Surely this was the oddest thing anybody had ever said to me. I just wanted to keep moving, but I felt an odd feeling inside me when she asked that question. Then, in an instant, all hell broke loose.

Red lights were flashing all around us. An intercom voice said, "Put your hands where we can see them and move away from each other! Slowly!" A blinding light was in our eyes. It was two squad cars and I could see men moving cautiously towards us. Well, I was confused! What the........... And then I was answering questions. "No sir, I don't know her name. No, I have no idea why she was there. I was just trying to help her." Meanwhile, I could hear her upset pleas to not bother me. That I had nothing to do with the deal. I told the cop my story, and then he asked that I just stay put for a bit while they pieced the story together from the young women's side. I agreed to stand still and wait.

Maybe it was ten minutes, I don't know, but it seemed like an hour. What would happen now? Would I be arrested? Would I be taken in? I stood there and then after that excruciatingly long wait, a cop ambled back towards me. He said, "Well, it's obvious to us you had nothing to do with her and what happened to her, so we're going to let you go. But, I suggest you head straight home!" he stated firmly. I said, "Don't worry about that, Sir!" And with that, I mounted up. As I pedaled away, I heard the young lady say thanks. I waved goodbye.

As I started across the street to hit the last couple of miles to the house I was freaked, amazed, happy, and wired all at once. I swore I would get home as fast as I could. I didn't want anymore weirdness on this night, as I figured I had burned through all my "good luck cards" already. I passed through quiet city streets quickly, reached my house, and hit my bed still breathing hard. I was at home.

It was all over. Some welcome home!
______________________________________________________________________________

Yes.......that happened. I never really found out what happened to the young lady. We watched the newspaper at work for any news, and we only discovered a report a few days later, basically telling us what I already knew. The young man who pushed her out of the car was being sought by the police, and there was no further update. Curiously, it was reported that the police were summoned because the young lady, desperate as she was, had been knocking on doors, crying for help. Apparently the residents were scared and reported her to the authorities. She, having no further recourse, threw herself into the grass, having given up on finding anyone to help her, and that is where I found her. That was the end of her story as far as I ever knew it.

But it wasn't the end of my story. Next week I will lay the outline out for the next series- "The Story Of Guitar Ted". This will be about bicycles.......kind of. It will be about my background. It will be personal at times. It will fill in a lot of gaps about my past that many of you are not aware of. It will, maybe, help you see why I did things the way I have done them in the recent past. I hope you will join me on the journey of a different kind.

The Touring Series: The Load Out

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" appears today and next Sunday then it ends. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. In two weeks a continuation of the time between this tour and Trans Iowa starts.         


After putting in 21.13 miles just dinking around the Black Hills on Day 9, "The Race Against Death Tour" makes its final short ride into Hill City on Day 10.....
_________________________________________________________________________

August 16th, 1995: Today is the day.

 We only have to pack up one last time for a short ride into Hill City to meet Ryan's Dad at the Conoco station by 9am. As we get moving, the conversation is non-existent, other than the asking for details about the pick up. A solemn air hangs over us three travelers. It is in stark contradiction to the feeling everyone else around us has, as it is another picture perfect day in the Black Hills.

I stopped and took one last look down the drive of Rafter J Bar Ranch, then it was time to go.

As we roll out of Rafter J-Bar Ranch for the last time, a bittersweet feeling comes over me, as I remember all the years before when I was here as a child. The last day and a half were fantastic and the best of the tour. It was hard to know it was over.

Then I turned to follow Ryan and Troy down the long driveway as they have gone out of sight already. It seems as though the uncomfortable feelings are better put behind them as quickly as possible.

In fact, they are motoring along at a fair clip as I dangle off the back. What's the hurry? We had plenty of time to make our rendezvous and I was enjoying these last miles for all they were worth. Watching folks getting ready for fall. Seeing the local high school football team practicing for opening day. All the little things were in sharper focus for me today.

This is the day.

We arrive at the Conoco station and Troy goes to find a phone. Ryan looks for some grub to chew on, and I sit by the bikes to guard them one last time. It seemed like we were sitting there forever waiting for something that might not happen. I felt a bit of anxiety. What if we have to stay another night? Money was tight, I was almost out. I could only afford a few Cokes for the ride home. Man! It seemed like the minutes were taking hours.

This was the day.

Then Ryan's Dad arrived in his car pulling a white aluminum box trailer. Greetings, some small talk, then we loaded the bikes in the trailer, and we sat down for a 12 hour ride back home. This is going to be a long day.

The familiar sites of home now brought reality into sharp focus. (Image of the Ice House Museum)

The ride was uneventful. I figured we were like a band on the road. Traveling to another show. I thought of Jackson Browne's "The Load Out". Somehow it seemed appropriate. I was wishing we could "play just a little bit longer" but we couldn't.

Today was that day.

That 12 hours was like a foggy memory. It seemed surreal. Then familiar sights bring a sharper focus as we got closer to our home territory. Finally, we reached the outskirts of Cedar Falls and I saw the twinkling lights of the city. The plan was to get dropped off at our boss' house. Then we were going our separate ways. Tom was there, he had a big smile, as usual. He was excited to hear about our adventures, but Troy and Ryan were ready to get home, and I was left to sip a few beers and give Tom the lowdown on the highlights. 

Eventually it was time for me to leave and I turned my bike towards home. I rode it through the black of night after promising that I would attend a "welcome home party" that upcoming Saturday night at Tom's place. It was pretty lonely on that ride, but not as lonely as that empty house I stepped into that night.   

And that was the end of the day. The day the tour ended.
___________________________________________________________________________

Leaving South Dakota via a car was......weird. After being bicycle dependant for ten days, we loaded up our rigs into the corner of a small, aluminum box trailer and shut the door. It seemed all wrong. I crawled into the back seat of the vehicle we were to ride home in. I was pretty much left alone to my thoughts. Ryan and his father didn't have a very conversational relationship, and so we felt kind of uncomfortable with that, as Troy and I weren't familiar with Ryan's Dad at all.

Then we reached home, and of course, Ryan took off right away with his father. Troy had his wife, who was anxious to see him, pick him up not minutes later. I wasn't in any hurry to get home. I had nothing there awaiting me besides an empty house.

As for me, I had work the following day, as Tom said I could come in despite the fact I had planned on having the rest of that week off. I was happy to have that to look forward to, and I think Tom knew that somehow. But as I said, he made me promise to come to the "welcome home" party. I didn't really want anything to do with it, but whatever. I supposed there was no harm in going. What I didn't know was that there was one last bizarre thing left to experience.

Next Week: The "Welcome Home Party" and a weird encounter.

The Touring Series: The Load Out

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" appears today and next Sunday then it ends. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. In two weeks a continuation of the time between this tour and Trans Iowa starts.         


After putting in 21.13 miles just dinking around the Black Hills on Day 9, "The Race Against Death Tour" makes its final short ride into Hill City on Day 10.....
_________________________________________________________________________

August 16th, 1995: Today is the day.

 We only have to pack up one last time for a short ride into Hill City to meet Ryan's Dad at the Conoco station by 9am. As we get moving, the conversation is non-existent, other than the asking for details about the pick up. A solemn air hangs over us three travelers. It is in stark contradiction to the feeling everyone else around us has, as it is another picture perfect day in the Black Hills.

I stopped and took one last look down the drive of Rafter J Bar Ranch, then it was time to go.

As we roll out of Rafter J-Bar Ranch for the last time, a bittersweet feeling comes over me, as I remember all the years before when I was here as a child. The last day and a half were fantastic and the best of the tour. It was hard to know it was over.

Then I turned to follow Ryan and Troy down the long driveway as they have gone out of sight already. It seems as though the uncomfortable feelings are better put behind them as quickly as possible.

In fact, they are motoring along at a fair clip as I dangle off the back. What's the hurry? We had plenty of time to make our rendezvous and I was enjoying these last miles for all they were worth. Watching folks getting ready for fall. Seeing the local high school football team practicing for opening day. All the little things were in sharper focus for me today.

This is the day.

We arrive at the Conoco station and Troy goes to find a phone. Ryan looks for some grub to chew on, and I sit by the bikes to guard them one last time. It seemed like we were sitting there forever waiting for something that might not happen. I felt a bit of anxiety. What if we have to stay another night? Money was tight, I was almost out. I could only afford a few Cokes for the ride home. Man! It seemed like the minutes were taking hours.

This was the day.

Then Ryan's Dad arrived in his car pulling a white aluminum box trailer. Greetings, some small talk, then we loaded the bikes in the trailer, and we sat down for a 12 hour ride back home. This is going to be a long day.

The familiar sites of home now brought reality into sharp focus. (Image of the Ice House Museum)

The ride was uneventful. I figured we were like a band on the road. Traveling to another show. I thought of Jackson Browne's "The Load Out". Somehow it seemed appropriate. I was wishing we could "play just a little bit longer" but we couldn't.

Today was that day.

That 12 hours was like a foggy memory. It seemed surreal. Then familiar sights bring a sharper focus as we got closer to our home territory. Finally, we reached the outskirts of Cedar Falls and I saw the twinkling lights of the city. The plan was to get dropped off at our boss' house. Then we were going our separate ways. Tom was there, he had a big smile, as usual. He was excited to hear about our adventures, but Troy and Ryan were ready to get home, and I was left to sip a few beers and give Tom the lowdown on the highlights. 

Eventually it was time for me to leave and I turned my bike towards home. I rode it through the black of night after promising that I would attend a "welcome home party" that upcoming Saturday night at Tom's place. It was pretty lonely on that ride, but not as lonely as that empty house I stepped into that night.   

And that was the end of the day. The day the tour ended.
___________________________________________________________________________

Leaving South Dakota via a car was......weird. After being bicycle dependant for ten days, we loaded up our rigs into the corner of a small, aluminum box trailer and shut the door. It seemed all wrong. I crawled into the back seat of the vehicle we were to ride home in. I was pretty much left alone to my thoughts. Ryan and his father didn't have a very conversational relationship, and so we felt kind of uncomfortable with that, as Troy and I weren't familiar with Ryan's Dad at all.

Then we reached home, and of course, Ryan took off right away with his father. Troy had his wife, who was anxious to see him, pick him up not minutes later. I wasn't in any hurry to get home. I had nothing there awaiting me besides an empty house.

As for me, I had work the following day, as Tom said I could come in despite the fact I had planned on having the rest of that week off. I was happy to have that to look forward to, and I think Tom knew that somehow. But as I said, he made me promise to come to the "welcome home" party. I didn't really want anything to do with it, but whatever. I supposed there was no harm in going. What I didn't know was that there was one last bizarre thing left to experience.

Next Week: The "Welcome Home Party" and a weird encounter.

The Touring Series: A Day At Sylvan Lake

 

A Guitar Ted productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. There will be two more weeks. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

"The Race Against Death Tour" is camped out at the Rafter J-Bar Ranch.........
___________________________________________________

August 15, 1995: After doing a measly 27.6 miles the day before, and hanging out the rest of the day, we were all pretty refreshed and rested considering all the brutal riding and weather we'd seen so far on this trip. The weather here in the Black Hills was optimum. Cooler than we'd had, sunny, and not at all windy. In fact, you could say it was about perfect. We decided to hit up Hill City for breakfast and we rolled the short way into town to find a decent place to eat. We seemed to be oddballs, outcasts, and drifters to the local populace. I suppose "touristas" were all treated this way, but as we were from a non-tourist destination, we didn't quite "get it", and we were a bit put off by the attitudes we seemed to be attracting.

We eventually settled on a place and ate. It was nice to not be in a hurry, but after so may days of hustling, it felt weird too. We ate our breakfasts and the we went and ambled about the town a bit. I recall walking in one place that was kind of a tourist trap joint. I don't remeber much about it other than that they had a Fender Bandmaster amplifier head for sale. I always wished later that I would have found a way to buy that......

After taking our leisure we had decided that the Sylvan Lake option was our best bet . Especially in regards to Troy's knee. It was feeling better, but he didn't want to stress it out climbing all the hills around here and we really didn't have a lot of time. Especially since we goofed off all morning. So off we went in search of the Needles Highway and Sylvan Lake.

Ryan using the rock climbing shoes he had packed for over a week from Iowa at Sylvan lake.

The climb up started not far from where we had camped. It was sort of gradual for about a half mile, then we saw them. Switch backs! Real, honest to goodness switch backs! It was pretty amazing to climb up this road. It went on for six miles like this, and then we saw the turn off to Sylvan Lake right as things leveled out a bit.

The turn off was lined with cars waiting to get in, so we three just fell in line. Waiting our turns, we chatted and laughed. It was a relaxing, fun time with no pressure. Not like we normally had on the bikes up to this point. When we got within eyesight of the Ranger's hut, we were waved up. We looked around like, "Who? Us?!", and we went around the cars of scowling faces. We were told by the Ranger at the hut that bicycles get in for free. No need to wait in line to pay! Yes! Bicycle benefits! Me likey!

Once we entered the park, the awe inspiring landscape of Sylvan Lake took us in, and we began to cruise around checking out the place. We saw rock climbers and hikers everywhere. The spires of rock jutting straight up out of the lake were like something out of a sci-fi movie set. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before, nor since then.

Ryan had his rock climbing shoes in his pannier, just in case he saw a place in the Rocky Mountains where he could spend time trying them out. Well, we weren't going to make it out there now, but this would certainly do! Troy tried a little bit, but I was content to watch. After Ryan had his fill of that, we relaxed a bit, got some photos, and decided to head back down the mountain for the campground and supper.

The six mile screaming downhill of switch backs was pretty hairy. Ryan almost rolled a tire, and my bike was skipping across the pavement on the skinny roadie tires. I was used to fat mountain bike treads, not these 35mm Avocets! I went as fast as I could, but Troy and Ryan had better handling bikes and left me in their dust. Oh well! It only took 13 minutes to descend that 6 miles, so it wasn't long until I caught back on at the bottom.

The three "Race Against Death" tourists- (L-R) Ryan, GT, Troy

Back at the campground, we hit up another game of hacky-sack, then cooked up our last meal on the road. The next day, Ryan's Dad was heading out to meet us at 9am in Hill City to pick us up with a trailer for our bikes to ride in. The end started to settle in on our minds. This trip would be over soon, and we all retreated into silence as the night time advanced.

I suppose it is hard to explain what one feels after such an ordeal. Especially when you sense a bond with your fellow travelers that goes beyond your comfort level to express. Silence becomes your only option at that point, I suppose, because you know you are heading down a different path once the fellowship is broken.

At any rate, we hit the tent for the last time on "The Race Against Death Tour".
____________________________________________________________________________


I look back at this now after so many years and realize how precious that day was. I think I had an inkling of the importance of it even then. I didn't want the day to end, as I recall. It was so heavy a feeling that, for all intents and purposes, I don't really remember anything after running down that mountain on our bicycles. That is something that seems fresh in my mind yet. Perhaps that was the defacto "end" of the trip in my mind. I don't know.

Another practical way to look at this was that it would have been the "end" no matter what. Troy's knee issues notwithstanding, we were all out of cash. Without money, we weren't going anywhere much beyond where we had made it. Those times were different. We had a couple of credit cards, but the reality of those days was that cash was king. Small, out of the way places, weren't always up on accepting credit cards, especially from three young vagrants on bicycles.

It was not sinking in yet at the end of this day that I had a very different reality coming to slap me in the face in about 24 hours time. My world was about to change back to reality, and fast.

Next Week: The Load Out

The Touring Series: A Day At Sylvan Lake

 

A Guitar Ted productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. There will be two more weeks. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

"The Race Against Death Tour" is camped out at the Rafter J-Bar Ranch.........
___________________________________________________

August 15, 1995: After doing a measly 27.6 miles the day before, and hanging out the rest of the day, we were all pretty refreshed and rested considering all the brutal riding and weather we'd seen so far on this trip. The weather here in the Black Hills was optimum. Cooler than we'd had, sunny, and not at all windy. In fact, you could say it was about perfect. We decided to hit up Hill City for breakfast and we rolled the short way into town to find a decent place to eat. We seemed to be oddballs, outcasts, and drifters to the local populace. I suppose "touristas" were all treated this way, but as we were from a non-tourist destination, we didn't quite "get it", and we were a bit put off by the attitudes we seemed to be attracting.

We eventually settled on a place and ate. It was nice to not be in a hurry, but after so may days of hustling, it felt weird too. We ate our breakfasts and the we went and ambled about the town a bit. I recall walking in one place that was kind of a tourist trap joint. I don't remeber much about it other than that they had a Fender Bandmaster amplifier head for sale. I always wished later that I would have found a way to buy that......

After taking our leisure we had decided that the Sylvan Lake option was our best bet . Especially in regards to Troy's knee. It was feeling better, but he didn't want to stress it out climbing all the hills around here and we really didn't have a lot of time. Especially since we goofed off all morning. So off we went in search of the Needles Highway and Sylvan Lake.

Ryan using the rock climbing shoes he had packed for over a week from Iowa at Sylvan lake.

The climb up started not far from where we had camped. It was sort of gradual for about a half mile, then we saw them. Switch backs! Real, honest to goodness switch backs! It was pretty amazing to climb up this road. It went on for six miles like this, and then we saw the turn off to Sylvan Lake right as things leveled out a bit.

The turn off was lined with cars waiting to get in, so we three just fell in line. Waiting our turns, we chatted and laughed. It was a relaxing, fun time with no pressure. Not like we normally had on the bikes up to this point. When we got within eyesight of the Ranger's hut, we were waved up. We looked around like, "Who? Us?!", and we went around the cars of scowling faces. We were told by the Ranger at the hut that bicycles get in for free. No need to wait in line to pay! Yes! Bicycle benefits! Me likey!

Once we entered the park, the awe inspiring landscape of Sylvan Lake took us in, and we began to cruise around checking out the place. We saw rock climbers and hikers everywhere. The spires of rock jutting straight up out of the lake were like something out of a sci-fi movie set. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before, nor since then.

Ryan had his rock climbing shoes in his pannier, just in case he saw a place in the Rocky Mountains where he could spend time trying them out. Well, we weren't going to make it out there now, but this would certainly do! Troy tried a little bit, but I was content to watch. After Ryan had his fill of that, we relaxed a bit, got some photos, and decided to head back down the mountain for the campground and supper.

The six mile screaming downhill of switch backs was pretty hairy. Ryan almost rolled a tire, and my bike was skipping across the pavement on the skinny roadie tires. I was used to fat mountain bike treads, not these 35mm Avocets! I went as fast as I could, but Troy and Ryan had better handling bikes and left me in their dust. Oh well! It only took 13 minutes to descend that 6 miles, so it wasn't long until I caught back on at the bottom.

The three "Race Against Death" tourists- (L-R) Ryan, GT, Troy

Back at the campground, we hit up another game of hacky-sack, then cooked up our last meal on the road. The next day, Ryan's Dad was heading out to meet us at 9am in Hill City to pick us up with a trailer for our bikes to ride in. The end started to settle in on our minds. This trip would be over soon, and we all retreated into silence as the night time advanced.

I suppose it is hard to explain what one feels after such an ordeal. Especially when you sense a bond with your fellow travelers that goes beyond your comfort level to express. Silence becomes your only option at that point, I suppose, because you know you are heading down a different path once the fellowship is broken.

At any rate, we hit the tent for the last time on "The Race Against Death Tour".
____________________________________________________________________________


I look back at this now after so many years and realize how precious that day was. I think I had an inkling of the importance of it even then. I didn't want the day to end, as I recall. It was so heavy a feeling that, for all intents and purposes, I don't really remember anything after running down that mountain on our bicycles. That is something that seems fresh in my mind yet. Perhaps that was the defacto "end" of the trip in my mind. I don't know.

Another practical way to look at this was that it would have been the "end" no matter what. Troy's knee issues notwithstanding, we were all out of cash. Without money, we weren't going anywhere much beyond where we had made it. Those times were different. We had a couple of credit cards, but the reality of those days was that cash was king. Small, out of the way places, weren't always up on accepting credit cards, especially from three young vagrants on bicycles.

It was not sinking in yet at the end of this day that I had a very different reality coming to slap me in the face in about 24 hours time. My world was about to change back to reality, and fast.

Next Week: The Load Out

The Touring Series: A Game of Hacky-Sack

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. Expect about three more weeks worth. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

"The Race Against Death Tour" is at a campground near Hill City, South Dakota....
___________________________________________________________________________

With our campground set up, and plenty of day left, we set about doing some much needed laundry, taking showers, and then just kicking back. A bit of discussion was had about what to do at this point. We were not going anywhere down the road, and we didn't have enough money to stay at the campground the rest of the week. It wasn't that expensive, but it cost $20.00 a day, and that would have us tapped out in no time. We'd spent unexpectedly the evening before in Rapid City, what with the Mexican meal and the ice cream afterward.  Touring budgets for each of us was about ten dollars a day. Of course, some days when we couldn't buy anything we didn't spend that much, but by the time we had reached Rafter J Bar Ranch, money was tight.

We talked about what to do as we were sure we'd have another day, at least, of hanging out. But with our money situation, options were few. Finally we decided to see about getting picked up. Ryan thought his Dad might be able to swing it, so he called him. Arrangements were made for us to be picked up in Hill City on Wednesday. Well, that left us the rest of Monday, and all of Tuesday, to hang out.

Our camping receipt from our first day at Rafter J Bar Ranch

This was going to be pretty different. After eight days of working our tails off, we were going to be basically doing next to nothing physically, or so it would seem. We all got into a game of hacky-sack, and let the hours roll by for the remainder of the day. Laughing, joking around, and reminiscing about the past days was fun. Still, there was an air of sadness lingering as well. We knew it was over, and we really weren't quite ready for it to be.

Ryan went into another "Ren and Stimpy" bit right as two lovely young ladies were walking past our site. One of the lasses called out, "Is your friend all right?" Seeing that she was serious, Troy and I busted out laughing, and Ryan's face was about as red as it gets. That was how it was though for the most part. Ryan was the clown of the trip, and really was a great foil for Troy's aggressive and serious nature on the bike.

With a whole day at our disposal for Tuesday, we did a bit of research and found out we were only a few short miles from Sylvan Lake on the Needles Highway, which started not far from the exit to the campground. We also talked about checking out Rushmore and Crazy Horse Monument. Maybe all of it in a day? We weren't sure, but we thought we would explore around anyway. No sense in sitting around all day long in a campground when you are so close to so many attractions, or so we were thinking.

At any rate, this day was over, and it was cooling off in a hurry with the Sun's setting. We made for the tent and had a wonderful nights sleep.
______________________________________________________________________________

Now the "Race Against Death Tour" felt more like "Summer Vacation" and it was pretty fun, actually. Oddly enough, we shifted gears from nose-to-the-grindstone, hard cycling, hard living touring guys to slumming Summer bums with alarming ease. I recall feeling a million miles away from the World, but also feeling the World's tapping on my shoulder. It was sort of easy to ignore on that Monday afternoon, since Wednesday was, well.......we weren't going there just yet. We were going to savor every last drop of this. No worries, no responsibilities, no knowledge of the World's troubles and issues.

It's interesting to think about it now, so many years and a Universe away from those times. Social media would make what we had experienced then impossible now. You just couldn't do this as easily as we did in 1995. I suppose there are things one can do..... Maybe Tour Divide, but even that has social media posts and well....... No. Doing what we did is simply not possible anymore. I'm so glad I did do that tour back then.

Next week: A Day At Sylvan Lake

The Touring Series: A Game of Hacky-Sack

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. Expect about three more weeks worth. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

"The Race Against Death Tour" is at a campground near Hill City, South Dakota....
___________________________________________________________________________

With our campground set up, and plenty of day left, we set about doing some much needed laundry, taking showers, and then just kicking back. A bit of discussion was had about what to do at this point. We were not going anywhere down the road, and we didn't have enough money to stay at the campground the rest of the week. It wasn't that expensive, but it cost $20.00 a day, and that would have us tapped out in no time. We'd spent unexpectedly the evening before in Rapid City, what with the Mexican meal and the ice cream afterward.  Touring budgets for each of us was about ten dollars a day. Of course, some days when we couldn't buy anything we didn't spend that much, but by the time we had reached Rafter J Bar Ranch, money was tight.

We talked about what to do as we were sure we'd have another day, at least, of hanging out. But with our money situation, options were few. Finally we decided to see about getting picked up. Ryan thought his Dad might be able to swing it, so he called him. Arrangements were made for us to be picked up in Hill City on Wednesday. Well, that left us the rest of Monday, and all of Tuesday, to hang out.

Our camping receipt from our first day at Rafter J Bar Ranch

This was going to be pretty different. After eight days of working our tails off, we were going to be basically doing next to nothing physically, or so it would seem. We all got into a game of hacky-sack, and let the hours roll by for the remainder of the day. Laughing, joking around, and reminiscing about the past days was fun. Still, there was an air of sadness lingering as well. We knew it was over, and we really weren't quite ready for it to be.

Ryan went into another "Ren and Stimpy" bit right as two lovely young ladies were walking past our site. One of the lasses called out, "Is your friend all right?" Seeing that she was serious, Troy and I busted out laughing, and Ryan's face was about as red as it gets. That was how it was though for the most part. Ryan was the clown of the trip, and really was a great foil for Troy's aggressive and serious nature on the bike.

With a whole day at our disposal for Tuesday, we did a bit of research and found out we were only a few short miles from Sylvan Lake on the Needles Highway, which started not far from the exit to the campground. We also talked about checking out Rushmore and Crazy Horse Monument. Maybe all of it in a day? We weren't sure, but we thought we would explore around anyway. No sense in sitting around all day long in a campground when you are so close to so many attractions, or so we were thinking.

At any rate, this day was over, and it was cooling off in a hurry with the Sun's setting. We made for the tent and had a wonderful nights sleep.
______________________________________________________________________________

Now the "Race Against Death Tour" felt more like "Summer Vacation" and it was pretty fun, actually. Oddly enough, we shifted gears from nose-to-the-grindstone, hard cycling, hard living touring guys to slumming Summer bums with alarming ease. I recall feeling a million miles away from the World, but also feeling the World's tapping on my shoulder. It was sort of easy to ignore on that Monday afternoon, since Wednesday was, well.......we weren't going there just yet. We were going to savor every last drop of this. No worries, no responsibilities, no knowledge of the World's troubles and issues.

It's interesting to think about it now, so many years and a Universe away from those times. Social media would make what we had experienced then impossible now. You just couldn't do this as easily as we did in 1995. I suppose there are things one can do..... Maybe Tour Divide, but even that has social media posts and well....... No. Doing what we did is simply not possible anymore. I'm so glad I did do that tour back then.

Next week: A Day At Sylvan Lake

The Touring Series: A Big Announcement

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. There probably is about three weeks left to go. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

We join the trio after a bizarre day in a motel room in Rapid City. 

 _______________________________________________________________________

August 14th, 1995: We awake early in the motel in downtown Rapid City. It was time to pack up our stuff for our first foray into the Black Hills of South Dakota. However; we weren't very happy. Things were kind of glum as we made ready since Troy made an announcement right outta the sack that his knee was pretty iffy. Apparently, the previous days efforts in that insane wind were too much, and one of his knees was giving him fits. Even during the previous day, he knew of it, but didn't want to admit it. I thought back to how Troy was off the back a couple of times, which was very uncharacteristic of him. The time we stopped and he stretched out on the ground as well. Hmm. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own emotions that day to have noticed then.

This wasn't setting well with Troy. He was very disappointed in himself. The year before, on the "Beg, Borrow, and Bastard Tour", Troy was the guy who most rued the day we had to call it quits in Manistique, Michigan. Troy was the one that wasn't going to be the reason we didn't make it this time when we set out. In fact, he wasn't going to let any of us "not make it". And here he was, admitting that he had an injury that would, as he said,  "possibly slow us down".

Well, I think Ryan and I both saw through his pride. We said "the right things", encouraging Troy. Saying it wouldn't be a big deal if we had to stop. So we kind of danced around the problem that we both knew was going to close out this trip. It was now just a matter of when Troy would say he was done. It was a difficult time in the motel room that day. Very uncomfortable.

So it was that we set out with a quiet, brooding mood about us. It should have been an exciting day, the sun was out, it was cool, it wasn't windy at all. By all appearances it was a great day to be on the bike. The nicest one we had experienced on tour so far. However; we set off as if we were headed into a drizzling rain on a gray morning.

The way the road was laid out didn't help. The climb started right at the door of the motel. Straight up into the Black Hills on busy Highway 16 West. At least there was a paved shoulder wide enough to insulate us from the heavy morning traffic. Troy was up the road, Ryan in second, and I followed. We were all separated by about a hundred yards. Granny gear climb all the way into the Black Hills. Probably about a five mile slog without any relief.

The Keystone WYE Bridge near where we stopped to look at maps. Image courtesy of Wikipedia

Oddly enough, I felt great. I found a rhythm and was able to stick to it all the way up. At the top the road entered the pines and the scenery was fantastic. We stopped near a laminated, arched wooden bridge to check the maps. We decided on a course and set off. Troy was soldiering on, and it seemed now after the huge climb was behind us that he may recover enough to keep going. However; his pace wasn't the fiery, aggressive one we were used to. His speed was about what it was going up, whether the road was flat or tilted up. Soon I found myself off the front, with Ryan hanging back with Troy. I don't really know what Ryan was doing, maybe trying to talk Troy into stopping. Maybe encouraging him to go on. Whichever it was, I never did find out. I had to wait for them several times. Finally it was obvious that Troy couldn't go on. We had to put a stop to the madness before he really destroyed his knee.

Basically Troy knew he was done for. However; he was going to keep going, until he let us talk him out of it.  I suppose to assuage himself somewhat of his guilty feelings for being the reason we had to quit. At any rate, we decided that the next campground we saw we were going to stop at for the day. I rode on ahead a bit, checking all the signs. Looking at all the "post card" scenery. I was a bit excited because I knew we were in the same area I had been in when I was much younger on a family vacation. My family and I stayed at a really cool campground/dude ranch back then called Rafter J-Bar Ranch. I was curious if I would see any signs of it again on this road, if this even was the right road.

Once again I had to stop because Ryan and Troy were no where in sight. . Ryan came up not soon after. He was worried about Troy. Ryan told me that Troy was really hurting, basically riding one legged now. He said we needed to find a place pronto. Well, Troy rolled up about then, and Ryan said, "What's up this driveway?" I said I didn't know, but not a second after the words came out of my mouth, Ryan found a sign that said "Rafter J-Bar Ranch" and an arrow pointing up the road. It was still here! The very same joint I had stayed at years ago when I was a child.

It was a nice place too. We found a camping spot right near the showers that had a laundry attached. It was time to set up camp, relax, and just goof off. We were all resigned to being done with the tour now, but what we would do with the remaining days, we had no idea just yet.
_________________________________________________________________________

The end of touring. Well, it was not really hitting me just yet that day. I recall after we reached the Keystone WYE Bridge that I spent much of those last miles alone, off the front, just taking in one beautiful scene after another. I can still vividly see the man fly fishing in a roadside creek, or the majestic pines along the hillsides as we twisted our way further toward Hill City, South Dakota.

Troy was hanging his head low the entire ride that day. He must have felt just awful. I was on another level though, since I had memories flooding back of when I was about 11 or so and we had been to Rafter J Bar Ranch on a family vacation. I guess I wasn't very tuned in to what was happening, so the sadness of "the end" of the tour wasn't reaching me. I wasn't done with this deal, and stopping to stay at the campground sounded like a lot of fun to me then. We had fully a half a day to just chill now. I was looking forward to some down time.

But, in effect, it was the end. We weren't going to ride into Wyoming, and eventually into Colorado. We wouldn't get to see the Rocky Mountains. But somehow, for me, it didn't matter anymore. I had let a lot of stuff go the day before, and now I was just living. Enjoying Life.

Next Week- "A Game Of Hacky-Sack"

The Touring Series: A Big Announcement

A Guitar Ted Productions series

 Thanks for joining me again on another adventure in "The Touring Series". This tour was dubbed the "Race Against Death Tour". This tour occurred in August of 1995. The three participants, Ryan, Troy, and your's truly, left from Cedar Falls, Iowa to try and get to Winter Park, Colorado in two weeks. Here I am reproducing the tale, mostly as it was posted on the blog in 2009. There are some new edits and additions. I also will add new remarks and memories where appropriate at the end of each post. 

 Once again, there were no cell phones, internet, social media platforms, or digital cameras in use by we tourers in 1995. I will post images where I can, but this tour wasn't well documented in images, so there probably will be very few sprinkled throughout. A modern image will be used only where it depicts things I want to clarify, like where we were in that part of the tour via a map image, or the like.
 
The "Touring Series" will appear every Sunday until it ends. There probably is about three weeks left to go. Look for past entries by scrolling back to a previous Sunday's post, or type in "Touring Series" in the search box to find more. 

We join the trio after a bizarre day in a motel room in Rapid City. 

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August 14th, 1995: We awake early in the motel in downtown Rapid City. It was time to pack up our stuff for our first foray into the Black Hills of South Dakota. However; we weren't very happy. Things were kind of glum as we made ready since Troy made an announcement right outta the sack that his knee was pretty iffy. Apparently, the previous days efforts in that insane wind were too much, and one of his knees was giving him fits. Even during the previous day, he knew of it, but didn't want to admit it. I thought back to how Troy was off the back a couple of times, which was very uncharacteristic of him. The time we stopped and he stretched out on the ground as well. Hmm. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own emotions that day to have noticed then.

This wasn't setting well with Troy. He was very disappointed in himself. The year before, on the "Beg, Borrow, and Bastard Tour", Troy was the guy who most rued the day we had to call it quits in Manistique, Michigan. Troy was the one that wasn't going to be the reason we didn't make it this time when we set out. In fact, he wasn't going to let any of us "not make it". And here he was, admitting that he had an injury that would, as he said,  "possibly slow us down".

Well, I think Ryan and I both saw through his pride. We said "the right things", encouraging Troy. Saying it wouldn't be a big deal if we had to stop. So we kind of danced around the problem that we both knew was going to close out this trip. It was now just a matter of when Troy would say he was done. It was a difficult time in the motel room that day. Very uncomfortable.

So it was that we set out with a quiet, brooding mood about us. It should have been an exciting day, the sun was out, it was cool, it wasn't windy at all. By all appearances it was a great day to be on the bike. The nicest one we had experienced on tour so far. However; we set off as if we were headed into a drizzling rain on a gray morning.

The way the road was laid out didn't help. The climb started right at the door of the motel. Straight up into the Black Hills on busy Highway 16 West. At least there was a paved shoulder wide enough to insulate us from the heavy morning traffic. Troy was up the road, Ryan in second, and I followed. We were all separated by about a hundred yards. Granny gear climb all the way into the Black Hills. Probably about a five mile slog without any relief.

The Keystone WYE Bridge near where we stopped to look at maps. Image courtesy of Wikipedia

Oddly enough, I felt great. I found a rhythm and was able to stick to it all the way up. At the top the road entered the pines and the scenery was fantastic. We stopped near a laminated, arched wooden bridge to check the maps. We decided on a course and set off. Troy was soldiering on, and it seemed now after the huge climb was behind us that he may recover enough to keep going. However; his pace wasn't the fiery, aggressive one we were used to. His speed was about what it was going up, whether the road was flat or tilted up. Soon I found myself off the front, with Ryan hanging back with Troy. I don't really know what Ryan was doing, maybe trying to talk Troy into stopping. Maybe encouraging him to go on. Whichever it was, I never did find out. I had to wait for them several times. Finally it was obvious that Troy couldn't go on. We had to put a stop to the madness before he really destroyed his knee.

Basically Troy knew he was done for. However; he was going to keep going, until he let us talk him out of it.  I suppose to assuage himself somewhat of his guilty feelings for being the reason we had to quit. At any rate, we decided that the next campground we saw we were going to stop at for the day. I rode on ahead a bit, checking all the signs. Looking at all the "post card" scenery. I was a bit excited because I knew we were in the same area I had been in when I was much younger on a family vacation. My family and I stayed at a really cool campground/dude ranch back then called Rafter J-Bar Ranch. I was curious if I would see any signs of it again on this road, if this even was the right road.

Once again I had to stop because Ryan and Troy were no where in sight. . Ryan came up not soon after. He was worried about Troy. Ryan told me that Troy was really hurting, basically riding one legged now. He said we needed to find a place pronto. Well, Troy rolled up about then, and Ryan said, "What's up this driveway?" I said I didn't know, but not a second after the words came out of my mouth, Ryan found a sign that said "Rafter J-Bar Ranch" and an arrow pointing up the road. It was still here! The very same joint I had stayed at years ago when I was a child.

It was a nice place too. We found a camping spot right near the showers that had a laundry attached. It was time to set up camp, relax, and just goof off. We were all resigned to being done with the tour now, but what we would do with the remaining days, we had no idea just yet.
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The end of touring. Well, it was not really hitting me just yet that day. I recall after we reached the Keystone WYE Bridge that I spent much of those last miles alone, off the front, just taking in one beautiful scene after another. I can still vividly see the man fly fishing in a roadside creek, or the majestic pines along the hillsides as we twisted our way further toward Hill City, South Dakota.

Troy was hanging his head low the entire ride that day. He must have felt just awful. I was on another level though, since I had memories flooding back of when I was about 11 or so and we had been to Rafter J Bar Ranch on a family vacation. I guess I wasn't very tuned in to what was happening, so the sadness of "the end" of the tour wasn't reaching me. I wasn't done with this deal, and stopping to stay at the campground sounded like a lot of fun to me then. We had fully a half a day to just chill now. I was looking forward to some down time.

But, in effect, it was the end. We weren't going to ride into Wyoming, and eventually into Colorado. We wouldn't get to see the Rocky Mountains. But somehow, for me, it didn't matter anymore. I had let a lot of stuff go the day before, and now I was just living. Enjoying Life.

Next Week- "A Game Of Hacky-Sack"