Slept in longer than intended - around eight or nine, methinks. Had some of that "free" breakfast so many places offer, but can't remember if it was a deluxe version complete with eggs/meats in food warmers, fresh fruit, and waffle maker for the temporary tenant's down-home convenience, or one of the simple ones limited to bagels, toast, and miniature muffins. Whichever, I imagine the "butter" wasn't butter and that the juice had more sugar than I like.
Bikes and bags down the hall and stairs and out the door took two trips at the least. Didn't trust anybody, but resigned to loss possibility and moved with haste.
Hit the road happy breathing cool air. Didn't last long - found much wind again just outside town. Casino existed eight miles away, but I pedaled 2,397,423,836 of them before wishing Lone Wolf/Four Eagles and his mother would be waiting there with massive breakfast and warm regard to give. Casino hill only greeted with more wind, though. Northwest wind pushed hard at the time I found the slight southwest curve - foot went down to prevent falling; stopped for angry break and enjoyed the view.
Its trafficandgroundshaking-telling details were abundant as those in any other gravel pit, but you can't even see it (thanks, Google camera, for being on a car in the wrong ditch):
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Wondered if anyone was home:
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Contemplated the hopeful hopelessness of gamblers:
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Got cold sitting around, so continued leaning and pedaling...for another 2,397,423,836 miles [3 or 4 or something] before reaching Pickstown, home of Fort Randall Dam. Had learned pre-high-school Tom Brokaw's father brought the family there during his work with the Army Corps of Engineers, and imagined the place as wizened by Brokaw, whatever that would look like. But town existed like many others I've experienced - one that many people only drive through, and others stop in only to get gasoline, and hey, while we're at it, food and restroom use. Me, too, wanted comfort-amid-cold burger:
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Just minutes after leaving the station/restaurant, looked forward to escaping cold wind through dam information center's provisions. Dam information center provided nothing but an external view, though - closed. Sad.
Reveled in glory crossing into, passing through (maybe 1/4 mile) a coned zone as construction left wide space between itself and single lane traffic's designated path of which direction did not at the time coincide with my intended vector here:
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Admired, loathed, idealized, felt grateful for human determination here:
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Continued that and wondered what being behind object of perception would feel like here:
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But frustration quickly set in again after turning here:
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Forecast said wind averaged 25ish miles per hour and gusted 30 to 40 of those - I had no doubt. In last dam's straightaway measuring (approximated) mile-point-five, referenced wind nearly bisected intended vector. Conditions demanded my roll frequently vary within range from far to very far if I wanted straight-line travel between tires. [Mind pictured 45 degrees between yaw axis and the (apparently) horizontal shoulder, but mind is no camera, let alone precise or at third-person perspective, so don't trust mind.] Other conditions (primarily my incompetence and traffic fear) demanded path be roughly two feet into shoulder consisting of loose, coarse gravel/crushed pavement. Persistently turned front wheel sharp side to side and leaned heavily rightward. Sometimes almost fell into guard cable, sometimes almost fell into roadway, all while tires' contact patches shifted unpredictably with the relatively unstable ground. Wished whole time panniers didn't catch wind. Thighs, hips, and core exhausted, misjudged gust or just couldn't compensate regardless, pissed-off put roadside foot down at about three quarters the way.
Stopped to yell into louder wind, relax, pout, and calm, looking northwestward:
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Attention caught two white-feather-headed eagles maybe 50 feet out and up. Recalled increase in sighting them at home, reflected on chance to see them, felt happy. Decided on walking to dam's end. Created triangle between my roll, bicycle's roll, and ground. Tension between muscle pairs highly imbalanced, pouted some more. Anticipated these trees like childhood self longed for post-bus half-mile driveway's shelterbelt end:
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Emanating from elevation lower than the shoulder, trees disrupted little wind heading toward me - pouted some more. In the exhaustion, found slight uphill in following two miles irritating. Think I peed by tree on right side:
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Don't remember anything between then and reaching this fork where I stopped at the octagonal red sign:
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Sun's rays reaching the area for the day had nearly all made it by this point. Had no reflectors and didn't enjoy previous two nights' darkness riding, so zip tied van's newly hired retired license plate [23 tooth on a 44-8, what?] to trailing bmx bicycle's handlebars, put on the headlamp, and turned southward.
Some distance between seven and eight miles lay between position and destination. Think first six point five might have been most gentle joyful of entire trip. Hilly pasture land in all directions filled with light brown grass, speckled with trees and curious cows, all perceived as warm in the dusk's "glow". Wind at my back, downhill (much slight, though some plenty) and high gear all the way. Pleased with existence focused on visible and audible surroundings and coinciding emotion.
But a long uphill near the end spoiled that concentration:
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From that vantage saw four-legged figure cross roadway at hill top. Thought it larger than dog but shorter than deer. In reflecting on recent years' South Dakota history, considered mountain lion possibility. Sightings and population had increased, so I left home with bear mace. Wondering all up that long hill and keeping in mind the mace's position (in front left pannier's inside bottom) excited limb impulses. Near top caught glimpse of eyes in corn field edge - they quickly turned away and I lost track. In my slow speed, got scared, decided to stop and pull out mace. Nervously fumbled through bag and waved down oncoming cars for comforting presence, but they no stop. Found what I was looking for, removed the safety clip, started pedaling hard as could, frantically scanning corn field until heard rustle and saw eyes again, this time ably viewing antlers. Laughed at myself...then considered cat could be hunting buck, pushed the pedaling again.
Reached town with relief. Wandered through empty streets between dark homes and businesses. Wondered where everyone was, until heard vocal projection via unclear loud speaker and recognized football game took place some distant town part. Enjoyed dinner as the only customer in restaurant manned by two people just down this street on the right:
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Proprietors directed me to city park (Google maps says 41.3 miles for the day) where I pitched tent on side of picnic shelter's wall opposite main road:
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Thought that side might prevent drivers noticing me, but didn't count on (I presume) high school kids riled up after football game driving repeatedly through park's alley/parking lot, nor them parking with lights shining on my tent and exiting car for whatever reason. Was then I remembered I didn't sleep with mace and phone in bag only to keep them from freezing. After however many paranoid minutes (hours?), fell asleep, but around three or four woke again hearing rummaging in nearby trash cans which then fell over. Imagined raccoon, but after minute or so heard dragging footwear and heavy breathing I believed originated from male human on sidewalk immediately neighboring tent. Quietly readied mace and light and held still. He continued walking, and walked away. After not moving for some time...fell stressly asleep for the last time of the morning.
2.18.2013
2.02.2012
10.15.2011
After packing things up, pedaled a short distance, leaned my bikes up against the wall on the sidewalk, entered Open Door:
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Sat by myself at a big round table next to the window immediately south of the door, so I could see the bikes, though that seemed unnecessary in Menno. An older man sat alone at a big round table next to the southern most window. I guessed he was in his sixties, possibly seventies. He asked where I was headed, apparently had seen me pedaling on the street, and before I knew it, he had my trip itinerary and the motives behind it. Set himself out, too. Introduced himself when I asked, said he was there for daily breakfast with friends. I became a temporary addition to his crew. My cheap, filling breakfast soon was surrounded by more folks than just myself while his table filled up, too. Each time a new guy sat down, introductions took place and the original conveyed my destination and travel means.
Many were surprised, but apparently in a way that only moved them slightly inside. Sometimes I feel that way, like nothing is surprising even when it's completely unfamiliar. I have that much in common with some of the elderly, I suppose. Being receptive rather than predictive can cause that. I admire many old folks for that.
They mentioned Rita and her Fleish Kuchle, and I was happy to see I was in a place I had read a brief article about, the same one mentioned in someone else's blog. I look forward to a day when South Dakotans might no longer think 61 miles isn't far. Well, I didn't want to wait around until the following week's Fleisch Kuchle, so I just had a doughnut instead. I can appreciate a freshly fried doughnut made from scratch just as much as any fancy meal any day...or so I generalize.
Rode west. Felt tense. Stopped at a camp site to stretch:
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Right by the creek, with no amenities but an out house, tables, a shelter or two, a mechanical water pump, and electrical outlets that didn't work. Relaxed in the simplicity. Rode out.
By this point I let the east bound wind frustrate me:
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Turned south toward Scotland for a break from the wind. Got some food at the local grocer which you can't see here even though its at the end of the street in the center:
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Splurged and indulged by purchasing Tootsie Rolls which lasted the trip remainder and then some. While sitting outside stretching beforehand, a man stopped to speak with me. Asked where I was headed, said he wanted to build a touring bike, and upon finding out I was headed for Denver, became excited, as he had recently moved from there with his wife to a house in Kaylor, a nearby town. Said he wanted to recommend some places I visit in Denver, but couldn't remember and didn't have anything to write on. We parted ways. I went to a clothing store and bought some cheap wool gloves, because the mornings had been cold and I had none. Outside, bumped into the Denver man again. He had gone home and written a list, and then gave it to me. He wasn't much older than me, and his name was Trent. He wanted to go back to Denver. I wished him conducive circumstances to that, bid him bye, and returned to the grocery store.
I had noticed a water spicket on its wall outside last time there. The grocers inside eagerly told me to fill my bottles with it. Upon inquiring about a county road's condition on my map, a grocer gave me helpful information. He was a cyclist himself, and had ridden the roads much - he was trying to put in 1000 miles between June and winter. I like to see older folk like himself (any folk, really) in South Dakota trying these things. With confidence in his roadway descriptions, headed west again.
Somebody stopped their vehicle while I was sitting in the ditch here:
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I jumped up, ran to her automobile, and assured her I was okay and was only sitting in the low ditch to break from the cold wind and refuel with some snacks. She continued east, I continued eating. Then I continued west.
Took another break from the wind here:
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And here (it was cold!)...I think:
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So thankful to see a downhill stretch at this point:
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But as I went down, pedaling didn't get much easier, and I found that if I stopped pedaling, the wind stopped me. By this point, tension and pain had developed in my Achilles. I thought a lack of stretching might have been the cause, but the condition stuck with me for the remainder of my trip, so I don't think that was the case.
Three hours and thirteen miles from Scotland, reached highway 37:
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Turned south and traveled five miles in approximately twenty-two minutes before turning west onto highway 46:
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I wonder how many people regard their "friends" and "enemies" the way I regarded the wind that day. I traveled a few miles west before the sun went down. Put on my headlamp and hoped cars would see me from far behind, thankful for the wide shoulder. Saw the lights of Wagner in the distance, and thought I was close...until approaching a sign that said eight miles...still half the distance I had to travel on 46. How easy it is to trust your hopeful perception when you wish so much to be free of what bothers us.
But I entered Wagner without anymore particular trouble, stopped at a gas station to stock up on all the calories I could (including free hot case old food - way healthy), charged my cell phone with permission and an outlet outside, and called my friend, Scott:
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He had prior demanded I call him every day and provide a progress report. He was mapping it out. I can go my whole life telling myself I don't need to be affected by whether people care or not, but even so I feel appreciative of such caring friends. He let me know to expect high winds the next day, too - forecast at forty miles per hour.
City Park was all lit up and full of signs declaring overnight camping prohibited. Ended up downtown walking my bikes, momentarily startled by someone yelling...turned out, at me. The man was maybe in his late forties or fifties and quite drunk. Said they kicked him out of the VFW for beating up too many people. Took his hat, too! But he saw I had an extra bicycle and wanted a ride to his mother's house out by the casino, then found I was headed to Denver and decided he would prefer to ride on my spare bike all the way there. I've mounted the spare on a rack I didn't design to hold a man's weight, let alone even design to hold any amount of weight (I only wish I had such engineering skills); I wouldn't want it to break at any point and perhaps disrupt my trip with a dead passenger, sir.
Disheartened, he turned toward an approaching pickup - a full-sized Ford, I think - and waved down the driver. The driver stopped and the man asked him for a ride to his mother's out by the casino. The driver cursed at the man and drove away.
As naively receptive to information as I thought possible, I then decided to continue the conversation with the man rather than let him wander off and get himself in trouble. He told me his name in the Lakota language, and translated into English: Four Eagles. When a police officer stopped his car and spoke briefly with us, I realized Four Eagles was a renowned local. The multiple strangers whom he yelled at in friendly jest and received jest in return from corroborated this in my mind. He mentioned little of being in the Vietnam war, some about his family, and more about a reservation or something in North Dakota where he was before then. He told me another name in the Lakota language and translated it also into English: Lone Wolf. That was his other name, but I can't remember why he had two. As often happens with strangers, I found myself smiling at nearly everything he said. He picked up on this and gave me two names in the Lakota language which he also translated into English for my convenience: Iron Boy and Little Boy.
We were walking to a gas station by a bar:
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He was certain he could find the people he needed to find at either place. He stopped a van with two younger men in it. They were his nephews. We stood while he talked to them for quite a while. His nephews seemed disinterested, looking into the distance, while he got a kick from telling them about me, my trip, and my new names. Eventually a lady they all knew stopped to join the conversation. She was about the age and sobriety of Four Eagles/Lone Wolf, I reckoned. Said I was about the age of her son, that she wanted to take me home. I think she was sad. By this point I reminded Four Eagles/Lone Wolf like I had many times before that I was looking for a place to spend the night and I had to leave them. He then reminded me like he had many times before that I could give him a ride to his mother's out by the casino and spend the night there and receive a hearty breakfast in the morning for free. I didn't have much confidence in ever getting to his mother's out by the casino, so I let him talk me into meeting him on the hill by the casino. He said he'd run there and be waiting for me by the time my bike took me there. I accepted that and pedaled away.
In many ways I guess I'm a Little Iron Boy, but in perhaps more ways I'm not. I felt uncomfortable mostly that whole night, so I found an open hotel and stayed there:
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The effort required to get my bikes and bags up the stairs and into my room made me eager enough to sleep. Google Maps tells me 49.3 miles for this day. With that wind, I'm still thankful I even made it that far.
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Sat by myself at a big round table next to the window immediately south of the door, so I could see the bikes, though that seemed unnecessary in Menno. An older man sat alone at a big round table next to the southern most window. I guessed he was in his sixties, possibly seventies. He asked where I was headed, apparently had seen me pedaling on the street, and before I knew it, he had my trip itinerary and the motives behind it. Set himself out, too. Introduced himself when I asked, said he was there for daily breakfast with friends. I became a temporary addition to his crew. My cheap, filling breakfast soon was surrounded by more folks than just myself while his table filled up, too. Each time a new guy sat down, introductions took place and the original conveyed my destination and travel means.
Many were surprised, but apparently in a way that only moved them slightly inside. Sometimes I feel that way, like nothing is surprising even when it's completely unfamiliar. I have that much in common with some of the elderly, I suppose. Being receptive rather than predictive can cause that. I admire many old folks for that.
They mentioned Rita and her Fleish Kuchle, and I was happy to see I was in a place I had read a brief article about, the same one mentioned in someone else's blog. I look forward to a day when South Dakotans might no longer think 61 miles isn't far. Well, I didn't want to wait around until the following week's Fleisch Kuchle, so I just had a doughnut instead. I can appreciate a freshly fried doughnut made from scratch just as much as any fancy meal any day...or so I generalize.
Rode west. Felt tense. Stopped at a camp site to stretch:
View Larger Map
Right by the creek, with no amenities but an out house, tables, a shelter or two, a mechanical water pump, and electrical outlets that didn't work. Relaxed in the simplicity. Rode out.
By this point I let the east bound wind frustrate me:
View Larger Map
Turned south toward Scotland for a break from the wind. Got some food at the local grocer which you can't see here even though its at the end of the street in the center:
View Larger Map
Splurged and indulged by purchasing Tootsie Rolls which lasted the trip remainder and then some. While sitting outside stretching beforehand, a man stopped to speak with me. Asked where I was headed, said he wanted to build a touring bike, and upon finding out I was headed for Denver, became excited, as he had recently moved from there with his wife to a house in Kaylor, a nearby town. Said he wanted to recommend some places I visit in Denver, but couldn't remember and didn't have anything to write on. We parted ways. I went to a clothing store and bought some cheap wool gloves, because the mornings had been cold and I had none. Outside, bumped into the Denver man again. He had gone home and written a list, and then gave it to me. He wasn't much older than me, and his name was Trent. He wanted to go back to Denver. I wished him conducive circumstances to that, bid him bye, and returned to the grocery store.
I had noticed a water spicket on its wall outside last time there. The grocers inside eagerly told me to fill my bottles with it. Upon inquiring about a county road's condition on my map, a grocer gave me helpful information. He was a cyclist himself, and had ridden the roads much - he was trying to put in 1000 miles between June and winter. I like to see older folk like himself (any folk, really) in South Dakota trying these things. With confidence in his roadway descriptions, headed west again.
Somebody stopped their vehicle while I was sitting in the ditch here:
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I jumped up, ran to her automobile, and assured her I was okay and was only sitting in the low ditch to break from the cold wind and refuel with some snacks. She continued east, I continued eating. Then I continued west.
Took another break from the wind here:
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And here (it was cold!)...I think:
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So thankful to see a downhill stretch at this point:
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But as I went down, pedaling didn't get much easier, and I found that if I stopped pedaling, the wind stopped me. By this point, tension and pain had developed in my Achilles. I thought a lack of stretching might have been the cause, but the condition stuck with me for the remainder of my trip, so I don't think that was the case.
Three hours and thirteen miles from Scotland, reached highway 37:
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Turned south and traveled five miles in approximately twenty-two minutes before turning west onto highway 46:
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I wonder how many people regard their "friends" and "enemies" the way I regarded the wind that day. I traveled a few miles west before the sun went down. Put on my headlamp and hoped cars would see me from far behind, thankful for the wide shoulder. Saw the lights of Wagner in the distance, and thought I was close...until approaching a sign that said eight miles...still half the distance I had to travel on 46. How easy it is to trust your hopeful perception when you wish so much to be free of what bothers us.
But I entered Wagner without anymore particular trouble, stopped at a gas station to stock up on all the calories I could (including free hot case old food - way healthy), charged my cell phone with permission and an outlet outside, and called my friend, Scott:
View Larger Map
He had prior demanded I call him every day and provide a progress report. He was mapping it out. I can go my whole life telling myself I don't need to be affected by whether people care or not, but even so I feel appreciative of such caring friends. He let me know to expect high winds the next day, too - forecast at forty miles per hour.
City Park was all lit up and full of signs declaring overnight camping prohibited. Ended up downtown walking my bikes, momentarily startled by someone yelling...turned out, at me. The man was maybe in his late forties or fifties and quite drunk. Said they kicked him out of the VFW for beating up too many people. Took his hat, too! But he saw I had an extra bicycle and wanted a ride to his mother's house out by the casino, then found I was headed to Denver and decided he would prefer to ride on my spare bike all the way there. I've mounted the spare on a rack I didn't design to hold a man's weight, let alone even design to hold any amount of weight (I only wish I had such engineering skills); I wouldn't want it to break at any point and perhaps disrupt my trip with a dead passenger, sir.
Disheartened, he turned toward an approaching pickup - a full-sized Ford, I think - and waved down the driver. The driver stopped and the man asked him for a ride to his mother's out by the casino. The driver cursed at the man and drove away.
As naively receptive to information as I thought possible, I then decided to continue the conversation with the man rather than let him wander off and get himself in trouble. He told me his name in the Lakota language, and translated into English: Four Eagles. When a police officer stopped his car and spoke briefly with us, I realized Four Eagles was a renowned local. The multiple strangers whom he yelled at in friendly jest and received jest in return from corroborated this in my mind. He mentioned little of being in the Vietnam war, some about his family, and more about a reservation or something in North Dakota where he was before then. He told me another name in the Lakota language and translated it also into English: Lone Wolf. That was his other name, but I can't remember why he had two. As often happens with strangers, I found myself smiling at nearly everything he said. He picked up on this and gave me two names in the Lakota language which he also translated into English for my convenience: Iron Boy and Little Boy.
We were walking to a gas station by a bar:
View Larger Map
He was certain he could find the people he needed to find at either place. He stopped a van with two younger men in it. They were his nephews. We stood while he talked to them for quite a while. His nephews seemed disinterested, looking into the distance, while he got a kick from telling them about me, my trip, and my new names. Eventually a lady they all knew stopped to join the conversation. She was about the age and sobriety of Four Eagles/Lone Wolf, I reckoned. Said I was about the age of her son, that she wanted to take me home. I think she was sad. By this point I reminded Four Eagles/Lone Wolf like I had many times before that I was looking for a place to spend the night and I had to leave them. He then reminded me like he had many times before that I could give him a ride to his mother's out by the casino and spend the night there and receive a hearty breakfast in the morning for free. I didn't have much confidence in ever getting to his mother's out by the casino, so I let him talk me into meeting him on the hill by the casino. He said he'd run there and be waiting for me by the time my bike took me there. I accepted that and pedaled away.
In many ways I guess I'm a Little Iron Boy, but in perhaps more ways I'm not. I felt uncomfortable mostly that whole night, so I found an open hotel and stayed there:
View Larger Map
The effort required to get my bikes and bags up the stairs and into my room made me eager enough to sleep. Google Maps tells me 49.3 miles for this day. With that wind, I'm still thankful I even made it that far.
1.19.2012
10.14.2011
I awoke hours before sunrise hearing sparse sprinkles, so I moved my bikes to a position beneath the park's shelter and picked up my tent and placed it right next to the shelter. Slept some more. Woke, brushed my teeth, saw the sign at the bathroom asking overnight campers for eight dollars. I only had a five and a ten, so I left the five and a note explaining why and expressing my gratitude for the place to pitch my tent. Rode back toward the highway and ate at the Oxbow:
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Just nearing the exit of the parking lot, I heard a fresh scraping noise behind me. One rope holding my bmx front wheel to my bmx frame had come undone. The wheel found the ground. I began retying, but a lady pulled up behind me in her truck, got out and offered me the most haggard looking bungee cord I can recall ever seeing. It worked, though...all the way to my destination.
I had been looking forward to reaching Howard. The town had built two wind turbines in 2001 as an investment in their future, rather than an immediate cost-saving project:
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Howard also opened the Rural Learning Center last year with the general goal of revitalizing and innovating rural areas. I'm into that, because my general perception of rural areas, having grown up in one and just spent a year in that one, is that they can easily become "stagnant" without the pressures of relatively higher diversity found in cities, so I was hoping to visit the center and get a more comprehensive idea of what it's doing. Leaving late from home meant cold weather was imminent, though, so instead I just stopped at the hardware store for patching glue, the grocery store for food, and was then on my way again, but I would still like to contribute to a place like the Rural Learning Center.
If I remember correctly, the first flat happened somewhere around here:
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Of all tires that could go flat, it was the one under the least amount of force...and the most difficult and time consuming to patch - the bmx's rear. Even with a 2.25 kevlar bead tire, I still struggled/struggle to remove the tire from my G-sport Ribcage rim. Even so, patching a tube while the grass rustled around in the wind was enjoyable.
Canova is the site of another Miner County wind turbine:
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Around it and across the road was no grass, but people were hauling dirt that covered it. I hope they aren't developing a subdivision. Har har.
I stopped here to stretch, eat some snacks, and watch the interstate that happens to be one of the few things many people I meet remember about South Dakota:
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Not many young people I meet are fond of it, but there's plenty to look at if your mind allows it.
Hoping to reach Menno, but unsure I could before dark, I stood at this intersection a few minutes before deciding to continue south:
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By this point I was quite exhausted and hungry as the sun was nearly out of sight:
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I turned west conscious of how difficult it might be for automobile drivers to see me without lights, thinking as I often do heading into the sun about a close family friend losing his family member because a driver couldn't see her cycling when both were headed toward the sun. Then I was disappointed to realize just how much the south-bound wind had helped me all day, and just how much it was hindering me going west. I reached Menno in the dark, thankful for all the drivers that entered the opposing lane to go around me, because the shoulder was narrow with the noise making ruts that slow down a bicycle much more than any car I've ever driven. In fact, I can only remember a handful of drivers throughout my entire trip who didn't do that. Maybe people are generally more attentive drivers when they live in places that deer and such frequent.
Slept in the city park under a shelter near some bins after a stray cat scoped me out seemingly seeking companionship though hesitant to receive it:
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My friend Scott had called me and wanted to know all my progress, so I gave an estimate of 84.5 miles that day based upon measurements of the 1994 South Dakota map I took from my grandmother's house in the summer. I've been telling people ever since that's been my longest day trip, though I knew I didn't actually know. Only now I realize I actually went 86.2...or so Google says.
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Just nearing the exit of the parking lot, I heard a fresh scraping noise behind me. One rope holding my bmx front wheel to my bmx frame had come undone. The wheel found the ground. I began retying, but a lady pulled up behind me in her truck, got out and offered me the most haggard looking bungee cord I can recall ever seeing. It worked, though...all the way to my destination.
I had been looking forward to reaching Howard. The town had built two wind turbines in 2001 as an investment in their future, rather than an immediate cost-saving project:
View Larger Map
Howard also opened the Rural Learning Center last year with the general goal of revitalizing and innovating rural areas. I'm into that, because my general perception of rural areas, having grown up in one and just spent a year in that one, is that they can easily become "stagnant" without the pressures of relatively higher diversity found in cities, so I was hoping to visit the center and get a more comprehensive idea of what it's doing. Leaving late from home meant cold weather was imminent, though, so instead I just stopped at the hardware store for patching glue, the grocery store for food, and was then on my way again, but I would still like to contribute to a place like the Rural Learning Center.
If I remember correctly, the first flat happened somewhere around here:
View Larger Map
Of all tires that could go flat, it was the one under the least amount of force...and the most difficult and time consuming to patch - the bmx's rear. Even with a 2.25 kevlar bead tire, I still struggled/struggle to remove the tire from my G-sport Ribcage rim. Even so, patching a tube while the grass rustled around in the wind was enjoyable.
Canova is the site of another Miner County wind turbine:
View Larger Map
Around it and across the road was no grass, but people were hauling dirt that covered it. I hope they aren't developing a subdivision. Har har.
I stopped here to stretch, eat some snacks, and watch the interstate that happens to be one of the few things many people I meet remember about South Dakota:
View Larger Map
Not many young people I meet are fond of it, but there's plenty to look at if your mind allows it.
Hoping to reach Menno, but unsure I could before dark, I stood at this intersection a few minutes before deciding to continue south:
View Larger Map
By this point I was quite exhausted and hungry as the sun was nearly out of sight:
View Larger Map
I turned west conscious of how difficult it might be for automobile drivers to see me without lights, thinking as I often do heading into the sun about a close family friend losing his family member because a driver couldn't see her cycling when both were headed toward the sun. Then I was disappointed to realize just how much the south-bound wind had helped me all day, and just how much it was hindering me going west. I reached Menno in the dark, thankful for all the drivers that entered the opposing lane to go around me, because the shoulder was narrow with the noise making ruts that slow down a bicycle much more than any car I've ever driven. In fact, I can only remember a handful of drivers throughout my entire trip who didn't do that. Maybe people are generally more attentive drivers when they live in places that deer and such frequent.
Slept in the city park under a shelter near some bins after a stray cat scoped me out seemingly seeking companionship though hesitant to receive it:
View Larger Map
My friend Scott had called me and wanted to know all my progress, so I gave an estimate of 84.5 miles that day based upon measurements of the 1994 South Dakota map I took from my grandmother's house in the summer. I've been telling people ever since that's been my longest day trip, though I knew I didn't actually know. Only now I realize I actually went 86.2...or so Google says.
1.13.2012
10.13.2011
I had once planned to leave in November of the previous year, then planned for December, then March of the same year, then May, then July, then September...eventually deciding with determination to leave the day after my mother's birthday in October. That day came and went and I was still not prepared, so I pushed the plan back another week. Still not ready. Four days later, preparations complete, I still hadn't left in the morning as planned. It was somewhere around 3:30, I believe.
So with reluctance and yet gratitude I accepted a ride from my father in his pickup to this beginning point:
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Took a stretch and food break just behind and to the left of the building in the center:
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Camped just north of the "B" marker here:
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Google Maps reads 26.5 miles, but the distance covered was a little more than that, because I retraced my path here and there in De Smet until a lady pulled over in her truck full of children and told me where city park was after I answered "yes" to her question of whether I was even looking for it. I enjoyed her helpful/friendly attitude. I was thankful.
So with reluctance and yet gratitude I accepted a ride from my father in his pickup to this beginning point:
View Larger Map
Took a stretch and food break just behind and to the left of the building in the center:
View Larger Map
Camped just north of the "B" marker here:
View Larger Map
Google Maps reads 26.5 miles, but the distance covered was a little more than that, because I retraced my path here and there in De Smet until a lady pulled over in her truck full of children and told me where city park was after I answered "yes" to her question of whether I was even looking for it. I enjoyed her helpful/friendly attitude. I was thankful.
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