Day 4: The Trip

Man, are we ever going to see hills again? The heartland sure is flat. And by flat, I mean there is nothing to stop wind from whipping across the prairie at speeds that make the most docile folks mean tempered and irritable. Prairie grasses were bent double as we passed, and the wind was so constant and loud that our ears rang with unaccustomed silence whenever we stopped for gas. There was no respite. At all. And I do mean AT ALL.

We were absolutely powerless to explain why anyone would live in such a harsh and unforgiving land. Our best guess is that the only pioneers that settled here were stranded when the ox died. Every town should be named, “Last Breath” or “Dismal Plain” or some such moniker. Because I was on a road trip with no one to talk to, I spent miles entertaining myself by coming up with likely high school mascots for the area, like the Infinite Prairie Central High Fighting Conestogas. The Ceaseless Wind Senior High Ground Weasels. You get the idea. Post your own creations so that I may laugh over the next hundred miles.

At one gas stop, I leaned over to get something out of my saddlebag, and I felt my back give out. It has been touchy for years, but the hard miles and lack of proper rest caught up to me. The group stopped at Cabela’s to find some additional camping gear, and I headed next door to WalMart for a back support brace and some single use chemical ice packs. I bound myself up, go back on the bike, and gritted my teeth for the final 200 miles of the day. I fancied myself quite the tough girl, so a little back injury couldn’t stop me. Right? Right??

We were all listening to weatherband and local radio stations to determine if we were going to be overtaken by a tornado. Winds were 40 to 60 mph. Apparently this is bad, even for South Dakotans who clearly have a high tolerance for Mother Nature-inspired misery. Unfortunately, local radio assumes you understand local counties and landmarks. A Tornado watch for north Merritt County isn’t much help to the unfortunate traveler who has no idea what county she is in.

Rain came down again, and since my rain jacket failed so spectacularly before, I went with a heavy jacket that in my experience has some rain shedding properties. I figured I would probably be soaked again, but maybe this time I would at least be warm.

Not so. Rain poured down the collar again. The rain shedding properties only applied to light rains, not the gully washers we were riding through. We had to slow to 45 mph on major highways, because it was impossible to keep the bikes up in the wind and still see through the rain. Rain splashing off vehicle tires in front of me was thrown sideways by the whipping winds for 15 feet into the ditch before landing again. The wind was simply wicked. We pressed on, our merry, insane band of hard core bikers bent forward once again into the wind. At one point, I became so punchy, that I just laughed myself silly. How ludicrous! Why would anyone ride in this? Seriously? The winds pushed at us like a playground bully. We hung on. At one point, I was truly afraid that one of us would be pushed into the ditch by a robust gust. We rode for 15 miles, and I was searching for an exit. But at the next exit, S passed it right on by. That is one tough lady, thought I.

We figured the wind (if not rationality) precluded setting up the tents that night, so we bedded down in a Super 8 at some god forsaken town in South Dakota, right next to “The Happy Chef.” We couldn’t be choosy. We found out from cable tv in the comfort of a warm, dry hotel room that we had ridden parallel to a tornado. We tried to determine if our vacation had been fun or not.

420 miles, 1 state: South Dakota. Super 8 hotel in SD