Ever have those days when you knew you should have done something different than you did? Today was like that. The word from the locals was that there was "nothing" (no food, no lodging, no sights) due east of Faith out on the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation, and that heading north to Lemmon would be more rewarding. My present general course, for now, is northeast toward the Great Lakes, so either route works, it's just a question of quality of trip. Well...
Five miles out of Faith, en route due north to Lemmon, I knew this was gonna be a long day. The "wind du jour" was a northwesterly and steady against my left shoulder. The road surface on SR 73 was poor, with stress cracks every 20 feet resulting in the "20 feet ka-bump, 20 feet ka-bump" syndrome that is more mentally wearing than anything. I struggle to make 10 mph and clear only 20 miles by noon. But the rolling grasslands are bright green from all the recent rains and it's sunny but not hot. It's just so exhausting to cycle; a bit like jogging with ankle weights, or postholing in deep snow.
10 more weary miles and I plop under a tree next to a church for late lunch. We've entered the Grand River National Grasslands. (National Grasslands are a mix of private and public lands). Winds out here usually increase in strength as the day matures and rarely change orientation, and today was no exception. I find my thoughts drifting to topics of negativity and bring myself back by remembering the simple fact that I am out here BY CHOICE and what a privledge that is.
As my friend Jerry says "Bad air out, good air in". As hard as I am breathing, I got to practise that therapy afternoon! At 55 miles I reach the first "services" of the day, and drain a Sprite.
It appears that there is a bit of road work ahead, and unfortuneately, in the heat of the day (mid-80's now), the road serface is being re-oiled. I had gotten rides through 2 previous road projects, but not this time. The operator driving the road oiling truck (and this is one nasty looking rig whose backend is entirely covered with shiny, black goo) tells me to get going cuz he's about to run the stretch I'm riding, and I challenge him to the race. Off I go as he turns around for the chase. At least there's some excitement to go with the wind and heat and oil fumes! With a quarter mile lead, I look back and he's gaining on me and coming quick, spraying a nasty but uniform oil film across the roadway. More frantic cranking and I catch the road sweeper, who is sending up a huge plume of light brown dust in front of me. Half mile more and I reach the end of the section and pause to turn back for a photo as the the trucks close in. Jokingly, I yell back at the truck operators "I beat you, I beat you!" and they ime a smile and a thumbs-up.
Little did I know, but the oil would win in the end, as the newly oiled surface extended the entire 12 miles remaining to Lemmon, having been done that morning! Gagging in the 85 degree heat, and with a balled up, tightened feeling in the back of my throat from breathing in the intense oil fumes for an hour, I bang out the last miles, reaching the Prairie Motel at 6 pm after 70 hard miles. A MUCH appreciated hot shower and excellant pizza (or perhaps a really hungry guy and a bad pizza) follow. Brindil and I walk the town and find a surreal, Gaudiesque park made up of petrified wood sculptures. That, along with a larger than lifesize, junkmetal sculpture of a cowboy riding a Triceratops dinosaur, gave the town an odd twist. I had found a treasure tucked on the ND/SD border, out in the most desolate part of this region, but decidedly worth the struggle to get there.
The cowboy riding the triceratops is cool!
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