Black Hills Redux

August 8-9

We took part in an Amerindian tradition at Devil’s Tower the other day. As we approached the trail around the base of the mountain, a sign told us not to disturb the prayer bundles and prayer ribbons.

We saw several of them, some elaborate, others very simple. In the visitors center we learned that praying at the mountain can make you stronger. 

I thought it was whatever doesn’t kill you. Or maybe it’s “Whatever doesn’t kill you merely delays the inevitable.”

Anyhow, having bathed the Buddha, lit incense in various temples and said the Hail Mary in front of Kwan Yin, we tied a piece of Joanna’s bandana to the limb of a Ponderosa pine and asked the powers that be to watch over the living and the dead.

They must be watching over bikers. We see motorcycles everywhere, sometimes dozens in a column. And a lot of the riders have survived long enough to have white hair and beards.

So far we have seen only one wreck, apparently of a biker who misjudged a curve.

This is the week of the big Black Hills Motorcycle Rally, which is centered on Sturgis, S.D. 

We left Gillette on Monday morning and went to Deadwood.

Can’t come to the Black Hills and not visit where Hickok died.

Deadwood is about a dozen miles from Sturgis, and the rally was spilling over. The town was packed with bikes, bikers, and concessions selling to bikers. Sidewalks were jammed and so were the streets. 

On the way into town, we passed one of several bikini bike washes. At one of them, a young woman held a hand-drawn sign promising, “We give a great hand job.”

We had been warned by a lady at the welcome center on I-90, so we left the car in the first public lot we found. It was a hike to the action in town, but it worked out all right.

I led Joanna to the Wild Bill Saloon, “location of the original Saloon No. 10.” That’s where Jack McCall killed Hickok in August 1876, about five weeks after the Battle of the Little Bighorn and about 140 years ago this week. 

It was a tough summer for guys with long hair and moustaches. So far, though, I’m OK.

The bar didn’t serve food, so we went a few doors up the street to Oyster Bay. Joanna had fried oysters, and I ate smoked oysters, along with an Odell’s IPA, a lightly fragrant ale with plenty of sharpness.

Back at the Wild Bill, I saw that there was a $10 charge for a half-hour tour of the location where Hickok was shot. It was downstairs. Main Street was raised years ago to avoid flooding (like Seattle).

But then they fessed up. It wasn’t even the real place, not the room or table or anything that had to do with Hickok’s last hand. It was just the geo coordinates.

The No. 10 Saloon burned down in the late 1870s, along with the rest of Main Street.

So I decided to have a beer instead.

One of the taps was for a red ale. The bartender told me it was from Firehouse Brewing in Rapid City. 

The balance of malt and hops was very good. Red malt is delicious, but too much malt tends to be sweet. This was not quite Hop Head Red IPA, but bitter enough that the malt didn’t take over. I think it qualifies as beautiful.

The tab came to $4.50. Change for a twenty was a ten, a five, and a Kennedy half. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those coins in circulation. But it’s appropriate, and probably calculated, the same color and size as an old silver dollar. 

It felt good to hold. It goes well with the golden dollars in my left-hand pocket.

The barroom is packed with western memborabilia—photos of Hickok, hats like his, a glass case full of pistols. A few artifacts were damaged originals found in the area, including most of a repeating rifle found in a nearby river.

Joanna stopped at a store advertising official Sturgis Black Hills Rally clothing and bought a black T-shirt with sequins and large vents in the sides and back. Very biker.

We detoured to Sturgis after Deadwood. We crawled along the main street among bikes and tents set up for the big biker market. People were offering motor trikes, bikes, parts, mechanical and legal services, accessories, and God know what all. We couldn’t find a parking spot, so we didn’t get a close look.

But you can believe it was loud.

We got to the motel in Keystone a while after we left Sturgis. It took four tries to get a room. No, literally.

First, the desk man wanted to put us on the third floor. Do you have lift? No. 

What is this? I’m thinking. Cambodia? Who has a three-story motel and no elevator?

All I said, though, is that we can’t haul the luggage to the third floor. 

Well, I guess I could manage if I were paying about a quarter of what this Super 8 was charging.

He rebooked us for a first-floor room. When we got there, we met the people who were already in it.

The next open space was on the second floor. He told us of a ramp to that would take us to the floor, so we wouldn’t have to drag everything up the steps. The climb, as it turns out, involves only three steps.

We got to the room, and the toilet seat fell off.

After some delay, he came, took the seat, and said he’d call maintenance. I called a halt.

I don’t want to sit here for an hour or two waiting for maintenance. I want a room, and this time I want to see it before we move in.

Well, fourth time is a charm. There’s no fridge but I have beer cooling in the ice bucket.

Super 8 is one of the hit-or-miss hotels. This is one of the misses. The bed is clean, but the rug needs some work. The wifi so far has been working.

We have several eateries next to the motel, including a bar offering tastings of local wines and pints of local beer. We needed food first, but all we found was DQ, pizza, and a bake shop.

Several bikers sitting outside a barbecue store and drinking light beer told us about Grizzly Creek Restaurant, a short walk the other way. We took their advice and I’m glad we did.

There was buffalo sirloin on the menu, Joanna had a beef sirloin, and I had a few of the craft beers. 

They were out of Knuckle Head Red, so I had a Caught Looking blonde ale from Blacktooth Brewing in Sheridan, Wyoming. I had tried this one before. It is light and almost citrusy, but sharp enough to have a bite, and tastes like a distant cousin to a Pilsner, but without the strange aftertaste I get from lager beers.

There was Honey Badger Brown, an ale from Firehouse Brewing in Rapid City that was malty, like most browns, but not sweet, which is often a characteristic of browns.

Then came 11th Hour IPA from Crow Peak Brewing in Spearfish, S.D. It had good body, and the hops gave it a floral aroma and sharp bitterness.

I got up late Tuesday, the ninth, so breakfast in the lobby was pretty much gone. We walked to the mall next door and found a coffee shop with muffins and yogurt. 

We went back to Custer State Park and got a close-up view of a solitary buffalo bull. A few burros were stopping traffic about where we saw the herd before. Most of them were grazing in the distance.

Four or five had invaded the rest stop, where people fed them apples and carrots. A lady gave one burro a carrot and got to hug its neck.

Another was drooling all over an apple. He was a little shy, though, and tended to pull back when people tried to pet him.

Trees of the Custer State Park grow on the hilltops and frame large prairie meadows. Joanna saw a small pond and noted how much the landscape looks like a huge golf course. 

From the wildlife loop, we drove back to Mount Rushmore on the winding Peter Norbeck Scenic Byway.

The road was finished about 20 years ago, but was proposed much earlier by Peter Norbeck, a South Dakota Senator who died in 1936.

Among its features are single-lane tunnels. Most of them face north and frame views of the faces on Mount Rushmore.

There are also pigtail bridges, large timber bridges over ravines that lead into tight curves, so the road passes under itself. There’s something like that involving a short tunnel through the rock in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Aside from the fun of looking at the Mount Rushmore Monument, we went back for the food. No kidding. It is the only place we have seen so far to offer buffalo stew. 

It is delicious, a little tangier (I think that’s the best way to describe it) than beef stew. Very savory and tender.

We sat in the cafeteria, which is my favorite part of Mount Rushmore. You get to view the sculpture through huge glass windows. The room is lined with state flags and portraits of presidents. It’s fun to see how many you can identify without coaching or reading the captions.

When we got back to Keystone for a break, Joanna took a nap and I started on this message, which maybe helps explain why it is so long.

We went back to the Grizzly Creek later. I had my main meal of the day at Mount Rushmore, but no beer. Grizzly Creek was still out of Knuckle Head Red, so I had another brown, one that I had drunk before, called Moose Drool.

I think the Honey Badger is better. This one was all right, but a little sweeter.

I went back to the 11th Hour, which was as good this night as it was the night before.

I got to the Naked Wineries store next to the motel when it was open this time. I’m working on a Sick-n-Twisted imperial IPA called Hop on Top. More brewers who are Dr. Seuss fans. (You may remember that Flying Fish out of South Jersey brews two of my favorites, Hopfish and Redfish.)

OK. This is time and a half long enough. I’m going to start rhyming next. And it’s just as well that I don’t subject you to that.

So good night, all, from the Wild West.

Harry