Bikers and Bison

After driving through three states of GMO corn and soybeans, made even more toxic by the ever-present crop dusting airplanes, we were relieved to enter the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, our gateway to the Black Hills of South Dakota. We boon-docked several nights, first at Burke Lake, a pond built by the Civilian Conservation Corps, and then near Hot Springs at lovely Cold Brook, a lake and campground built by the Army Corps of Engineers. Liz was the only human swimmer in the lake at about 8pm.

Lakota and Catholic Chapel

Pine Ridge Reservation continues to be one of the most poverty-struck areas of America, but bold statements of cultural pride flourish among the graffiti tags. An area chamber of commerce has attempted to insert some vitality into the economy, and if other travelers are headed that way, we suggest picking up their publication. We stopped at the Red Cloud Heritage Center located in the building of an 1888 school founded by Jesuits and Franciscan nuns and now part of Red Cloud Indian School. Enthusiastic young alumni (one currently attending Stanford, the other the University of New Mexico) showed off the campus and chapel and gave us a history of the school. In the 1970’s the school ceased being a boarding school and began incorporating Lakota language and culture into the curriculum. Their development director told us his team raises $13 million dollars a year to support 600 kindergarten-high school students each year. There is no tuition and the school is proud of their 90% graduation rate. In the past few years there have been 58 Gates Millennial Scholars among the graduates (of which there are 35 on average annually.) All students take Lakota language and culture classes, and there is a sweat lodge on campus. A few exchange students reside with families on the reservation. 

Natural entrance to Wind Cave, a sacred place

From there we threaded our way up past Hot Springs, South Dakota to Wind Cave National Park. This intriguing site includes one of the longest caves in the world and was the first cave designated as a US National Park. The visitors’ center was full of families and young adults nervously awaiting their tour of the cave. Having not quite recovered from our underground encounter with the Cumberland Mine in Nova Scotia we decided to limit our visit to the exhibits above ground and a walk up to the original natural entrance to the cave. We enjoyed the bison, prong horn antelope and extensive prairie dog populations in the park and happily proceeded on to the adjacent Custer State Park. 

Every small town was lined with bikes

By that time we were aware that there were an extraordinary number of motorcyclists in the road with us. We had seen quite a number in Hot Springs, but we thought they were there in conjunction with an effort to save the local VA hospital (a parade had happened earlier in the day and the bikers were all parked outside the Legion Hall). Then it slowly dawned on us: they are going to Sturgis. We knew about Sturgis because niece Sue was headed to the motorcycle rally at Sturgis (despite her mother’s concerns.) Sturgis is a tiny Black Hills town of 650 people that for the past 74 years has invited motorcycles to come visit in the first few weeks of August. In the old days there were lots of rough and tumble interactions, but now the state stations about 1,200 law enforcement officers in the area. Any interpersonal violence tends to be between rival groups known to one another (locals call this “culling the herd”.)  Nowadays the concert, bike competition and hospitality venues report an excess of 400,000 attendees over a three week period and the local economy claims $800 million dollars in revenue associated with the rally. To fill their time between concerts, barbeques and sleeping off indulgences, attendees ride their bikes in the nearby hills. 

So there were many bikers with us on the drive around the Custer State Park Wildlife Loop and only the youngest animals and oldest tourists seemed bothered by the noise. At one point we were engulfed by a herd of about 200 bison determined to cross the road, weaving through parked cars and rumbling bikes. Some of the riders looked more perturbed than the animals. Others, like us, shut off their engines and enjoyed the show for the next 40 or so minutes. 

Famous faces

Our final stop in the Black Hills was a visit to Mt Rushmore. Somehow both of us have managed to avoid this shrine of American democracy and it was actually some progressive friends that persuaded us to stop. The defacement of a beautiful mountain and association of the primary artist with the Ku Klux Klan in Georgia had always made it seem unattractive. But it is truly spectacular and a very interesting site rich in American history. We enjoyed the movie about the workmen and design of the statues and the information about how it was funded.  The scene was suitably surreal due to the huge numbers of motorcyclists sporting colorful garb and body parts, but there were also a lot of families from all over the world. The parking was easy and the venue was beautiful and well designed to handle the millions of people who come through. 

We skirted Sturgis, and were lucky to find room in a campground near Deadwood where the bikers roared out at 5:30 am.  We roared out a few hours later, headed to Wyoming.