Chicago to Gillette and points West

[beemer01]

Preamble - I rode down to the BMW motorcycle shop in the city a few days before we were to leave on a Roadtrip from Chicago to Wyoming and points West. I bought 4 quarts of BMW oil (an indulgence I afford my aging 1985 bike) and the official filter. Remembering a post on MOA about the need to always carry an spare clutch cable, I asked if they had one in stock. Mark checked and indicated that he'd have to order one…. I promised to verify the part number on the existing one, since the bars are not the standard RS bars, and call him back. No rush, as the previous owner indicated that he'd changed the clutch cable just a couple of years earlier. I didn't call him back.

This would come back to haunt me.

Day One. We were off to the MOA rally in Gillette, Wyoming. My buddy Thomas, who does something within the bowels of the Federal Government involving information security and protecting life as we know it, was to be my riding partner. He'd ridden in from DC a day earlier. Thomas sports a late model K1200LT, so fully decked out I'm not quite sure it still qualifies as a bike.

Except that it is fast... and could tip over.

I'd mapped a route out to Gillette that included some slab and a few back roads, and we got a fairly early start. We headed Northwest past Lake Geneva (Wisconsin, not Switzerland)

and on over to LaCrosse where we stopped for a break after crossing the mighty Mississippi where we chatted up an older couple on a Wing with a trailer who seemed to relish their gypsy lifestyles.

Up and out of the River Valley, we began to blast across the Eastern edge of the Plains. Minnesota's version is verdant green, lush with crops…. and increasingly GE wind turbines. Minnesota has committed to have 25% of its future electrical energy come from renewable sources, and the result has been a boom business in wind farms on it's Southern plains. These silent white turbines seemingly float on the lush fields like clipper ships - with rotating blades rather than billowing sails. The size of these turbines is astonishing - this became readily evident when we saw and visited a turbine assembly field - each blade seems to be 130' long, giving the unit a 260' diameter blade area.

This new generation of 1.5 Megawatt wind turbines, using light weight carbon fiber blades and planetary gear reduction, permit power generation from the constant prairie winds. Man, these are big pieces of American engineering.

The heat crept upwards as we powered on across the prairie - my visor collected many bug specimens - so many that I had to clean my helmet visor at every gas stop.

We finally arrived in Fairmont, Minnesota where we stayed at the local inexpensive motel and had a Mexican dinner…… that wasn't half bad. The margaritas were cold and cheap.

Day Two. Up and out at dawn, we slabbed it across the seemingly endless prairie on I-90. Temps crept upward and we did our best to stay hydrated, always getting fluids when we stopped for gas. The land began to slowly change - flowing prairies and slightly rolling hills had taken root … the emerald corn and soybean crops changed to vast endless fields of grasslands.

All of which would have encouraged speeding if we had been so inclined.

Full disclosure - South Dakota is beautiful, when seen from the seat of a motorcycle… and probably boring when seen from inside a car. Interesting. When you frame this picture, it loses perspective. Robert Persig was right.

We stopped at the Minuteman museum near the Badlands, and got the nickel orientation on how these solid fuel ICBMs had stood guard for years, with rotating crews assigned the dubious duty of staying underground for three days at a crack - keys around their necks at the ready.

Can you imagine the desolation out there in February?

BTW, one of the reasons that the Minuteman Missiles were concentrated here - if concentrated is an accurate word with silos scattered across the vast featureless prairie - if that incoming Russian missiles detonating would create minimal civilian fatalities. The other reason was that with a North Pole route to the USSR, this area provided a fairly short route to their programmed destinations.

From there we rode the Badlands - simply amazing geography, that come to think of it probably inspired Dr. Seuss. Striking and strange. It's not hard to imagine bands of Indians or outlaws hiding there… perhaps even still!

We wound up in Rapid City, a city clearly on the edge of the Rockies, and had a decent steak dinner followed by cigars in the bar - a nicely civilized touch no longer available in most of this increasingly politically correct country of ours.

Day Three. Up and at it early, we gassed up and headed to visit Mount Rushmore.

A simply amazing exhibition of human ingenuity and American engineering skills. Besides, I can't imagine looking at a mountain face and seeing the potential of presidential faces carved into the rock.

We met a Coast Guard officer with his family who was in the process of relocating to Juneau, Alaska. He wistfully confided that since Juneau has a total of 65 miles of paved roads, he'd decided to put his1200RT into long term storage back in Wisconsin. (I think he was on the verge of tears as we described our intended trip).

We left the arid mountains around Rushmore and aimed at the Thunder Basin grasslands in Wyoming. Simply amazing - Antelope and deer on the highway - and a clear view to the horizon probably 40-50 miles away in every direction. Except for oil fields dotting the view, this is what the pioneers saw as they walked Westward. In our case, had we been inclined to speed, this would have been an excellent area to try this activity.

Approaching Gilette I observed a perfect example of vertical integration, a open pit coal mine abutting a power generation plant. Coal mined is merely transported by a conveyor to the power plant.

Note - I did see a few wind farms here, but I'm thinking that for the time being coal and oil are kings in Wyoming.

We arrived at the Rally in Gillette in the early afternoon, registering and setting up camp on a grassy field that utterly defied the tent stakes I'd brought along… even with the loan of a hammer from a neighboring camper.

We were rather quickly joined by hundreds of other campers, and we soon wandered over to the vendors area… and recognized many of the faces. (The guy with the tattoos selling leather vests however looked like he may have selected the wrong event.)

We found the beer garden and had a number of pleasant conversations as we rehydrated with a few cold ones.

We eventually found our way to the volunteer booth where we were discovered by Rick Nelson, and persuaded to take the shuttle driving shift from 9-midnight. Right, no wonder it was available for the taking.

Since Thomas has a police background, I assigned him to handle the rowdy drunks who would undoubtedly be needing our services and I slid in next to the driver for the earlier shift to learn the ropes. Good thing, since the actual route was a bit convoluted, and I certainly didn't have his skills in backing up a loaded trailer should I take a wrong turn in the gathering dark. And storms… did I mention the blowing, gusting wind, splattering rain and severe weather warnings - in the dark? Really dark, at least compared to Chicago, the land of eternal light.

Anyhow after 7-8 loops, the current driver was finally convinced that I could probably drive this rig without killing too many people. Steady and slow, with smooth stops was the mantra. Take every inch available for the turns to avoid clipping the trailer.

I think we did well, but I did get some extra supervision with Rick eventually riding shotgun and watching my velocity so the other truck and trailer would be approximately 180 degrees out from us on the loop.

We ended our shift at midnight, Thomas turned in his bleating airhorn and we retired to the campsite, which I had wisely marked with a flashing emergency LED beacon - which did help it stick out amidst the growing ocean of tents.

The torrential rains of course hit about 2AM, collapsing the tarp Thomas had rigged for outdoor sleeping. I had gone out to Wallyworld earlier and gotten their generic yellow tent stakes, and with the borrowed hammer pounded them deeply into the unyielding prairie. No good, the rig gave way during a violent gust eventually propelling Thomas into the tent. Not much sleep that evening as lightening crackled, popped and strobed across the evening sky.

Dawn arrived…. damply. We staggered over to avail ourselves to free coffee and to exchange war stories with other survivors. More than a few bikes had blown over during the storm - probably a combination of wind and rain softened soil.

We took in a MSF class and decided to call it a rally. We had an aggressive road riding agenda outlined courtesy of some gentlemen over on Adv Rider, and little time to ride it.

We broke camp and headed out - Alt14 had been suggested over to Sheridan. Man, what a road. Unlike some of the more heavily traveled routes later on our journey, this road is in near perfect condition… and devoid of other vehicles.

We soared up the grades and switchbacks, thoroughly enjoying the dry mountain air and amazing vistas. On the down grade we saw where the road appeared to have been damaged by the winter and whole sections had been hastily replaced. We arrived in Sheridan, Wyoming in the late afternoon - did a load of laundry, had dinner and crashed.

.

 

[beemer01]

Chicago to Gillette and points West - Part Two

Day Five. This was going to be a riding day! We aimed at Red Lodge and the Beartooth - I mapped out our route which included what appeared to be a great seasonal road to Belfry, Montana. I should have known when we flew up this wonderful road for 30 miles without seeing a soul that my karma was running out. Cresting a rise, I slammed on the brakes - a whole herd of black cows were having an extended conversation. On the two lane highway.

This is open range land… and the cows have the right of way.

We slowly weaved our way through the cows, only to go over another rise and find that Montana hasn't seen fit to pave their end of this road to Belfry. 30 miles of uncertain gravel on a RS and a LT didn’t seem to be a great idea - especially with riders who tend to avoid gravel at all costs.

We made our way back to Alt14 and eventually found our way to Belfry and found another road over to Red Lodge. It turns out that this was a BIG Hog ride day, with hundreds of riders dressed like pirates (black vests, black chaps, Do rags, girlfriends on the back in tank tops and sandals… and one chap was wearing shorts, thongs and a tee shirt. Helmets were somewhat scarce.) The assembled thundering, grumbling mass had invaded Red Lodge… at one point a V8 bike/chopper thundered past, which was even louder than the others - as if that were possible.

We stopped at a somewhat less crowed roadside stand, and I noticed a MOA stickered RT parked out front. This rider, dressed in a blue Stitch jacket was rather easy to pick out of the crowd. Dave was a pleasant English guy with his girlfriend riding two up from Kentucky's Horse country. He, as well, was aiming at the Beartooth, so after a quick lunch we geared up and headed up. And up. And up.

Wow, what a ride. Fields of wildflowers gave way to vast snow fields - at times the road cut through 7-9' banks of cold white snow. The sun was bright, the flowers were fantastic and the road went on and on and on. And back and forth.

The summit was nearly 11,000 feet and my flying brick motored on and on. After the summit, I briefly gave chase to Dave and his friend, but even riding two up with a lower horsepower bike, they eventually built up such a lead that my horsepower edge was negated.

Oh heck, he is just a far better rider than me.

We hit the split and Thomas and I went down the Chief Joseph Highway - a very different road than Beartooth, but dramatic and awe inspiring in its own way.

We found our way to Cody, Wyoming, set up camp in the Buffalo Bill State park, had dinner, downed a few Coors and hit the hay.

The sunset and scenery were great.

Day Six. We rolled out early aiming for Yellowstone Park. The 50 miles from Cody to the Eastern Gate of Yellowstone have been called the most scenic road in America. Given what I'd seen over the previous days, I'd be the wrong person to argue, but the rock formations and the flat valley I was riding up were indeed amazing.

We did the Grand Loop Drive, stopping at various geysers including watching Old Faithful, operating more or less on time. Yellowstone is kind of a wilderness theme park - lots of chubby people in RVs glancing out their windows. What really stuck me again were the carpets of amazing wildflowers - they were everywhere… I ran out of camera battery power before I captured even half of the species I saw.

We saw wild bison, moose, deer, caribou… and a pocket gopher. Not bad for a 5 hour tour!

Auguring South through Grand Teton Park, we were struck by the jagged Teton Range - wow, what a view… what mountains. We rode slowly, partly to savor the view and partly because the road is in dreadful condition.

We began to realize that the route that we'd been assigned (gifted?) was probably a eight day loop, not the five that we'd allowed…. not based on mileage, but the difficulty in pounding down miles when there is so much to see… and the roads, of course, aren't Midwest straight.

After we passed Jackson, Wyoming the road conditions improved and we upped the pace. The skies however soon got dark and the winds picked up sharply. A dust storm rolled through with 50-60 MPH wind - fortunately we had just stopped for gas and were able to huddle behind the pumps until it blew through.

I thought I saw the wicked witch of the West fly by on her broom.

We rode on and on the scenery changing as we moved South - I remember Star Valley, being a paradise it seems that at one point was apparently settled by the Mormons. Green hills, vast lush flat fields bounded by hills and mountains.

We shifted West into Idaho, and the scenery again changed with steeply rolling hills, covered with grass - completely devoid of trees except along streams. Again I had the opportunity to test my brakes and threshold braking when a herd of sheep crossed the road - one in particular had a certain road sign in mind to scratch an itch. And he (she?) would not be deterred by a beeping horn on a motorcycle after waiting that long. We also got an interesting detour around some road construction that necessitated riding on deep loose gravel. What fun - just keep rolling and stay on the throttle.

Our evening's destination was Montpellier, Idaho. We stopped at the local discount motel and negotiated a pretty good rate, applying a AAA discount. Thomas thought it might get a bit lower if he tried his Federal employee status.

That turned out to be a mistake. This is probably the regional headquarters of the John Birch Society. They really hate the Federal government at a level those of us in the 'East' have a hard time fathoming. A hand made sign at the edge of town proclaimed something about getting the US out of the UN.

Whatever. They probably charged us more since he works in DC.

Montpellier has the wide streets of a Mormon settlement - as in Salt Lake - they are wide enough to turn an ox cart around on. (Probably a great idea in 1800, but certainly an expensive proposition in modern times).

Kim, at the local motel, had directed us to a local restaurant called "The Ranch Hand". As god is my witness, I covered that entire town twice trying to find this elusive dining establishment. We finally gave up and ate at the only place that we could find. Arctic Circle's salads actually aren't that bad.

We met another MOA rider on an 1150RT, we shared beers and cigars sitting out in the parking lot on our folding chairs talking bikes and the rides. He had journeyed up from Arizona and was heading on to Boise.

Day Seven. Again we rolled out early, and the morning chill was brisk as we journeyed back onto the high deserts of Wyoming. That area is so open and bare, I envision even jackrabbits have a hard time surviving.

Remember that clutch cable, and my failure to buy a spare back in Chicago? My clutch had felt different for the last couple of days - as I accelerated away from a stop sign….at the last shift, I felt it snap… the lever flopping loosely in my left hand.

Fortunately this was Wyoming - I ran for 45 miles in fifth gear on Route 30 trying to figure out what to do next. The end was in any event near… my red low fuel light turned on… one way or another I was going to stop. Soon.

I'd been seeing signs for "Little America" - a rather legendary motel/oasis in the middle of nowhere on the Wyoming desert, and it was just 15 miles away. I eased off the gas trying to stretch the remaining ounces of fuel just a bit further. It all came to an end as I chugged down the ramp and killed the bike - remaining in complete control - 1/8 mile from Little America, Wyoming.

Thomas was a good sport and we proved that an LT can indeed tow an ancient RS for a little ways, sparing us the pain of pushing a heavy bike uphill.

After arriving in their lot, we set to work trying to locate a clutch cable. Another MOA GS rider came over and tried to locate a cable through the BMW dealer in Salt Lake. Unfortunately they are closed on Mondays… a pattern that seemed to exist across the intermountain region. However he actually had the phone number of the parts manager… at home.. but his friend confirmed that this not a part that they stocked, so the earliest I'd see a new cable would be days hence.

Thomas has a pretty good relationship with Bob's BMW in Marysland, so he lobbed a call into their parts manager. Yep, they had several on hand and would be happy to overnight one to me… even to Little America, Wyoming. Overnight is overnight right?

We ordered one.

Next we discovered that this massive motel complex… had no rooms to rent. I asked if they'd mind if we set up a tent on their verdant lawn. Yes, they would mind… very much.

We sat obnoxiously in their lobby killing time and being annoying. Eventually a room was produced. Now we had to waste more time. It turns out that Thomas is a Zenmaster at killing time. I am not.

The rooms at Little America are meticulously maintained and immaculate. The d?®cor, however seems to be vintage 1950s Americana - Nancy Regan could have been the decorator. Even more curiously, the entire complex is lush, well watered, carefully maintained and done in a perfect mid-Atlantic style… looked like Jefferson may have had a hand in the design.

Interesting place to spend a day.

I read every magazine and newspaper I could put my hands on. There was no Public Radio. The Casper Newspaper is somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun… and how many hours of bad TV can one take?

Fortunately we decided to have our own happy hour(s) with icy cold Budweiser and plenty of good cigars. The sunset was great and the temps amazingly mild.

Day Eight. The UPS parcel arrived just after noon as the annoyed girl at the front counter had promised. (How do they know when the UPS Driver would arrive?).

The right part, but installing it took me several hours working in the hot sun in the parking lot as we were expelled from the room with the gear sitting on the lush lawn.

(Hey, it could have been worse - imagine if this thing had broken on the Beartooth!).

But now the bike ran rough - WTF? I had removed and replaced the fuel tank - something I had done many times before. Well, it ran rough at idle - at highway speeds she seemed to run OK. I gassed up to no avail - still idled rough.

We decided to trim the ride by a day (OK, two days since this episode already cost us 35 valuable hours - sigh) and start heading East. We headed out on the infamous Route 80 and began to really pound down some serious miles. Since we didn’t start until 3:00 or so the sun was setting as we finished off Wyoming and headed into Nebraska.

We seemed to thread our way between rain storms as they appeared to the South, North and behind us to the West. Occasionally the pavement was still damp from a storm that had just passed by - I could feel the cooler air caused by the evaporating moisture as I skimmed over the surface. But we didn't get wet and were able to avoid tangling with the rain and lightening we saw around us. And we could probably see 40 miles in every direction out there.

Riding on I-80, with a 45 MPH crosswind amid Semis in the gathering darkness is not fun. At all. We finally pulled off in Sidney, Nebraska for fuel and we both decided that we were done playing that game. Thomas had survived US Army entanglement in battles in Somalia and Iraq (and god knows where else)…. and even he looked ashen. I can't imagine how I looked.

Grabbed a room and decided to use old Route 30 the next day.

Day Nine. It's probably not a coincidence that I-80, the old Route 30 and the UP RR all lie parallel and close to each other across much of Nebraska. If I researched it, there are probably old Indian trails beneath these roads and rails.

When I-80 opened the life of many of these small towns began to drain away. I'd like to assemble a photo montage of the abandoned gas stations, auto repair shops and motels that still line Route 30. The businesses began to concentrate at the exit ramps and leave the tiny towns just a few miles away.

Nonetheless Route 30 is still a nice road and a far better way to cross Nebraska. We stopped at a diner for an authentic plains breakfast amid a 50's automotive d?®cor.

Route 30 is also known as the Lincoln Highway and was a major East - West corridor extending from New Jersey to Oregon. From Western Nebraska to the Chicago area, it's a separate and distinct highway. We stayed on it.

The transformation of the land as we rode Eastward is always amazing. The day began on the grass covered hills, bluffs and buttes of Western Nebraska and ended amidst the lush, verdant and rolling terrain of Western Iowa. I felt like I was riding through Oz and the Emerald City.

We camped that night in a tiny campground East of Omaha in Iowa, run by two elderly women who also ran a tiny restaurant in a ramshackle building up front. $10 for the night seemed like a good deal.

Naturally it poured and the tarp collapsed.

Day Ten. We packed up in the rain early and carefully rode our heavy bikes out of the muddy campground and back onto 30. Rain continued for the next hour - we stopped for breakfast in another Route 30 town that time forgot, stamping off the wet and chill.

Thunder rumbled to the West as we emerged from the restaurant. We climbed back onto the bikes intent on outrunning this front and aimed East.

We covered all of Iowa that day as well as the width of Illinois as we got back to Chicago.

Lessons learned.

Pack fewer clothes. Laundromats are everywhere and cheap.

Pack a hammer to pound in tent and tarp stakes.

Backpacking gear is well sized for motorcycle camping.

Oh, yes - bring an extra clutch and throttle cable

 

[SNC1923]

What an interesting, thorough, and well-photographed report! Thanks for having us along.

 

[terham]

Great report and pix.

I've got to head west some day. All these trip reports going to and from Gillette are great.

 

[john1691]

Pretty awesome. I'll get out that way someday. Thanks for the great pics and report on the places and people.

 

[wezul]

Nice Brian, you are doin' it!

 

[redclfco]

Great Report! Awesome pictures!

Way to go Brian!

 

[OU812]

Excellent writing and picks Brian! I sure missed a great one.

 

[nyfty]

I-80/US Hwy 30/Union Pacific road bed

Brian: You posed a sort of question in your fine report. "It's probably not a coincidence that I-80, the old Route 30 and the UP RR all lie parallel and close to each other across much of Nebraska. If I researched it, there are probably old Indian trails beneath these roads and rails."

I can save you research time. I grew up along side US Hwy 30 and the UPRR. The railroad bed you rode along is the original Trans Continental Railroad bed. Also much of I-80 and US Hwy 30 parallel the Oregon Trail and Mormon Trail though much of central and western Nebraska. The original trails and I-80 split at Ogallala NE for a while before rejoining just west of Laramie WY.

 

[beemer01]

Thanks Jim -

I had guessed part of that - it's amazing how long the UPRR trains are, we rarely see them quite that long in Chicago due to the impact they would have on automotive traffic at crossings.

I'm just contemplating how long it took to cross the Great Plains on foot next to a covered wagon on a rutted dirt trail.

Whew. Good thing we came from hardy stock. You at least, my tribe tended to get discouraged and stay East.

 

[BFish]

most excellent story...pics great...thanks for sharing.

 

[beemer01]

Slight fact edit

The wind turbine blades were 131' long, giving the overall diameter of the rotating blade assembly of 262'. The towers themselves are roughly 260' high, so the rotating blade is 130 or so feet off the ground.

And no, few birds are killed by the slowly rotating blades.

Neat stuff.

 

[R1150GSADVRIDER]

Great post!

Just back from Sturgis (should have gone to Gillette). Travelled many of the same roads and saw many of the same areas and agree it was awsome and inspiring. Thanks for sharing your adventure with us.