Mile 1611.1 - Into the wooded hills.

Day 21 was in every way easier than day 20 had been. I started with a stop at a little coffee hut across from the motel. In line, I started talking to a guy about the coffee in Italy and its superiority to most of the stuff you can get in the states. Then he asked about the clear 'i'm going for a bike ride' gear I had on. During this conversation, another woman, Hope, walked in and took over the not me part of the dialogue. At first she expressed concern over taking 85, there are parts without much shoulder and often heavy truck traffic. She offered an alternate route of going straight east to Custer then taking the Mickelson trail up to Deadwood, my aim for the night. She tried calling a friend of hers in Lead who owned a hostel, but apparently the owner was in a jazz concert that night then afterwards was flying to Long Island. Oh, JFK, how much easier it would be to get back home if I just flew to you. But where's the adventure in that?

After talking with Hope for some time, she acknowledged that at least there's not too much traffic on 85, so it might not kill me to take it. I finished my coffee and started out.

The road out of Newcastle begins in a climb. Within a couple miles, I was up on the hills overlooking town, going through high pasture land. Slowly, the pine trees started getting thicker until suddenly, for the first time since California two weeks and three whole states ago, I was entering a real forest. The places I grew up may not have mountains, but they do have forests, and going from the wide open expanse of most of Wyoming, I found some comfort in the closer horizons of trees and hills.

Within a few miles, I hit construction and was queued up in the line of cars waiting for the flagger to let us through. The flagger waved me over to a construction truck and was told to ride behind this truck. When we finally were allowed to start, I followed the truck and, given the decline of most of that part of the road, was pretty easily able to keep up with the 35mph pace the driver had set.

Several miles later, once I was clear of a lot of the traffic, I came to a part where the shoulder had been freshly resurfaced and was, in fact, a better riding surface than the traffic lanes. Flat, smooth, and almost four feet wide from the white line, I was able to keep up a steady pace as I followed up and down the hills. I wondered what Hope had meant by having no shoulders. I passed Red Butte, a brilliant red against the dark green foliage surrounding it. As I was getting closer to leaving Wyoming, a red tailed hawk flew a few effortless circles around me, the spirit of the state wishing me farewell and thanking me for visiting.

At mile 1582.76, I stopped to take a short break right on the Wyoming/South Dakota state line. It had taken me less than an hour to get there from Newcastle. South Dakota is the first and only state on this tour that I had not already been to or through at some point in the past. Horray for new states. Not far into the state, I was greeted by an American Bald Eagle, who instead of circles above me, was dashing back and forth across the road. Welcome to the Black Hills.

I climbed up to O'Neill Pass at 6785' and then, for the next twelve miles, hit a steady downslope to Cheyenne Crossing. I covered that ground quickly, getting over 43 miles per hour for some of it. Unfortunately, my camera battery had died, so I was only able to take a couple pictures on my phone. The landscape was rugged and beautiful. At one point, I heard a snapping sound from behind me, but, assuming it came from one of the lumber trucks that soon passed me, I didn't think much of it.

I climbed back up to Lead and then around to Deadwood. I found I room very close to the trailhead for the Mickelson Trail, dumped off the bike and gear and set out to explore the town a bit before sunset. I first went up to Mt. Moriah, the cemetery where Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane are buried. I climbed all the way to the top of the hill where the town's first sheriff, Timothy Oylaphant, I mean Seth Bullock is interred. Of course he had to be laid to rest up at the top of the hill apart from the rest of the town.

Passing up the Bill and Jane salt and pepper shakers in the cemetery gift shop, I went back down into town. I passed the spot where Wild Bill was shot by the coward Jack McCall, and the spot three blocks later where McCall was captured by a crowd. I couldn't get my intended shot of whiskey at the saloon Bill was killed in, as it was closed for renovations. One odd thing about this town, there are no restaurants that are not part of a hotel or casino. Ok, other than the Taco John.

I went into the Gem Saloon and had a whiskey and a beer. I imagine the place was a little rougher 130 years ago, today, it was filled mostly with grey and white haired folk sitting in front of slot machines pressing buttons. The sounds of the incessant button pressing and their counterpart beeps from the machines quickly started to grate on me, so I moved on to the next bar. I don't like to gamble, I prefer to spend my money on more certain outcomes, like booze. I had a shot and a beer there too, then found a place for dinner.

I ended up back at the Hickok House, feeling that I had had a successful day.

Day 21, Newcastle, WY - Deadwood SD
43.5 miles in 2:59:12. 1611.1 for the trip in 135:38:06 and a high speed of 43.5 mph.