Mile 1749.5 - The Mickelson Trail

I wasn't expecting today to be a long-haul mile day, which is good. I would have been disappointed otherwise.

I had breakfast at the hotel restaurant again, and read a fresh copy of the Deadwood Pioneer as I ate my breakfast burrito. For the third time in a week, I spent a good half hour getting the dirt and grit from the wet day before off of Penny. With the new rack, I needed to adjust the clips on the panniers. Unfortunately, it seems I lost the allen wrench that fits. I went down to the hardware store and bought a new set, as it is impossible to buy a single one. I got back and the right size one didn't quite fit, by maybe a millimeter and a half. After digging a nice round hole into the formerly hexagontal space, I was finally able to make do. It is the same size wrench as I need for the clips on the pedals. The wrench didn't fit that either, but that can wait until the next bike shop I stop at.

After everything I had to do in the morning, it was already almost 11:00. I wanted to get down the Crazy Horse and then find somewhere to pitch the tent. If my time was really good, maybe I'd make it up to Rushmore, but I wasn't going to push it. The Mickelson Trail is an old railroad bed, so with one exception, it never gets above a 3% grade. Bad news, 7 or 8 miles of 3% grade is still going to hurt. Other bad news, crushed limestone trail + several days of wet = soft trail. In some cases, very soft.

After coming to a split in the trail for the Kirk Loop, I took what turned out to be the much harder of the two trails. Like over 1/2 mile of it, the grade ranges from 7-17%. And did I mention soft? Within the first 1/4 mile of starting this section, I saw my first live snake of the whole tour. I thought Nevada and Utah for certain, but I only saw dead snakes there. But here I was in South Dakota, head to wheel with the first one that reacted to my approach. We both responded quickly getting out of the other's way. It was about two feet long and black and we both lived to tell our friends of the harrowing encounter.

For my hard work, I was given a great view of the Wasp and Bismark mines. Good stuff. The bottom got too soft for me to ride through with all my weight. Maybe on my mountain bike, but not like this. Back on a slightly firmer part of the trail, I saw my second live snake of the trip. But this was just a silly foot long green one who watched me coming then darted out of the way when I was almost on top of him. Silly snake.

I hit the advertised ridiculous grade part and made the executive decision to walk Penny up the rest of the hill. I met three people on mountain bikes on their way down and none of them envied my load. I got to the top and setting on a bench resting was Larry. Larry is a recently retired teacher of 30 years from Deadwood, who rides the trail to get back into shape. I'm sure hundreds of former students from Deadwood and Lead know him as Mr. Larry. He asked if I was riding to Chicago. Well, yes and no. We talked for probably a good 20 minutes. One of the things he asked about was water, an element I was quickly running short on.

I met a few people on the trail, joggers and cyclists, but it was going very slowly because I wanted to stop every 300 feet to take pictures. I was envious of the train engineers who got to drive this route, a lot more interesting than Canton to Dayton. (Sorry, Ohio, I know you can't help that you're so boring.) At one point, there was a downed pine tree across the path. I dismounted to see if I could even enough to clear a foot of passage on the trail, but immediately it was obvious that the hundreds of pounds of wood were going to take more than me to move. I pulled Penny across the thinnest part and carried on.

A few miles later, I got to do one of my favorite things to do on a bike, go through a tunnel. I know, I'm odd. I had no lights on, so in the middle I could clearly see the trail and the trees outside, but couldn't make out any detail of the path, walls or ceiling round me. I think tunnels are great, but maybe that's because I grew up in a flat state.

Coming to the town of Rochford, I passed a couple on mountain bikes riding my way. I asked if they knew how much further to the trailhead, and she responded that it wasn't far ahead. After passing a bridge that looks like it is, but isn't, and passing the town in the process, I came to the real trailhead and doubled back up the hill to the closest place to get water. The couple had taken the shorter path across the bridge. I went into the Rochford Mall, bought a gallon of water, a coke and a brownie and talked to the owner about my trip. As I was outside resting, she brought out her guest book to sign, I signed it Josh Hobson, Transcontinental Mile 1721.1 Brooklyn, NY 5/21/10. There, now we both have a record of its transaction.

Outside was the couple, and another pair of their friends who were riding the trail, looking for another pair of friends who were well ahead of them. I talked to them as we ate, he offered me some lunchables as she cleaned a pedal wound on her shin. They were doing the whole 109 miles of the Mickelson, which sounds fantastic, and when she heard I was going across the country, responded, 'I thought what were was doing was hard'. Well, it is. And let me here take a moment to preach from pulpit of my blog. You're ride is good, you guys and Larry and so many other cyclists I've met. My ride is exponentially ridiculous, and doesn't even matter compared to your rides. 109 miles, 40, 20, 10, just around the park, it makes no difference. If you're enjoying it, then keep on peddling. There are so many fantastic things to do on a bike that don't involve having to change your watch because of time zones. Just get out there and ride! Ok, lecture over.

Because I had stopped so much to take pictures, the now trio of riders I was talking to in Rochford caught up to me. I talked to each of them a bit, and then our natural paces started to show. I was slower on the inclines but faster going level or down. I found myself at the back of their pack then again in the front. Bidding them a good ride, I pulled ahead. A half an hour down the trail or so, I caught up to the other pair of their friends. For some reason, the strap on my water bottle decided that moment to give way.

This bottle and I have a history. It may not be long in terms of a lifespan, but how many relationships get to be? Back on my day off in Kemmerer, I had stopped at the grocery store and found a straight sided gallon water bottle with a plastic strap. This design made it much easier to attach with my bungies than the traditional plastic gallon milk jug. We had covered some 570 miles together of desert, mountain, more desert, some hills, a really wind plain and some much taller hills. It had become a member of the team, the last thing I strap down and the first thing off when I unpack. I have the roll of tape I brought with, and wrapped it all the way around the bottle to try to secure it. But it just kept failing. By the end of the night, I had taken my last drink from it and crushed it to put in my trash bag. But now I'm getting ahead of myself.

The couple longest periods of climbing going south on the trail are coming into Hill City and approaching Crazy Horse. Especially with the soft conditions of the trail, it was slow going. I finally got to Hill City with maybe an hour and a half of good sunlight left and decided I needed food and probably a beer. I found both at the Bumpin' Buffalo. I tried Chislic for the first time, with is basically fried meat with a dipping sauce and a had a salad. On the way out, I was stopped by a couple originally from Vail, CO who had move to the black hills. We had a good, if brief, exchange, but I wanted to get some more miles down the road before sunfall. There's 10.5 miles between the Hill City and Crazy Horse trailheads, and I wanted to get as far down as I could.

Battling time and friction, I made it down to Oreville. At least, where Oreville was, it isn't there any more, but there is a nice covered enclosure with a picnic table and enough room to pitch a tent. Little did I know that on the other side of the highway and less than 1/3rd of a mile away was the Oreville campground, but oh well. What I had found suited my needs perfectly. An hour after sunset, I even got out of the tent to sit on the picnic table and watch a thunderstorm from the protection of cover.

A good day, but slow. And yes, go ride the Mickleson trail, it is beautiful. But maybe come with thick tires.

Day 23, Deadwood SD - Oreville Camp, SD
53.3 miles in 6:02:17 for 1749.5 miles in 148:11:13, with a high speed of 26.1 only because the paved road back to the Rochford trailhead is downhill