Storms of July

Storm came through hard. Appeared as if it were daylight. I reach for my phone and there’s a warning “seek shelter.” What do I do? Everyone at the campground was up and in their cars, but I had no where to go because I was on a bike. I laid there and endured the worst. Branches falling, hitting my tent, wind getting worse by the second.

I didn’t have a shelter, and I was afraid of the thunderstorm message I received, “may be deadly.” So I put on my waterproof pants, boots and jacket. The rain had stopped at this point but the occasional gust of wind was intimidating.

I walk around camp in search of the bathroom. I meander through others’ campsites but I don’t care, I desperately want to be near a building. After 0200, the storm is still ravaging the east as it heads that way, but I’m not convinced I should go back to my site. I stand outside the bathroom staring into the distance curious about what daylight will bring to my travels. I’m sure my hike will be a no-go. I’d prefer to not get muddy and break my other collarbone. I suppose I’ll head south to what others may think of as the “better Dakota.”

Maybe it’s nice staying at an established grounds. There were people around; that felt safe, and there were buildings. Who knows what would have happened if I chose the wrong place to “wild” camp in the national forest. Maybe my lack of skills would have landed me in a flood zone. Maybe my weather update of 50% rain wouldn’t have seemed so severe. Just reinforces the idea of consistent learning while traveling to unknown territories.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit

At 0230 the storm had officially passed and I walk the grounds to see nearly everyone awake and in their vehicles. One gentleman looked to be packing up and leaving. A tree had fallen and broke his rear windshield. (The branch that hit looked like it should have fallen a while ago; it was clearly dead.) I feel lucky because I had set my tent up near some trees. I guess it would pay considerable attention next time to survey the area for healthy (or not) trees before setting up camp near.

Overall I like the park (South Unit) it’s beautiful, but it’s too close to a major highway and it didn’t have that peaceful “zen” at night due to the passing traffic and jake brakes. And like any other NP in the summertime, there’s too many people and there’s too many kids. I am going to consider more National Forest campgrounds and dispersed options.

After Sunrise

Woke up after a terrible nights sleep to everyone around the camp telling stories of their night. A few asked me if I was alright because I didn’t have a vehicle to seek shelter. Small talk led to others telling me their travel plans. Turns out I’m not the only one who wants to see Banff.

I packed up and got on the road to do the loop in Theodore Roosevelt NP, well, half of the loop since it was closed. It was a fairly early Sunday morning, not too busy. The bison were out grazing and the prairie dogs? They were doing their normal routine. It was a decent drive until I left the park heading south for Spearfish.

The Views Over the Plains Looked Like Computer Desktop Backgrounds in the Early 2000’s

It seemed like an eternity taking the perfect line road into South Dakota. The only thing I enjoyed to see along the way until the Black Hills were rolling crop fields that resembled every early 2000’s generic PC desktop background. I chatted with a few people along the way, more people curious about where I was going, which seemed to be the usual.

I made my arrival to Spearfish, SD and the first thing I had mapped was to ride Spearfish Canyon. I began my route and quickly pulled over. Riding all day in the heat had me spent. So I decided to take my riding gear off. Now, some people are ATGATT (all the gear all the time) people and I thought that was my stance, but I wanted to feel the wind and enjoy the weather in the hills. I elected to wear normal civilians attire and no helmet. Yes, no helmet, a first for me on a longer trip not in my own neighborhood. Along the ride there were mainly Harley riders. They begun to make more sense to me. Nearly all of them weren’t wearing helmets, and the other half only had on t-shirts, some with cut off sleeves. It felt good to just be in the elements. I used to make fun of the Harley riders because it’s rare to see a Harley in the rain, but to be honest; the rain sucks.

After driving through Deadwood and Sturgis, it was time to find a campsite. In my desire for pinching pennie’s, I decided to seek a dispersed campsite along a forest service road. My collarbone was healing slowly and still brought me pain, but I was becoming more confident on the gravel, so I took off into the forest service roads of the Black Hills. I found a few good spots and really enjoyed the scenery from atop the mountain, but the eerie silence and not a soul in sight was enough for me to reconsider an organized site.

Going further down the road I was going down a steep and rocky grade with washouts and ruts. My novice style riding had me alarmed and I overcompensated thinking I was protecting my broken clavicle. Then it happened: I dropped my bike. I stand out of breath staring in the distance. I stopped thinking quickly and just committed to using all my strength in my strong arm. Lifting from the downhill I managed to get my bike upright. I then attempted to turn it around facing uphill. This was impossible and I kept dropping my bike or stalling it trying to walk it uphill. I decided just to drag it back to it resting position and work up the nerve to ride it down hill to find a safe turn around. I got to the bottom safely and turned around to find that everything was easier going uphill. I got the hell out of there and decided to find a “real” campsite.

I rode Vanocker Canyon Road down to Boxelder Forks campground. I got settled in, bathed near the creek, made a coffee and read. The book was something I had picked up at a used bookstore in Bismarck: Undaunted Courage by Stephen E. Ambrose. It was a good read so far about Lewis and Clark. I was enjoying the idea about exploration.

At present writing, I lay in my tent to hear thunderstorms off in the distance. It sounds as if I’ll be treated to night two of horrible weather. The storms are unpredictable out here. I just hope the winds aren’t 50+ miles an hour like they were last night. I get out of my tent to inspect the trees around me. The temperature has plummeted decently in the last hour. The trees appear hearty, so I’m hoping they stay that way during the storm. Luckily it sounds as if this storm may be early. I’d prefer to sleep tonight. If it sounds as if the storm may be too hectic, I may have to throw on my raincoat and head for shelter; in this case, the open pit toilet across a bridge over the creek. Being struck by lightening is not my anticipation tonight.

Checking the forecast, it’s possible the storm is just north of me heading west. I’ll be lucky if I get the ass end of some rain. The creek begins to sound heavier. Is this wind coming? It’s all unsettling, I’m tempted to run to shelter now. I peak outside and it’s a constant flow of wind, not a bouncing and surging rush. I don’t think I’ve experienced wind like this before. Everything I thought I knew was wrong. I understand RV’ers now.

I’m laying in my tent as the wind and rain begin. It’s hail that starts. I’ve covered my body with my motorcycle helmet and gear in hopes of protecting me against a tree falling. A hailstone hit my foot that was against the tent, I peak outside, they’re the size of nickels. Follows is the rain. It seems light and my forecast says it will end soon. Rain doesn’t scare me, but the wind near trees does. If there’s anything this trip has taught me: I like my civilized safety net.

The stereotypical crack of Thunder and lightning wreak havoc to the night sky as rain pelts my tent. This isn’t as rough as the night before but it’s not ideal living conditions.