Black Hills and Grasslands

I made it to Spearfish late Saturday night and took Sunday off with
the family of a friend. It was so dark that I finally had opportunity
to test out my contrived headlight sytem. It was great night riding
because I could smell that good smell of fresh cut hay and I saw my
first glimpse of fireflies in more than one summer.

The Black Hills are host to a much more dramatic set of geological
features than I had anticipated. Interstate travellers: hop off I-90
and drive up Spearfish Canyon for really superb natural beauty. My
host Chris took for me a drive through the canyon, past a now fallow
longstanding gold mine, and on into Deadwood, with its historic main
street where Wild Bill was shot down and casinos draw busloads of
folks willing to make a donation to the local economy for a shot at a
little or not-so-little jackpot. Thanks again to D'Anna and Chris for
all the hospitality.

Monday morning, it was north on US 85 into the wind. It may be hard to
imagine, but I was nearly ecstatic to be riding into a stiff,
relentless headwind through long rolling rangeland and the sweet smell
of alfalfa. I did make it 90 miles all the way to Buffalo, population
380 and county seat for Harding County. My maternal grandmother's
parents actually honesteaded west of Buffalo near Camp Crook and
Capitol, MT.

At press time, I'm sitting underneath the welcome sign for North
Dakota, and already today I've had someone point out a handful of
Fretheim names in the local phone book. I can hear the soft whistling
two-note tune of an oil derrek in the middle distance.