My Trails

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Badland Bison.

While riding through the Badlands a couple of days ago, I happened upon a campground that was nestled in a remote area. Upon investigation I discovered it was a free camping area. The map describes it as a primitive campground because there is no water available and no flush toilets. It meets all my needs, however: picnic tables with sun shades over them, oder-free toilets, and trash containers. The only drawback is that it is on a washboardy, dirt road, eight miles from any cell reception. I will probably spend a couple of days here and try one of the hikes the information board lists.

Yesterday, I rode five miles outside the park to the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site. The site consists of two locations – the underground launch control center and the Minuteman II missile (unarmed) in the silo. This site was part of the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty in 1991 that deactivated over half the ICBM’s in the northern plains. I was disappointed that the elevator was broken and tours down into the command center were canceled. I watched a film and looked over some of the displays and then rode to the actual missile site 16 miles from the command center.

At the missile silo there was a park service volunteer answering questions. The giant 4-feet thick concrete cover is rolled back half-way across the opening and a glass cover was built over the tube to give tourists a view down into the silo where the missile sits.

There is quite a lot to do here in SD. Ellsworth A.F.B. has a air and space museum with a training launch facility, where you can tour an underground missile silo. And, of course, there is Mt. Rushmore, Wind Cave NP, Jewel Cave NM, and the Black Hills to see, so it may be a while before I get into Wyoming.

I pass several herds of cattle, sometimes standing in the road or very close, and I can’t help but lean out the window and holler “Moooo!”. This is the high plains of Colorado, a sweeping, treeless expanse of rolling hills and prairie grass, broken only by scars of dry river beds. To the north the landscape is painted with tall towers of white windmills, rotating silently and reminding me of the century I live in. If it weren’t for the blur of windmill blades and bob of an occasional oil pump, one could almost imagine a tribe of Pawnee Indian braves, riding across the plains with bows drawn, chasing a herd of buffalo.

There are no Indians roaming the prairie anymore (or herds of buffalo, for that matter), but a section of this land is set aside for future generations to see. The Pawnee National Grasslands is packed with early American history and a diverse multitude of wildlife. Spring or Fall is the best time to visit. It is not the mountains or forests, certainly not lakes or meadows or canyons, but it has a beauty of its own.

I am camped high on a hill, near the trailhead and picnic area for the Pawnee Bluffs. It has been hot in the afternoon, but a steady breeze and a little spritzing keeps the camp bearable. It is always windy here – even throughout the night – and is undoubtedly the reason for the wind farm to the north. I’m not sure how many wind turbines there are, but one person I talked with said they stretch all the way to Nebraska.

I receive several TV stations and get partial internet, so at least my nights are semi-filled with entertainment. As the sun goes down and night settled over the prairie, the windmill tower lights all twinkle like a Christmas display. Off in the distance to the south, several oil wells have pipes that spew out flames twenty-four hours a day. Combine the lights and the flames with a dark, star-filled sky, and I get quite a show each night.

My plan is to stay put through the holiday and then move on north. There are a couple of hikes out to the bluffs, and a little motorcycle exploring to keep me busy, or as busy as I want to be.

How lucky am I? The day I plan to see Rocky Mountain NP is free to everyone. It seems that the Park is celebrating its birthday, or more precisely, the day it became a national park, and to show appreciation to the public, waived the twenty dollar admission fee. This was good news to droves of tourists swarming the park, but bad news to yours truly, who incidentally, gets in free everyday. I should have waited another day, but I figured how bad could it be. As it turned out, quite bad.

The day was warm and sunny with just a slight chance of afternoon showers. I parked my van at the visitors center in Estes Park and unloaded my motorcycle. I was carefully to take extra clothes for warmth at higher altitude, and I brought a lunch I planned to eat at some picturesque spot in the mountains. Almost immediately I realized it was a mistake to insert myself into what can only be described as a traffic jam on the mountain.

The drive up the mountain highway was not that bad. Some cars would stop in the road to take in a view or watch a herd of elk but mostly keep moving along, but at the scenic pullouts and overlooks, it was impossible to even find a parking spot for a motorcycle. I finally made it to the top of the Trail Ridge Road. At 12,183 feet it is the highest major road in North America. There was still snow in patches and definitely cold. I enjoyed the ride but was glad to turn around and descend to warmer weather. When you are in the mountains it seems like they go on forever.
Tonight I am at a campground in Pawnee National Grasslands. It is pretty hot here but there are nice shade trees to sit under. I spent s lot of time this afternoon spritzing.