Little Big Horn

This is of course where George Armstrong Custer is rumoured to have muttered those famous words “Look at all them F—ing Indians” and where he had his last stand and died for his country. Little Big Horn in Montana is named after the nearby Little Big Horn River and it was at that time deep in Indian Territory. Here I am, standing at the spot where he and over 230 of his men fought and died.

Custer was West Point graduate who became a Civil war hero. After this battle he became a legendary figure in American history. Born and raised in Michigan he traveled America as a military man.

The reason he came to be in Montana has it roots in the finding of Gold on the West coast. First in California and then Oregon, Washington State, Colorado and Montana. Each finding sparked off a new gold rush with people streaming from the economic recession in the Eastern States following the civil war to the find wealth and fame west. “Go west young man, go west” was the advice given by fathers to sons.

This brought these settlers into direct conflict with the Indian tribes inhabiting the open areas of Colorado, Montana, Wyoming and the Dakota’s. The Indians lived off the land and in particular, being hunters and not farmers; they lived off the bison and game. The settlers moving west were also hunting these animals and more importantly were bringing cattle with them and claiming the land for themselves. (Sound familiar – South Africans?).

The most important of the west  bound trails established were the Mormon Trail through Utah, The Colorado Trail and the Oregon Trail which went though Wyoming and Montana, almost exactly on the road on which I am travelling.

The latter was the trail which sparked off the most bitter of the Indian campaigns and which ultimately destroyed the Indian nation. In the late 1880’s, an edict was issued by General Ulysses S Grant (of Civil war fame), that all Indians would be required to move into reservations (read into this homelands and you have the picture). Preferring to rather fight and die, Chief Sitting Bull, amongst a number of tribal chiefs, resisted the demand and took up arms.

The hill where Custer and his men died occupies the high ground in the area. However the shear weight of numbers involved and the fact that by this stage the Indians were armed with firearms and not just bows and arrows, meant that the outcome of this battle was inevitable. However, Custer’s defeat and massacre resulted in huge numbers of soldiers being sent to the area and a ruthless campaign conducted which lead to the the final demise of the Indian nations.

My trip from Rapid City SD to Billings MT (Montana) takes me through the Indian Territories. Names like Thunder Basin, Custer National Park, Lame Deer, Crow Agency, and Bighorn National Park point to the history of the area. There are also various Indian Reservations that I pass through – Northern Cheyenne and Crow Indian Reserves. These are neither nice nor good places. A bit like driving through the Trankei in the 80’s. No reason to come here for a holiday.

The locals’ physical traits confirm their gene pool. They are the products of their forefathers, but like many people in these situations, they are generally very poor, bone idle and cursed with afflictions of alcohol abuse and diabetes (virtually everyone is fat).

Then to add insult to injury, there are small casinos everywhere as there are no restrictions on these anywhere in the Indian Territories of the US. So in the most unlikely places you see a dismal casino with the parking lot full of ramshackle vehicles. Why is it that those who can least afford to, end up gambling the most? Maybe when you have nothing really to loose you have the most to gain!

So setting off from Rapid City, my first stop is Sturgis. In the world of motorcycling Sturgis is famous. This is the Glastonbury of the Motorcycling fraternity. Once a year, in August, Sturgis holds a three-day bike festival. Over 600,000, yes over Six Hundred Thousand bikers descend on this town for three days of riding, drinking, wet T Shirt competitions, sex fests and anything else which goes.

The economic benefits of this are immense and everything in Sturgis revolves around this week and the fact that it is also a must go to place, particularly for people like me, outside of the festival, something which I and many committed bikers like me, have no desire to be involved in.

It also helps that the Black Hills are, as I am finding out, one of the best areas in the US to bike in. So Sturgis is getting ready for the mayhem and is clearly proud and happy to be a “Bikers town” as the welcoming signs makes clear. There are bikes everywhere all the time in this area.

From there onto Belle Fourche. Given the name I am expecting something exciting. It is anything but. This is a Potchefstroom or Kroonstad. Dismal and dry. The traffic is crawling along. I immediately know this is Koelte Vark heaven. Sure enough, there he is, parked in the shade with mirror shades and a radar detector. It is that sort of place and the reason that as kids we tried to avoid Koster in the evenings when we were on my parents’ farm. I cannot get through this shithole fast enough.

So back on the I 212 West. I cut through the North East corner of Wyoming and then into Montana. This is a three states in a day ride. Flat country much like the Karoo. Not that interesting and I am thinking unlike the Karoo no sheep, when there is the first sheep flock I have seen on this trip. The US is beef country, not mutton country.

Passing Boyes, which only has a US Post Office and a flag, I remember to post a letter with a cheque for the alarm maintenance for our condo, which has been in my bag since I set off. I think they will never have received a cheque posted in Boyes Montana. The moment has passed and I ride on.

It is getting hotter. The riding is not interesting and I have to concentrate, as this is one of those times it is easy to find oneself taking a detour through the bushes, a Terry Eleftheriou off the taxiway moment! Fortunately I have scrapped my Sirius XM satellite radio, which Bluetooth connects to my helmet, as the volume is insufficient. I now have a much more efficient solution. My iPod connected to a small set of earphones directly into my ears. This blanks out the wind noise and provides me with great music. I love music when driving and riding and would have it when flying if it was not for the need to listen out for radio transmissions.

Fleetwood Mac, Dire Straits, Rio Speedway, The Counting Crows, The Beach Boys, The Eagles, America, Phyllis Nelson, Antonio Venditti to mention a few make riding a pleasure. I am also starting to feel completely at one with the bike.

Riding is like being with a woman. Difficult and exciting at first. A new challenge makes it all a bit unpredictable. Then, as one of my great flying friends says, when you have started spending enough time on type, so you get to feel as if you are a part of the bike. One becomes sensitive to all the small nuances that make the difference in controlling the bike and riding it optimally. You assess the feel and noises. This feedback is processed instantly to allow you to be more in control, a better rider. It is only you and the bike and nothing else exists or matters.

Eventually you start feeling completely at one with your bike. This is when you can really hang it into the turns, knowing exactly when a touch of rear brake is needed to tighten it up and push the rear wheel down for more grip. When a slight twist of the throttle to speed up will have the required and instant response. This is why biking is so special and I am on a superb bike. A through bred, which is in the bed and with the rider it was designed for.

But you can never, like with your woman, afford take her for granted and relax for a second or take your hand off the throttle!

I stop in Ashland for a cold drink. Two choices. A dinkum brothel or a sleeze pit store. A fairly attractive (At least through my insect stained visor) belle is hanging over a chair at the brothel and she says that not only do they have great cold beers but also that she can see that I am exactly her type of man. The thought crosses my mind but then I lift the visor and in an instant see that she is not my type of gal!

So it is the pit stop. Here I have a Coke and a chat to the lady serving who laughingly tells me she has been watching the whole process. She asks me where I am going. I tell her Billings and she asks where I am staying. The Hilton Garden Inn. She says she knows it well, which I doubt. She says I have to try Jakes restaurant nearby the hotel as she and her husband always go there when they are in Billings. I am now sure that Jakes is not my sort of place.

A lady comes in brandishing my keys. Apparently I dropped them on the road. I definitely didn’t leave them in the brothel so they must have slipped out of my pocket. I am thankful for the overwhelming honesty of Americans. For sure there are some really bad people and bad areas, which is to be expected in country of this size and with a population of over 370 million people. Wherever I go I am amazed at how this honesty makes living in this country easy.

Whenever I stop, I am used to having to somehow secure my helmet and riding jacket etc. Here they do not worry and simply leave their helmets, bags, jackets draped over their bikes and walk off. I have now taken doing the same and when I get back it is all there.

In Africa one has to worry about your bike still being there when you get back. For sure you could not do it in the UK or for that matter anywhere in Europe as well. In all my years of travelling the only place I ever had something of value stolen in a public place was in Switzerland. In the foyer of our 5 star hotel Gstaad, where someone stole my new laptop off the luggage trolley while we were having lunch waiting for our room.

In America, outside of New York and one or two other major cities they do not even have room safes. They look at you as if you have crawled off the moon when you ask at reception about one. The fact is that in most parts of the US people have more than enough and are content with what they have. Not so in the Indian Reserves where you have to be much more diligent, or so I am warned, by the lady behind the counter. I promise her I will go to Jakes and leave.

So back on the bike and through Lame Deer where the deer is still limping and nothing much else is happening. Then Busby, where I see another Post Office. I do not miss the opportunity. Max braking and a 180 turn and I am at the US Postal Service. Another thing that makes this country work is a proper postal service. Add to this FedEx and UPS and you can do business and live anywhere in the US. Everywhere I go I see FedEx and UPS trucks coming and going. Even in the back of nowhere there vans are moving. Overnight to and from anywhere in the US.

Ten minutes later I am back on the road and the cheque is on the way to Michigan. It will be there in one day. Now I am hungry. Starving in fact. What I want is Biltong. I decide when I get to the hotel I will order Biltong from Biltong USA to be delivered to me c/o Randy in Oregon. I am staying with Randy and Lynn Norris for a few days at the end of next week. Also a proper side stand bottom, not from Biltong USA but from Touratech USA.

Along the road, two very interesting things. The first all traffic had to stop for an abnormal load. This was no ordinary abnormal load, this was a whole mining processing plant being moved. Wyoming and Montana are big mining areas. This plant was being transported on three of the biggest low bed horse and trailer combinations I have ever seen. They occupied the entire road. Then to cap it off, in front of my eyes, the first vehicle with four quadruple bogeys on the trailer reverses the entire thing at 90 degrees off the road into a siding. I have video of this that I will try and download to You Tube.

The second was near Lame Deer when I cam across over 100 Indians of all shapes and sizes on horseback riding bare back on the side of the road on the way to their local rodeo. It is fair time throughout the US and this is in full force in Montana with small fairs and rodeo’s everywhere.

It is also road repair time as bitter winters with many feet of snow stop all roadwork and repairs for months. This results in feverish activity during the summer months, short as these are. Long daylight hours are used to the maximum.

Next stop Little Bighorn. I did not have this on my original list of to do’s but having grown up reading about Custer’s Last Stand and all that stuff we did instead of the Great Trek and Blood River, I have to go. When I get there I am pleased I have. It is not a place I would make a special trip to see, as one would have to fly to Billings, which is not a major hub and then drive for an hour. The visitor center is a trove of fascinating information well presented and in a short period I know more about the Indian wars and the causes than I ever knew. In many ways it is so similar to the history of South Africa. Its simply the numbers and hence the final outcome which has been so different. Here the European population always outnumbered the Native Americans, as they are known. They were also ruthless in oppressing them and never saw them as a servant body.

So two hours later on to Billings. This is a surprising pleasant city and bigger than I thought. A population of over 150,000 it is modern and spacious. At 3200 ft. it has a Highveld like climate and as with all frontier type towns, everyone is very friendly.

I am actually feeling like death when I check in, having been fighting a cold for the past four days. I think it is the major temperature shifts, constant wind in the face and a large degree of exhaustion combined. Huge amounts of Echinacea, Vitamins C, D3 and others are just keeping it at bay. I think a good meal and sleep will fix me. I ask the receptionist where the best steak in town is. Jakes just around the corner! My Ashland lady was on the mark. It was a great recommendation as well.

I order the Biltong. Two-day delivery to Portland, Oregon and a side stand foot from Touratech. I know they will be waiting for me.

Woke up in a feverish sweat at 03h30. Whatever had been ailing me had arrived. I had packed a full medical kit and could not find it. Was it in the bike panniers or had I shipped to via UPS to Alaska with my replenishment kit? So I suffered through the next few hours on Disprin. When I woke I decide not to ride at all today.

Even in Rapid City where I stayed for two nights, I rode on the middle day to Mount Rushmore. So today I am not getting on the bike and have arranged to spend an extra night here before going to Great Falls tomorrow and then onto the Glacier National Park, where I will now probably only spend one rather than two nights. In fact I fully unpacked everything and found my medical kit hiding in the bottom of my bag that sits on the saddle behind me. Where the nurse should be sitting.

This is a true R and R day. I might even have an afternoon nap. I am told that this is normal for Grandfathers and Grandmothers!