Bikepacking the BackBone? - Part 1

What about bikepacking the Black Hills BackBone route?  The route itself and the distances between water and food are pretty well mapped out, so one could start with the number of days to cover the 300+ miles of rough roads and divide it up.  Three days at about 100 miles each seems like a nice, gentlemen's trip.  But is it?  For the 93 miles of Black Hills gravel from Spearfish to Buffalo Gap, there's a lot of elevation gain on rough roads to pull a loaded bike.

It's 0 dark:30 spinning out of Deerfield Lake.  There are no mountain lions in the Black Hills, right?

So, I decide to find out.  Early Tuesday morning, I leave Deerfield Lake heading south on Williams Gulch Road (USFS 691), about Mile 193 on the BackBone route.  My destination is Buffalo Gap, where the route turns to prairie after 63 miles of Black Hills back roads.  From there, I would either ride the route on rolling prairie to the Nebraska border and on to Edgemont to camp or turn west into the Black Hills to explore more mountain roads.  Get up Wednesday to check out some gravel and dirt north of Jewel Cave National Park on a round about way back to Deerfield Lake.  Two long days, one night.  Let's ride.

The snow is long gone since my last ride through here, but the scene remains.

 Over the past few birthdays and such, I've been accumulating some bikepacking gear.  Some stuff, like the tent, sleeping bag, pad and stove, are simply updates of familiar backpacking gear from the 70's.  Other stuff is bike specific, like the Revelate Designs bags to carry it all.  Wow.  The Sweet Roll handle bar bag holds the tent, sleeping bag and pad, the Terrapin seat post bag holds food, clothes and tool kit, the Tangle top tube bag holds a water bladder, pump and miscellaneous small items, and the Gas Tank top tube bag holds food for on-the-fly feeding.  And there's still two usable water bottles, one for Perpetuem and one for Heed.  Water for 6-8 hours.  Food and gear for 2 days.  It's pretty sweet.

Rolling south on Williams Gulch Road in the pre-dawn darkness, I can just make out a slow moving herd of large mammals meandering across.  I stop, but lose track after counting 20 some elk.  The harem passes.  OK.  Where's the king?  A short gap.  Then he arrives.  A mammoth bull with a majestic rack.  He stops mid-road, turns his head directly at me, maybe 20 yards away.  As I reach for my camera, he bolts into the darkness.

A ridge line on Custer Limestone Road.

The skies gradually lighten.  The secondary National Forest Service roads can be rough and there's plenty of climbing, but my loaded Black Mountain Cycles monster cross bike handles it well.  I barely notice the Revelate Designs bags, other than the very obvious additional weight of all that gear.  I spend most of my time in the smallest gear I have on, a too-tall 34 x 26.

Always a good sign.  Heading out of Custer toward more back roads.

Soon I'm in the tourist town of Custer and stop for donuts and coffee at the local bakery.  Thinking the same, three guys pull up in dual sport motorcycles, loaded for the long, remote haul.  They are a father, son and son-in-law team from Idaho exploring back roads and trails throughout the Black Hills.  They strike up a fast conversation, asking all sorts of questions about travel by bicycle and answering my questions of their similar travels.  We compare notes and maps and just enjoy the simple company of kindred spirits.

The ubiquitous prairie dog is easy to overlook, with all the big mammals and big views.

South of Custer, the day warms, the wind picks up and the hills taper into the prairie.  The miles flow too quickly over one of my favorite roads anywhere, Highland Ridge Road (NFS 5) traversing Wind Cave National Park.  As Buffalo Gap approaches, I conclude that the added weight of the camping gear makes those 63 miles harder than normal, but the concept is doable.

Decision time.  Continue on the known Black Hills BackBone route to Nebraska and beyond to Edgemont to camp?  Or turn west to climb back into the Black Hills for some unknown-to-me back roads?  Which way should I go?

A Simple Thing Overlooked

Note to self - If you want to actually ride those long, remote road routes you cook up, you might want to check your gear before heading out.  Yesterday I walked my bike almost two hours because I forgot my pump.  First flat in well over 5,000 miles.  And no pump.  Also, no cell coverage, no traffic and no occupied buildings.  Hard lesson.

Typical two track Black Hills gravel on USFS secondary roads.

I pedaled out of Spearfish to ride the Black Hills portion of the Black Hills BackBone route - 123 miles from Spearfish to Buffalo Gap, almost all on U.S. National Forest service gravel and dirt roads.  These forest gravel roads climb up to and along the spine of the Black Hills, with streams and occasional campsites for water, very little cell coverage, and one town of Custer for provisions.  Throw in some significant elevation gain and you're in for a nice, long, remote ride sampling much of the best the Black Hills has to offer.

 There are not many route options to climb south out of Spearfish up to O'Neil Pass on gravel, unless one is willing to venture west into Wyoming.  The Black Hills BackBone is a South Dakota route, so it goes up Tinton Road, USFS 134.  This a "primary" USFS road designed and maintained for higher volume and higher speed traffic, at least relative to my preferred "secondary" USFS roads.  In general, one finds more gravel on a wider, three track road bed, with longer sight lines, more gradual grades and washboards.  But it's all relative.  It's still really good.  From Spearfish, it's about 10 miles uphill before there's any respite at all and then another 20 miles of mostly uphill to O'Neil Pass Road.

Tinton Road climbing up to O'Neil Pass from Spearfish.

The temperature stays cool, the wind rests quietly and the sun hides behind early clouds darkened with the haze of Montana wild fires.  It's a steady, low energy climb, until a couple of mountain bikers shoot out of the forest onto the road.  They've been out riding the course for the Dakota Five-O, a 50 mile mountain bike race next weekend and the biggest cycling event around these parts.  A couple of fist pumps and hoots proclaim they are ready.  I return their greeting and find a bit more pop in my cadence.  Before too long, I'm on pavement, U.S. Highway 85, the Can-Am Highway, for a couple of miles to O'Neil Pass Road.

Returning to the Mother Lode scene.  It looks so benign in daylight, coasting downhill, with no clock running.

Another mile of climbing on O'Neil Pass Road leads to South Rapid Creek Road.  After the first few miles of vacation homes and retreats, the road narrows and enters more remote forests.  This is a most welcomed descent, after hours of climbing.  I had to stop at Besant Park Road for a moment.  This is where I had stopped, hard, at the Gold Rush Mother Lode, before Amy and Randall Smith of North Platte, Nebraska whizzed by, inspiring me to just beat the cut-off time at O'Neil Pass and eventually finish.  A moment worth remembering.  See Mother Lode Race Report

Black Fox Camp Road - primo Black Hills gravel.

The downhill scoot eventually ends at Black Fox Campground, where I turn right onto Black Fox Camp Road, USFS secondary road 233.  These five miles are a real treat - a barely developed, two track basically dirt road flows beside a mountain stream slowed by a series of beaver dams, with cliffs and rock formations above framing the valley.  Every pedal stroke was a photo opp.

Although Black Fox Camp Road was mostly uphill, too soon I turn off to continue to climb on Flag Mountain Road, secondary USFS road 189.  This road climbs up to and rolls along a ridge line, offering expansive views to the western horizon before cresting yet another ridge to showcase the monuments to the east - Harney Peak, Mt. Rushmore, Cathedral Spires and more.  After hours of riding through the thickly forested steeps of the Northern Hills, these big views seem even bigger.

The Montana wild fire haze hides most of the big peaks, but not the high plains below.

Here's where the wheels come off, or more accurately the air comes out.  On one of the fast descents on this rolling ridge line, my exuberance carries too much speed around a corner and onto a cattle guard.  Although I've crossed dozens of cattle guards that morning without incident, I hit this one too hard and too heavy.  I manage to stay upright, but the hiss of escaping air cut through my senses like an angry rattlesnake.

No problem.  A couple of minutes and I'll be flying down to Deerfield Lake for my planned lunch and water stop at the lakeside White Tail Campground.  I remove the spare tubes, tools and patch kit from the seat bag and reach for the pump in the top tube Tangle bag.  I find my turned-off cell phone, wallet, mud shank, spare batteries for the lights, spare map and no pump.  Ahhhhh.

With that sinking feeling in the gut, I remember removing that pump from the Tangle bag to carry in a CamelBack on my M-Hill mountain bike rides last week.  I had other pumps to use, but for some reason, I took that nicer one from the gravel bike and forgot to put it back.  I don't know how I didn't notice that when loading up the bike for this ride.

It doesn't matter.  This ride is over, until I find a pump that takes a Presta valve.  My cue sheets and odometer shout the bad news - almost 7 miles to the Mountain Meadows Resort.  Time to start walking.

A sad sight to see.  At least nothing is broken.

A Rancher's Kindness

A hard day on the bike made more comfortable by the kindness of a stranger.

Yesterday I rode the Northern Prairie portion of the Black Hills BackBone - 133 miles of remote roads from NoWhere, North Dakota to Spearfish, South Dakota.  These barely graveled roads immerse one into the vastness of the open prairie, with many miles passing between even the sight of man-made structures, other than an occasional road sign or barbed wire fencing.  A solitary person moving through this land is utterly exposed to the scale and age of the earth, and beyond.  Not to mention the elements of the here and now.

The path ahead.  Into the prairie.

The wind is a permanent resident here.  And now it is a local ranch hand on a Saturday night, full of beer and looking for a fight.  The forecast calls for wind warnings with steady 20-25 mph winds and gusts exceeding 40 mph.  It is all that, and more.

Riding buddy Shaun Arritola and I camp the night before at Picnic Springs in nearby Custer National Forest.  The restful peace of a quiet night in a forested oasis abruptly ends at about 2 am by the belligerent roar of the arriving wind.  It is large and in charge, and here to stay.

At the North Dakota border, mere metal has no chance in the face of an angry wind.

The 6 am start at the North Dakota border brings a heavy blanket of fast moving clouds, shoved by that pounding 20+ mph wind.  No sunrise in sight and no sun to be found all day.  The air temperature of 54 degrees feels much, much cooler, so I start with long sleeve thermals under a jersey covered by a wind jacket, with a polypro cap and glove liners.  Hey, this is August 22.  It should be the heat of the summer.  But those layers never come off.  I only add to them.

A loaded bike prepared for many things, but dealing the wind is both physical and mental.

The forecast calls for WNW winds, so there is at least some component from the North that could push me on my generally southerly route.  Nice, optimistic theory.  Most of the force comes from the West.  On the road, on a bike, that means a stout cross wind when moving south.  In the best case of a steady wind, it is constant work to keep the bike stable and moving in a decent line on the rough roads.  When the wind gusts, I must quickly lean the bike into the wind just to stay upright.  Many times, the gust simply tosses the bike 2-3 feet to the left, while I grind to a stop to prevent falling.

All of that is while riding South.  When the route turns West, which it does off and on for a total of about 18 miles, I'm head down, grinding my lowest gear hard to keep 5-6 mph, less if there's any incline at all.  Despite all that effort, I cannot warm up, even after over three hours of pedaling.  Then the skies darken and the temperature drops to the low 40s.  I start to chill.  There should be a wind break a few miles ahead at the town of Harding.  I'll stop there to add some layers.

A peak of sunshine teases on the horizon.  It's a mirage.  No sun today.  None at all.

Too late.  Horizontal rain abruptly pelts me and, within a few minutes, I am drenched and shivering.  I limp into Harding, which is little more than a handful of vintage buildings, only one or two of which appear occupied.  Maybe.  Then there's one home showing signs of new construction.

Taking Shaun's counsel, I simply ring the doorbell.  A woman answers, holding a cup of coffee and a bewildered look.  I say that I'm out on a bicycle ride, got caught in the rain and wondered if I could use her garage for some shelter to warm up and dry off a bit.  She said, "Well, of course.  I'll open the door."  I gratefully step out of the driving rain into the garage.  Heavy sigh.  No wind.  No rain.  Instant relief.

She took a look at me and my bike and said, "My name's Gayle Penn.  What's yours?  You look like you could use some coffee.  How about you come inside to warm up?  I just took out some rhubard cake.  Would you like some?  Come on in."  Before I know it, I am inside Gayle's new kitchen, drinking a hot cup of fresh coffee and eating a generous serving of warm rhubarb crumb cake.

Gayle is an angel with a heart of gold.  She and her husband Danny had just moved this house into Harding earlier this year and were still finishing the garage.  She has deep roots in the area, with great-grandparents homesteading and following generations staying.  Gayle describes the town's history as a vital stagecoach stop for the Medora to Deadwood line and shows me glass bottles from that time found on her property.  She shares inspiring stories of folks coming together during a prairie wild fire, whipped by 70 mph winds, that nearly consumed the town earlier this year.  I can see her making sandwiches and snacks for everyone.

As I drain the last of the coffee, I absentmindedly glance at my watch to notice that over 30 minutes had passed.  I should go.  It takes another 10 minutes or so before I finally leave, warmed by more layers of dry clothes, hot coffee and warm rhubarb cake and especially the kindness of a stranger.  Thank you, Gayle.

Back on the road, the rain lightens and then stops, but the winds do neither.  Temperatures hover in the mid 40s and I'm cool, but not cold, wearing every stitch of clothing I have along.  The prairie rolls by.  The afternoon passes.  I crest yet another long roller to see the faint outline of the Black Hills on the southern horizon.

Destination Spearfish is at the base of those distant hills.  Bear Butte is on the far left, even more distant.

 I end my ride at Spearfish, about 133 miles from the North Dakota start.  A hard day on the bike, with unrelenting winds, horizontal rain, sun-less skies and endless prairie, all made better with a simple morning cup of coffee with a new friend.

One Ride At A Time

The cumulative effect of consistently doing little things right is remarkable.

Earlier this summer, I wanted to get faster, but keep it fun.  So, I decided to add one short, hard, mountain bike ride a week.  Just one.  I chose a technically easy, single track climb up M-Hill that I had not timed in the past and set out to ride it as fast as I could, regardless of the conditions or how I felt, on the same day each week.  I ride it during the heat of late afternoon on my bike ride home, after a full day of work at a physically and mentally demanding job.

The first attempt I barely made it without stopping, deeply gasping after several steeper pitches.  But I timed it anyhow, because I wanted a bench mark.  Every ride since has been a little faster, and I believe that can continue for some time.  I like this path and look forward to where it could go.

Not yet on top, but getting there.

But it's not going to be easy to keep at this.  Even though I experientially know the direct results of consistent, short, hard efforts, every ride I still have to work through the mental process of deciding to start.  Every week, I spin that little gear for 5 miles into work, for the sole purpose of attacking M-Hill on the ride home.  Every week on the ride home, I talk myself into riding up to that starting line, starting the clock and starting the climb.

There are so many excuses lying in ambush.  I'm tired.  It's hot.  I'll ride later when it's cooler.  I'll ride tomorrow.  I'll be so slow it won't be worth it.  Even when I get to the park, the back up excuses start in.  Don't time this one.  You don't have it today.  Just take a different route.  You can ride hard without going to the top.  These are hard to ignore.  They only go away when I start the clock and start pedaling.  So, that's what I do.

Which way do I go?  Lots of choices on the descent.

The short term reward for the little climb is the view and then a variety of trails to descend.  M-Hill really has something for everyone.  I may take a different way down, but I'm going to try to talk myself into riding up that same climb every week for awhile.  I'm hoping that translates into a bit more speed in the legs for the Black Hills BackBone, which is never far from my thoughts when I gaze out onto the distant prairie.

Atop M-Hill, the view east reveals downtown Rapid City and the prairie beyond.

Trail Work for the Black Hills Back 40

After more than a few miles of gravel and dirt roads recently, I'm returning to single track for some shorter, zippier rides.  Today, Shaun Arritola and I loaded up the mountain bikes for a spin around Storm Mountain, a local favorite just into the Black Hills outside the ghost town of Rockerville.

But first, we hiked about 5 miles to help prepare the Storm Mountain trails for the Black Hills Back 40, a forty mile mountain bike race put on by local legends Nancy and Phil Busching.  Shaun operated the nuclear powered weed wacker to great effect, while I delicately trimmed and pruned by hand.

Shaun handled the power tools, while I put the power into the tools.

We finished my assigned section of the race course, but the project took longer than expected and took more out of me than expected.  So, we'll return next week for a longer ride.  In the meantime, I'll call this cross-training for the Black Hills BackBone.

Shaun's custom crafted toy hauler can handle most any adventure.

Adding a Little Zip

Over the past several months, I've had a lot of fun exploring back roads in western South Dakota to create the 306 mile Black Hills BackBone route.  A shake out ride on the 210 mile Gold Rush Mother Lode confirmed my plans for logistics, such as bike, gear, clothes, water and food.  Then a push-the-pace race at the 170 mile Odin's Revenge confirmed that my endurance is sufficient to legitimately contemplate attempting the BackBone.  But I know the cost of these long, relatively slow rides:  speed, or more accurately, loss of speed.

M-Hill.  The name of every graduate of South Dakota School of Mines and Technology is up there, forming the M, or the S or the D.  This picture was taken by John, a 1991 SDSM&T grad from Norway, here on vacation with his family. 

Back to basics for some short, fun, faster rides.  For me, that means starting with the sweet flow of M-Hill single track in the heart of Rapid City on my rigid, 2-9er single speed.  It's impossible not to have fun on those trails, with that bike.

Pointing uphill for Sun Climb, a trail for which I have neither the skill nor the conditioning to clean.
Doesn't mean I won't ride as much as I can.

These 20+ miles of single track goodness were designed and built, for the most part, by "Trail Dave" Dressel of Trail Arts, a talented and dedicated trail master.  There's something for everyone up there, with new loops and connectors added every year.  If you're in Rapid City and have an hour or two, you won't be disappointed scouting around M-Hill, on wheels or on foot.

Finally on top, with the Cathedral Spires and Harney Peak on the horizon.

You could call such a ride "intervals," or a "hill work out," or worse yet, "anaerobic threshold training."  I call it a short, faster mountain bike ride on cool trails.  Whatever it's called, the result of a couple of these a week will be a little zip in the legs for the BackBone.

Passing the Flame on the Mickelson Trail

Scrolling through memories over Christmas with my family, I realized that the summer of 2015 marks 25 years since I cajoled my two younger brothers to join me on a weekend bike ride - the 1990 South Dakota MS 150.  On very little training or experience, they pedaled 100 miles on that hot, windy Saturday and then 55 miles on Sunday to successfully complete the ride.  I know they enjoyed it and they still mention from time to time.  But the two of them, combined, likely have ridden less than 100 miles total since then.  Just not their thing.

Well, I have ridden a few more miles over the years and enjoy riding with all kinds of folks at all levels of interest and ability.  So, I proposed that we ride together this summer to mark the occasion.  That idea morphed into a Fourth of July weekend tour of the Mickelson Trail in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  My youngest brother Chris, along with his daughter Brooke and son Tate, somehow carved some time out of their busy schedules to share a weekend of riding and camping.  Let's ride.

Exploring the Mickelson Trail on the Fouth of July weekend is Team Groseth - Tate, Brooke, Craig and Chris.
Not pictured, but greatly appreciated, are shuttle drivers Colleen and Chani.

We start from the Dumont Trailhead in the Northern Hills late Saturday morning under brilliant sunshine and puffy clouds.  The hills are green, the creeks full and the trail dry.  We're looking at about 36 miles of Mickelson Trail to reach our destination for the day - the Crooked Creek Campground, a few miles south of Hill City.  Although some of our training and experience may be a bit thin for this ride, our team is stocked with enthusiasm and determination.  The day looks good.

Re-creating a photo from grade school days, Tate enjoys the break in the shade of a hard rock tunnel,
while Chris and Brooke refuel.

We cruise downhill the first 10 miles to Rochford, adjusting to the equipment and uneven trail.  Tate is motoring his brand new Trek hybrid, a nice tool for this job.  Other than a handle bar that works loose late in the day, the new bike and its new owner ride flawlessly.  Brooke, a former high school cross country and track runner, smoothly spins her own well-used Trek hybrid.  Chris powers a 2-9er hardtail borrowed from my riding buddy Shaun Arritola.  This, too, is the right ride for this rider.  I'm on my beloved Black Mountain Cycles monster cross bike, just a quick tire, chain and brake check away from Odin's Revenge.  The bikes fit the riders and the ride ahead.  We're well on our way.

Brooke's sunny disposition is always on display.

After a Rochford refuel and more downhill, we eventually turn upward for the 8 mile climb up to Redfern, one of a number of town sites abandoned, or nearly abandoned, over the years when the local mining or timber operation dried up.  Brooke and Tate find their rhythm, steadily pulling away up the long incline.  As they disappear from view around a distant turn, Chris spins at his own pace, pleased that his kids are doing well and having fun together.  We steadily work our way to the top, relishing the cold water dousing from the Redfern shelter's cistern.  It's hot, but the big climb is behind us.  We float another 8 miles downhill to Hill City and a few miles further to the campground.

Home for the night - the Bird tipi at Crooked Creek Campground right off the trail just south of Hill City.

We're a hot, tired team that checks into our tipi at the Crooked Creek Campground.  The long, mid-afternoon climb up to Redfern takes as much perseverance as time and we made it.  But now we move slowly around camp, eventually enjoying a refreshing shower, a cooked meal and rest in the shade.  Before long, we're sound asleep inside the tipi, wondering how this hole in the roof design works when it rains.  But it doesn't rain, and the tipi very comfortably sleeps all four of us.

We stream out of Pringle on Day Two.  Our destination is Edgemont, another 32 miles away.

First light comes early in summer in the North and we clean, eat, pack and move out of the campground before 7:00 am.  Today we plan to ride from Pringle to the trail's end at the railroad town of Edgemont, a total of 32 miles of rolling, open prairie.  That's an ambitious day ahead, given the effort expended yesterday.  But the team's enthusiasm carries us to the Pringle Trailhead and we set sail.  After yesterday's hot afternoon, we hope to reach our destination before the day really heats up.

Chris, Brooke and Tate spinning out of Minnekahta Junction, still smiling after all those miles.

The exposed prairie at the southern end of the Mickelson Trail presents substantial challenges when the elements work against you.  But the winds stay home, the rain waits for late afternoon and the sun warms, but does not bake.  Team Groseth cruises through buffalo herds and prairie dog towns towards Edgemont.  We're moving quickly today.

Heading into Sheep Canyon, we first have yet another gate to negotiate.

The miles count down, we round another sweeping turn and drop into Sheep Canyon, a hard scrabble canyon with an earth-filled 126 foot trestle towering over the creek bed below.  Another great place to stop, with unique views and a cold water cistern tucked away in the shade.  With about 6 miles to go, we push off for the finish.  Flying downhill and focused on the finish, Tate somehow misses a fast moving rattlesnake slithering directly in front of him.  I brake enough for it to pass into the tall prairie grass.  We don't go back to look for it.

Mile Post 0.  The southern end of the Mickelson Trail at Edgemont City Park.  Still morning.  Still smiling.

We roll through the Sunday morning emptiness of downtown Edgemont to a most welcome sight.  Mile Post 0.0 of the Mickelson Trail and our awaiting shuttle.  68 miles in 2 days.  A healthy bite out of the 109 mile Mickelson Trail, with many of its highlights.  A weekend to remember and build on.  Thanks, Chris, Brooke and Tate for sharing it with me.  You challenged yourself as much as anyone I have ridden with.  And Chris, let's not wait 25 years to do this something like this again.


Addendum:

Before starting the bike ride Saturday, we swung by Hot Springs for the Firecracker 5K/10K, where daughter Cara ran her first 10K and daughter Chani ran her first 5K with her puppy Poppy.  Nice work, girls!