Why Is Your Last Name Wong?

Day Eight: The Good, The Bad, and the Racist

Morning in Gillette WY and I’m still aching.  I’ve now accepted this is how I’m going to feel the rest of the trip.  I take my time getting ready and have checked out of the hotel at the latest point of the day yet.  It’s 10:30 now and I’m hungry for some lunch, Yelp says to try some Italian place nearby, I get a bit lost and spend about 10 mins trying to find this place in a town that takes about 3 mins to drive through.  When I finally get to the door they’re closed till 11:30.  With a case of the sweats and feeling weak I decide I’ll just move on till I really start to fade out. 

I get on I90 and last maybe 60 miles before I notice I’m not riding as straight and clean as I should be so I pull over in the next town which is Sundace.  The only advertised restaurant from the road signs is called ARO Restaurant so I pull in there.  The waitress is smiley and nice but there’s a heavier woman in red that seems to be in a sour mood.  She walked by still looking less than thrilled but a hello and she started to smile and returned the greeting with kindness.  I look around the place and the big screen is set to Fox News, the wall next to the cash register is filled with anti Obama bumper stickers.  Until now I’ve been able to avoid politics and now I get the most rabid brand of it.  I asked whats best and the waitress said the burgers, it was okay but nothing amazing.  I finished promptly, paid the bill, and walked outside.

While gearing up the sun is beating down on me hard and my all black gear isnt helping the matter.  Even on hotter humid days when you’re riding the heat is mostly a nonfactor thanks to the wind blowing through you but when you’re stationary its a different matter.  I noticed theres a place called the Turf Bar across the street which reminds me of the local hipster hangout the Turf Club. I doubt any of the wolf shirts adorned in this establishment are ironic. Time to get out of Sundance. 

My next stop I had planned to go to either Sturgis or Deadwood, since Sturgis was over and I had positive memories of Deadwood I rode into Deadwood.  The streets in Deadwood are wide open, no cars parked on the main roads in town.  I went to one of the offshoots parked and went for a walk around town.  Deadwood isn’t as I remembered, I remembered it feeling more legitimately western but now its as touristy as it comes.  They do a good job with some of the themed casinos but all of the shops are pretty awful.  It’s as if you were to breed the Affliction brand with someone obsessed with Harleys, Native Americans, and Wolves/Elk/Mountain Lions and then you would have most of the shops in Deadwood.  Since it was still scorching out I stopped for some ice cream and got back on the bike.  The ride through the Black Hills is pretty but the section I was in was littered with resorts and not quite comparable to Yellowstone or Big Horn.  Despite my disappointment in Deadwood I’m still glad I took a break from riding on I90 to get some forest/nature. 

Anyone who has driven through South Dakota can tell you that on I90 you’ll see over 100 signs advertising for Wall Drug.  Since I was making good time I figured I’d stop by but I didnt know it’d be forced.  In the distance I see what I think might be the first rain I encounter on the trip.  You’ll notice that I hadnt mentioned weather at all in the previous posts but that was to avoid jinxing myself.  I pulled off the highway near a sunflower feild to put on my riding pants if it starts raining I’ll pull under a bridge and put on the jacket I bought in Seattle. Less than 1 mile off the entrance ramp I feel drops and imediately pull under a bridge and toss on the jacket.  It’s 90 degrees out, humid, and raining.  This sucks.  The next exit is Wall Drug and I take it.  

When I pulled off the highway I found the nearest shelter providing gas station and waited out the storm.  I was only nestled up next to the pumps for about 10 mins before it had stopped.  Wall drug was only 3 blocks away so I took off down the road, once I arrived I took off my awful yellow rain jacket and went into the air conditioned cheesy tourist trap that is Wall Drug.  This is a place thats very aware how cheesy it is, they advertise free water for fucks sake.  I walked in and out of some of their stores and found a place to rest on a bench next to some dumb Anne Oakley wooden statue. After drying off (sweat not rain) I got my free water and walked back to my bike. I checked the weather radar and it looked like if I go now and fast enough I can thread the needle between rain clouds.  Time to haul ass.

Since getting my ticket I had never driven ahead of the pack always moving with traffic.  The thought of riding through the rain again (even after such a short stint) has lifted that mental block and I’m averaging 95mph. At these speeds the MPG of the bike drops significantly and gas up in Draper.  There’s a small cat that cant decide if his fear of people is greater than his desire to get into the gas station.  I’m going in for some poweraid and a snack and leave the door open enough that it could have sneaked in behind.  The cat decides not to and decides the same on the way out.  I down my 89cent soft batch cookies and take a big swig of the poweraid, time to weigh my options. The suns about 40mins from setting and there’s a motel in town that I can stay at but once again I take the risk and head for the next larger town.  This ride is much less sketchy, I only rode about 20 mins in the dark till I arrived in Mitchell.  The looming storm seems to have stopped moving thankfully and I arrived safe and dry. When I get in town I ride around a bit and decide to check out the rates at the Siesta Motel. I find out that they want only $38 a night and I gladly accept that rate before trying anywhere else.

The motel has parking right in front of your room which is nice and theres enough shelter infront of the door for me to park my bike under.  The lady up front said it had been storming all day so this is a welcome luxury.  When I got to my room someone a few doors down is sitting on a lawnchair shirtless with two labs that are barking and growling as I get off my bike.  If you show dirtbags you’re fearful they know they can fuck with you so I say hi and ask him how his nights going.  He’s nice in return and puts his dogs away.  When I try to unlock my door I find it wasnt locked and when I step inside I notice it’s decorated like a 70’s porn set.  To my surprise there’s a 50” plasma HD TV, this is the nicest tv I’ve had on my trip.  There are two king sized beds and a mirror that takes up the entire wall that its on.  I’m positive some of the stains on the green carpet are blood but I’ll gladly accept this at $38 a night.  My helmet looks like it’s growing hair from all the dead bugs wings that are plastered on it.  I clean them off and give my jacket a good wipe.  After that I get all my gear off my bike and head off to the truck stop restaurant that the desk lady recommended.

When I show up I see the very friendly hostess has a black eye, she seats me in the middle of the place where I can hear all conversations and see all the patrons.  Shortly after the waitress shows up with my menu and water, she too is very positive and friendly.  When I’m looking over the menu a guy with his arm around a woman 3 booths in front of me pipes up “What in the FUCK is your issue now.” This is loud enough for everyone in the place to hear.  Normally this would bring a cold silence but no one seems to give a shit except the staff who kinda cringe.  The two friends of his in the booth dont seem to care either.  My ears are now tuned into what they were talking about as I scan over the days photos on my netbook.  He’s talking…no bragging about beating the snot out of some woman who was talking shit to him in the past.  Having heard enough of that I fade it out and go back to looking at my shots.  I look over the menu and decide on what they called a “Cooked beef hoagie” or something to that degree.  They danced around the name French dip because I imagine their customers would get offended if the word French was on the food item they were eating.  I wonder how twisted inside they’d be if they knew Chevrolet was started by a man of French decent.  After ordering the hostess sat a group of 3 of the most backwater people I’ve seen in town in the booth next to me.  It takes them about 30 seconds before they refer to Obama as “That nigger” which I hear at least 4 times before saying “really?” at a volume they can hear. Sadly I’ve become accustomed to this kind of talk through the anonymity of the internet but I’ve never witnessed this in person. They must not have thought it was for them  because they went on but when the waitress comes over to get their order they’re timid and weak. One of them can barely speak to her when ordering his food and had to repeat himself twice, no eye contact is made from anyone on the table.  The guys so tough within their circle, so quick to toss out racial slurs are subdued by their fear of females.  I’m surrounded by the most detestable group of people I’ve ever witnessed in my life being served by some of the kindest staff.  I finish up my French dip eat some pumpkin pie tip generously because I feel sorry for the shit she puts up with and head back to the hotel.

 

When I get back to my room I call my girlfriend to check in and then flick on the tv.  Conan: The Destroyer is on, I’ve never seen it and I write the previous days blog entry while occasionally bursting out in laughter at the movie.  It’s a welcome escape from the shit show I just witnessed 20 minuets ago and the 430+ mile ache my ass has.  After turning off the tv I suddenly remember and say “Hey, at least this is the town the Corn Palace is in!” 

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