What follows is a friendship story. Skip to the chorus if you just want the trip report.
Cory is a former upperclassman of mine, so we have a connection from way back. We didn't reconnect until about 2015, though, at an event held by mutual friends. In another twist he ended up working at the same company I was at. We clicked, and over the years since we've shared many campgrounds and other interesting settings with our families and friends.
He wasn't a motorcyclist during those years, though. He'd done some casual riding many years ago, and had... an incident, and so he quit riding. Occasional conversations about bikes and trips got him thinking, and he ended up picking up a Royal Enfield Himalayan 411. Then another one--the 450. It was better suited for the highway jaunts we'd be doing.
We talked a lot about protective gear and road strategy. He put time into study and skills practice, so last fall we did some riding around his home in Duluth, then we took a camping trip to Copper Harbor in Michigan, spending four days exploring back roads and hanging our hammocks in some beautiful forest areas. The roads near Copper Harbor are riding bliss.
A few weeks ago he messaged me and asked if I wanted to attend a wedding reception with him in Alexandria, Minnesota, then head west the next morning to explore the Badlands. Does a bear sh.... Yes, yes I did. He ended up skipping the reception due to work commitments, but we kept our overall plan and set out on a fresh Saturday morning on the last day of May, 2026.
Day One
St. Cloud to Oahe Downstream Recreation Area - About 375 miles of pavement
We set out down Highway 23, which is actually fairly scenic to the west. Since we had a long road ahead we weren't concerned about getting off the major byways yet, and traffic was light early in the day. An hour later we were far enough from larger cities so that traffic stayed light. By 10:30 or so we approached Watertown, South Dakota, and were looking for a hot meal. A few miles out we pulled off to don our rain gear, just as a shower hit. In town we found a nice looking taco shop and pulled in while the rain intensified. We shivered, damp from the first of the rain, in an over-cooled newer restaurant, enjoying our southwest brunch.
We moved on, stopping to stretch and strip layers as the day warmed up and dried out. It was a pleasant ride with lots of good conversation. Late afternoon brought us to one of the few camping areas in South Dakota offering trees suitable for our hammocks. We claimed a site, then rode back into town for some supplies and supper fixings. Back at camp, I waded into the reservoir to cool off from the sunny afternoon, planning to take a dip but deciding better of it. Cory took another approach, with a full-on body flop, followed by exhilarated gasps as he rediscovered for himself what snowmelt feels like out west, even on the brink of June. A peaceful evening in the hush of a light breeze through the cottonwoods brought us to comfortable sleep and thoughts of a fun ride ahead.
Day Two
Oahe Downstream Recreation Area to Center Lake Campground via Badlands National Park - About 225 miles of pavement and gravel. One butt-clencher.
The cottonwood grove we slept among was highly regarded by the local bird population. I counted at least ten species by ear the evening before, and this morning they woke us with their cacophony at a ridiculous hour. After hitting my internal snooze button a few times I got up and started coffee. Cory shortly followed. We're pretty efficient campers, so after coffee and snacks we were ready to hit the road.
Today was our Badlands day, and we started out with a 45 mile gravel jaunt on Bad River Road and beyond. Cory was still getting the feel for his new Himalayan 450, which was a bit less nimble than the old-school 411 he had prior. We paused for photos, then set out with purpose.
I was behind at this point, having stepped off the bike for a video clip of him, and followed at about 400 yards when something happened that my mind struggled to interpret. There ahead of me, tiny at that distance, I thought I saw Cory's bike go sideways to the left, then to the right, then to the left again, as though at a very slow video frame rate. At the extremity of my visual resolution it was a motorcycle icon graphic flipping direction at one second intervals, like some sort of 1980s computer animation in 8 bits. Cory said nothing into the live intercom mics we wore.
I kept riding, intending to catch up and inquire what had happened, when I came across the place his moment had occurred. There in the gravel I saw five neat, dark commas carved into the road, each curving the opposite direction from the last. Now it made sense. He'd gotten into a front-end wobble on loose, recently graded aggregate. By now he started offering a bit of commentary on the event, explaining just what I'd imagined, that he'd dug in and done his best to use good technique, but with inexperience and a bit of panic muddling the effort.
Anyway, he was ok, and the bike was ok. We kept on, eventually coming upon a grading crewman who warned us of a big pile up ahead. Apparently he didn't recognize our bikes as the moderately capable off-roaders they are and thought it might be a show-stopper for us, or maybe he was just giving us a polite heads-up. It wasn't a big deal, and half an hour later we were gassing up along a remote highway and settling into a couple homestyle burgers at the attached diner. The station clerk did the cooking, and we enjoyed a fascinating conversation from an elderly long-time local man sipping a bottle of Bud at 10:30 a.m.
Cory had never been to Wall Drug, that most touristy of attractions, so we planned a stop there since it was en route. On the way we saw signs announcing the Old Deadwood Trail, a wagon track of the pioneer era. We backtracked the trail for a while, cresting a gentle hill, then reversed and carried on to Wall.
Not long after Wall we arrived at the edge of Badlands National Park. We made our way through the ticket gate and headed southwest. Shortly we were on gravel again, but this time it was more firm as Cory worked on regaining his mojo. He got to see his first Badlands bison there.
Once west of the park we paused to plan our route to the Black Hills. We stopped at a would-be ghost town strip mall with broken benches and dilapidated wood siding. We snacked and relaxed. Cory checked out the defunct jailhouse. Then we headed toward Rapid City and the Needles Highway.
The ride into the hills was tight and thrilling. I hadn't seen the rock tunnels on my last trip in 2023, and they added to our enjoyment. The campground was full, so we reluctantly moved on to the next one, about 20 miles further, under threat of rain from the low, cool clouds. Central Lake Campground was a forest of mature red pines with virtually no understory to offer seclusion and sound buffering, but there were few other campers, so it was a win over the previous crowded area. We chuckled at a pair of tots on tiny bicycles, a boy and a girl, screaming (in both senses of the word) down the campground road, sometimes into the woods when braking proved inadequate. Being unprepared to cook in camp, we took a short ride to a nearby resort restaurant along a small lake for supper. The dining room was closed, but they offered us meals takeout-style for the patio.
Day Three
A bunch of gravel and paved miles north and west of Custer, SD. One unintended dismount.
Gentle rain overnight left the hills fresh in the morning, where sunshine urged through the remaining clouds. We left unnecessary panniers and heavy gear behind for the day's ride and headed out in the cool air. Right away we came across a lone bull bison grazing in the ditch along the road. We knew enough to leave him be, but we stopped to have a look and grab photos before riding back through some of the Needles tunnels.
We'd studied our various electronic and paper maps to find interesting roads, and soon we turned off down a two-track that looked promising. It wasn't long, though, that things got slick from the recent rain. Up ahead I heard Cory give a bit of a grunt in the intercom and looked up to see him on the ground. I parked and trotted over, where he was pinned between the bike and a log. He wasn't hurt, but we both lacked motivation to push our heavy bikes further in the mud. We turned them 180 and paused to laugh at our adventure and take in the gorgeous landscape, then headed back to look for better opportunities. Soon we were on more developed gravel roads and stacking up thrilling miles of rusty ribbon.
For lunch we stopped in Custer. There was a diner we had intended to try, but it was packed with people. A fellow traveler suggested a New York style sandwich deli a block away, so we eagerly headed that way and found some really great eats at Custer Deli compliments of Gabi, the proprietor. She was the real deal. Next on our plan was Wildlife Loop, a byway through the open hills offering several interior gravel circuits. We were thoroughly enjoying the higher-speed gravel when we encountered some of the only cars we passed in the area. They were backed up at a large bison herd. After pausing to take in the scene we motored past, trying not to disturb the cows and calves lounging along the road. Despite our easy going a few ended up getting frisky as we passed, making for a few nervous chuckles, hoping a mama bison didn't decide we were a threat.
Just before getting back to camp for the night we encountered a typical dramatic Black Hills thundershower. The first drops felt refreshing after a warm day, but soon it came down hard. Having brought only denim riding pants on this trip I pulled off and frantically donned my rain gear in the deluge as Cory patiently dripped nearby. We rode the remaining soggy miles cautiously, and by the time we got back to camp the rain was easing up. We relaxed under the tarp we had prepared earlier and ate some convenience food we'd grabbed at a small general store. A nice campfire and some conversation capped a fantastic day.
Day Four
Center Lake Campground to Oahe Downstream Recreation Area - About 230 miles, mostly pavement
We broke our camp of the last two nights to set out vaguely homeward via historic Deadwood. Right away we attempted a gravel cutacross that looked promising, but a road crew had placed a long stretch of fist-sized crushed rock across nearly the whole road bed, apparently in an attempt to stave off erosion from heavy rain. We daringly bounced up it a few hundred yards, then paused to assess, ultimately decided against continuing. Our now fully loaded bikes were too much for our intermediate-level skills and middle-aged carcasses on that rough and loose surface, so we returned to the pavement and enjoyed a nice long stretch of hills and sweepers, which I liked just fine.
We were past midday by the time we reached Deadwood, and parked our bikes for a stroll about town, settling at a renovated mining facility turned restaurant for burgers. Afterward we walked downtown and learned that their daily shootout was about to happen. We sat on the curb and watched as a poker game went wrong and a cowboy was gunned down. Well, sorta. He apparently lived for many weeks with a bullet in his forehead, only succumbing after sepsis set in. Eww.
Mid-afternoon we headed east on 14. We had decided to camp at the same site as we did on the first night, knowing it was good for our hammocks. Trees are scarce in South Dakota. We passed Nellie's Cafe, where one of our party had inadvertently, and completely understandably, backed a pickup into the front wall once upon a time. Ahem.
By early evening we came upon a northward gravel loop that we thought might make a nice last off-pavement excursion. It was, though it ended up being a bit longer than expected. It took us through scenic rolling hills and river valleys, with even small towns rare along the way.
At one point we had some doubt about our route. We had missed a turn at a small native town. I suggested that we take the next road, which appeared on my GPS map to connect to the same point we wanted to get to. It was a grassy two-track heading up over a hill, which was a fun climb. As we reached the top it meandered northward, then east again, then south, getting more feeble and rutted as we went. Eventually we found ourselves pushing through a herd of beef cattle on little more than a truck track, hoping none of them would get rowdy with us. We even came across a closed gate in the barbed-wire fence, which we passed through and resecured. Shortly we came to the primary road we needed, chuckling about our little foray into rancher territory. We hope no one minded too much. Another half dozen miles or so took us back to pavement.
At this point the shadows were stretching to our left as we rolled through gusty, warm wind quartering from the southeast. Cory mentioned that his fuel was getting low, so I did some searching on the GPS for fillup opportunities. There weren't many, unless we wanted to head further south than planned, by over 20 miles. That would make a long day even longer, so we pressed on, discussing speed strategy and how we could use a hose I had brought to siphon between bikes if needed. Normally his bike has the range mine does, but at higher speeds his single actually burns more than my twin. We watched his digital range forecast tick down toward zero, miraculously staying exactly four miles over my calculated destination distance during the last 40 or so miles. We reached gas with 4 miles of range left! We ordered gas station pizza, then set up camp just down from where we were last time and relaxed in our hammocks as dusk fell.
Day Five
Oahe Downstream Recreation Area to St. Cloud, MN - About 370 miles of remote pavement
We set out from Pierre fairly early, hoping to make miles while it was still cool. Rather than taking the same route back on US 212, we went north to US 12. Passing through the little hamlet of Bowdle at late morning we stopped to fuel ourselves and the bikes. After asking a local for a suggestion, we found ourselves at Oldies Grill & Lounge, where we learned that the young fella serving us worked for his grandfather, the owner. They were kind enough to serve us late breakfast shortly after the normal lunch switch, and I eagerly anticipated the pancakes I'd been craving for the last few days.
Before the flapjacks arrived, a scrawny old guy strolled in and, as we were the only people in sight, asked if he could join us. After a quick moment of confusion we agreed, and he slid into the booth next to Cory. For the next half hour he filled us in on all things northern South Dakota, from the huge pipeline we saw being installed along the highway, to his history on property he inherited (it's worth millions, but he doesn't know what he'd do with the money), to who bought cattle from whom and where, to the saga of the Prius hybrid he unfathomably preferred over a more typical American sedan or pickup. It was an delight to visit with him as he drank his coffee. He reminded me much of my own late Grandma Lucille, who also loved to share stories of people and places. As for the pancakes, I've rarely had better and certainly have never had bigger!
The rest of the ride home got a bit long, as last days often do, but was still pleasant. Cory and I usually have things to talk about, and heck, we were on a motorcycle trip. There's not much to complain about when you're riding across a bit of America. We crossed into Minnesota and stopped at a park in New London to stretch and cool off, had a snack, then finished the last leg. It was yet another treasured notch in the belt of motorcycling memories I keep, and this time with a great friend. I look forward to the next ride.
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