Tag: Wyoming

The Wild West Meets Scotland

From Buffalo to Cody we detoured over the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway in Wyoming. Motorcycle heaven. Outstanding scenery. Outstanding roads. Outstanding weather.

We stopped for a couple of days in Cody (established and named by William F. ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody) and checked into a nice motel to provide us with a ‘theme park’ experience.

Unfortunately, on the way to the pub, Susan and I got into a bit of an argument – she found alternative transportation for our trip and wouldn’t get out.

I had to resort to threats. Sorry guys! – sometimes even us metrosexual guys have to resort to unmetrosexual like conduct.

I proposed towing her in a traditional carraige – the local historic museum had a few spare that were available for reasonable cost.

Yes, I know the photo doesn’t really look like much of a historic town. Well it was and you know me – I always deliver!

Let’s start with with something impressive to demonstrate I know what I’m talking about.

This is Curley’s (Bull Half White) cabin where he lived with his wife ‘Takes A Shield’. What great names Native Americans had. So descriptive! I mean you certainly know not to leave your shield lying around when Curly’s wife is about!

Susan and I realise we now have adopted Indian names – ‘Clif Bigheid’ and ‘Susan Bigdug’. You see how us travellers easily metamorphosise ourselves into the local culture.

By the time Curly was 12 he had killed a buffalo and received his own horse. By the time most Scots lads are 12, they’ve completed the latest video game!

Ah, perhaps I should explain who Curley was?

Well, he was a Crow scout for Custer and the 7th Cavalry at the Battle of Greasy Grass. He was on the outside of the charging circle of Sioux and Cheyenne warriors and managed to escape. Well, that’s Curly’s story!

Okay, I’m listening, I hear you – you hadn’t heard of Curly and you’re quietly singing to yourself ‘that don’t impress me much’.

Well look at this!

‘Oh-oh you think you’re something special’? you ask.

Well, yes I do because look at this …..

Only the bloody table where the ‘Hole in the Wall’ gang played cards!

Yes, yes I know, I’m playing a blinder.

And whilst I’m on top – how about an original wanted poster for Kid Curry!

In terms of delivering on cowboy history I think I’ve knocked it out the park again!

If you don’t know about these infamous characters then you were probably not raised on a diet of cowboy movies and television series. I feel sorry for you.

I could show you more. I could tell you more, but I don’t have time and you don’t have the patience. I’ve got to move on and ramble on about another Wild West character.

Let’s talk about Bill.

We visited the Buffalo Bill Centre of the West, a museum affiliated to the Smithsonian Institution. Proper culture stuff. Yes, yes I’m not all about beer and beer and ……. well beer!

Here’s Bill. What a dandy!

Oh, I know it’s a photo of a photo. Best I can deliver cause he’s deid.

Here’s his coat.

Yeah, yeah it’s only a blinking coat and you’re still reeling in awe having seen the card table so let’s move on with the story.

Buffalo Bill, born in 1846, was a buffalo hunter, US Army scout and pony express rider. His marksmanship, courage, endurance and knowledge of the land made him a legend in his own time.

It should also be recognised, he was chief scout for the U.S. Cavalry throughout much of the government’s attempt to wipe out indigenous resistance to settlement of land east of the Mississippi. So he wasn’t a saint.

His exploits made it into newspapers and dime novels of the day and transformed him into a Western folk hero. He even formed a partnership with an author and they produced a stage show, dramatising the west.

For many years, Cody performed during the winter and scouted for the army in the summer. The lines began to blur between the two when Cody famously wore his theatrical clothes into battle.

In 1883, Cody organised his famous Wild West Show, a spectacular outdoor entertainment with a cast of hundreds, featuring cowboys, Native Americans, along with recreations of buffalo hunting, the robbery of the Deadwood stage and the battle of Greasy Grass.

Buffalo Bill’s relationship with Native Amercans changed and his Wild West show offered them an alternative way of life that allowed them to earn money. A cynic may say he exploited their destitution brought on by his summer job.

Lakota Sioux warriors became a centerpiece of the show and, for a time, even included Sitting Bull and other warriors who had fought at the battle of Greasy Grass.

The show played through the USA and toured Europe, including a performance in front of Queen Victoria.

In 1893 alone, three million people attended the show and, by the end of the 19th century, Buffalo Bill was one of the most recognised people in the world.

Surely he wasn’t recognised in Scotland? Oh, he surely was!

Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show first visited Glasgow in 1891-92. It ran for 3 months, staged in a 7000 seated theatre in the east end.

The most famous of the Native Americans in the show, at that time, was Kicking Bear who was the last Lakota Sioux warrior to surrender to the US Government.

Kicking Bear was a familiar figure in the streets of Dennistoun and one of his most well known photos was taken in a studio in Bellgrove Street.

So the Wild West Show in the Wild West of Scotland? What could possibly go wrong?

Well, George Crager, who toured with the show as a Lakota Sioux interpreter, sold a famous ‘Ghost Shirt’ to Kelvingrove Museum. Yup, if you’re going to reset stolen goods where else in the world would you go?

Ghost shirts are sacred to the Lakota people and thought to be imbued with spiritual powers. On a winter morning, on the banks of Wounded Knee Creek, a slain Lakota Warrior was stripped of the one item that was supposed to protect him from death: his Ghost Dance Shirt.

It became part of a collection assembled by George Crager and this looted artefact found its way into a Glasgow museum.

Fast forward to 1998 and, after a six year campaign, Kelvingrove Museum agreed to return this Ghost Shirt, stained with the warrior’s bloody, to his descendents.p

That’s not all that happened in Wild West Glasgow.

Crager also hit the headlines when he was assaulted by Lakota Sioux warrior ‘Charging Thunder’.

Jeez, even the wee neds fae Glasgow would think twice about upsetting a guy with that name!

Charging Thunder obviously lived up to his name and hit Crager over the head with a block of wood. And what did the Glasgow polis do? They did what they’re best at – they ‘gied him the jail’ and, subsequently, Charging Thunder was sent to Barlinnie (prison) for 30 days.

Nowadays, ‘Charging Thunder’ would claim diplomatic immunity and get out of jail or, alternatively, he would have a 5000 flag waving march in Sauchiehall Street proclaiming injustice and his innocence.

On the second visit to Scotland in 1904, the Wild West Show came back bigger and better than ever. It performed at numerous venues in Scotland to an estimated 500,000 people at a time when Scotland’s population was around 4 million.

They travelled in their own trains, extending to three quarters of a mile long and in Edinburgh they played for a week at an 18,000 amphitheatre in Gorgie.

Before the show, it was written that the participants collectively represented men who had served in almost every major conflict waged throughout the world since 1861.

So that’s Bill Cody and Scotland.

I could tell you more but, at your age, most of you will have dozed off by now. And you know what they say – always leave them wanting more.

Or as I always say – leave them with another famous coat!

Worn by Annie Oakley, greatest sharpshooter of the West. Now there’s a story!

Cowboys

The Black Hills of Dakota are motorcycle heaven and Sturgis holds the world’s largest motorcycle rally each year.

Thousands of bikers attend (official figure cite around 450,000) but nobody really knows because they don’t count them properly. In reality it’s nowhere near that number but it’s still pretty giganormous.

On the day we visited it was quiet, ghost town quiet.

Well, apart from these guys staying at our roadside motel (there’s a few more bikes in the car park you can’t see).

We unpacked and Susan relaxed in our room, located right in that dark corner beside the bike guys.

We had been allocated a room on the upper level but asked for a change to the ground floor to save me carrying the panniers upstairs. After I saw our new room allocation I wanted back on the upper level but didn’t want to ask for a change again just because I was a namby pamby.

They were all dressed in club leathers looking cool, hard and menacing, with most of the emphasis on menacing. A couple of the guys had t shirts with text that doesn’t need Susan to censor it in this blog. I’ve bloody censored it myself!

I thought I’d better introduce myself, front up and pretend I’m not namby pamby.

First, I gave myself the once over check to make sure the flashing light on my boom boom safety jacket wasn’t visible.

Then I made sure my zip was up and they couldn’t see my padded motorcycle pants.

I then breathed a sigh of relief I had stopped Susan, that morning, from sponging down my bike gear because they needed a ‘good clean’.

I looked like I had travelled. I looked dusty and in need of a good ‘sponging’. There’s no way they’re getting to know I’m a namby pamby.

We talked bikes, the weather, our route and beer. A good biker conversation and I think I pulled off the deception.

When I got back to the room, Susan said her usual ‘ooooooh you’ve been making biker friends again, that’s nice’. We laughed. I didn’t tell her who they actually were until after we left the motel.

You see these guys belong to what is commonly called an ‘outlaw biker gang’ by the department of justice. They’re one of the top ‘outlaw gangs’ in the world and their club history is as bad as you could possibly imagine.

Oh, I could tell you a story or two about our conversation but I won’t. Oh, I could tell you who they were but I won’t. Some things are better left unsaid.

One guy told me he had ridden 1900 miles in 24 hours straight. To be honest, I believed him. If he told you the story you would say you believed him whether you did or not. Trust me you would!

So to be safe, I’m saying nothing until I’m at least 48 hours riding away from these guys and I work that out as 3,800 mIles!

The next day we visited the Sturgis Harley Davidson shop and ‘Big Dog’ sat on her motorcycle throne. Nice.

Then we set off for Deadwood where Susan reciprocated with a photo of me.

Yes, I know – she set me up to look like a dwarf from the Lord of the Rings sitting on a normal sized chair!

Oh the guy looking over my shoulder is Wild Bill Hickok. He was shot and killed in Deadwood in 1876 whilst playing cards. It’s rumoured the cards he was holding included two black eights and two aces – now known as the ‘dead man’s hand’.

Here’s his grave.

I won’t tell you his story, interesting as it is. Instead, I will tell you about this colourful character.

Martha Canary was born in 1856 in a ‘rag tag’ family. She was left an orphan at aged 11 and had to survive by any means, following railroad, military or gold camps.

It’s most likely she earned her nickname ‘Calamity Jane’ because everywhere she went calamity ensued. Along the way she became an alcoholic, swore like it was her first language and joined in on most any dangerous opportunity.

She joined a military expedition and because women were not allowed on such expeditions, she dressed as a soldier. She gained notoriety for this act and was subsequently popularised through regional and national newspaper articles, dime store novels and books. In these days, everyone in America wanted to read stories of the ‘wild west’. Through these exaggerated publications she became larger than life.

It’s been rumoured that she had a romantic relationship with ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ and they were even buried side by side. Whilst they were acquainted, anything more is just a fanciful tale.

Whilst the many tales of her exploits were colourful, it was undoubtedly a hard life. Aged beyond her years, she died of pneumonia at age 47 in 1903.

She would be astonished to know we still talk about her and, as one of the great wild west characters, her memory will always live on.

Deadwood is another great place to visit. It’s full of cowboy stories and tall tales. Nothing is real for the old Deadwood was burnt to the ground several times and washed away by floods in other times.

The saloon where ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ was shot isn’t the place where he was shot but they will still charge you $10 to show you a backroom where it happened.

It’s all a bit of a ‘disneyesque’ creation – fun for a day or two but it’s soon time to move on.

Up in the morning and what did we see.

It’s 0c and the snow is falling. Thankfully the roads are clear – a local explained it’s because, at this time of year, the ground has retained heat.

We thought about staying another day to let it pass but there was a heavy snowfall predicted later that afternoon. Tomorrow didn’t look too good either.

Our planned 170 miles journey that day to Buffalo would lead us to a lower altitude and, hopefully, a few degrees warmer and no snow.

We would like to have waited until mid morning when the temperature rose slightly but the forecast said we had gale force winds in Buffalo at noon.

So we got on the bike.

I made a mistake trying to look after Susan and gave her my fleece top. We look after Susan when it’s hot and we look after Susan when it’s cold.

Yes, I see you shaking your head – thank you for sympathising. My life on the bike is indeed a bloody thermometer nightmare!

Awwww nice guy. Awwww daft guy!

The ‘feels like temperature’ in Deadwood was -7c standing still and I don’t know what it became when riding on the interstate.

I had three tops, boom boom vest, down jacket and my motorbike jacket on. It wasn’t enough. Susan on the other hand tucks in behind ‘big boy’ and is sheltered from the storm. If needed, she puts a hand down near the exhaust to warm.

I couldn’t see for the sleet snow sticking to my visor and our old Wyoming friend, high cross winds, battered us again.

I wanted to make good time and get to Buffalo without stopping before the wind peaked at noon but I had to stop after 90 minutes. I was frozen.

We came off the interstate when we saw a Maccies and nearly fell off at a junction – my arms and legs wouldn’t work fast enough because they were frozen stiff. I held the bike upright, only just, and saved us another £100 to recharge Susan’s boom boom jacket. Nice one frozen stiff man.

Once inside Maccies we warmed for 15 minutes and got back on the bike. No time to linger, only another 100 miles to go before noon.

It was a dual carriageway interstate with a mean elevation of around 5000 feet. The road had sheets of water coming off the mountains and, as it was quiet, and I rode in whatever lane had the least surface water. I had to.

The cars and trucks were all understanding. Not once did I get flashed or tooted for sitting in the outside lane for miles when the inside was ‘clear’ of traffic. Thank you Wyoming drivers! I’m not used to such understanding in the UK.

As the road went over the mountains, it’s bleak and miles from nowhere. We climbed through arctic snowy landscapes but, thankfully, the roads stayed clear of ice and snow.

We missed our noon deadline and suffered the consequences. Gale force freezing winds hit us. They really hit us!

It was terrifying at times. I really don’t exaggerate. But we keep on going because there is no other option.

Each time a hard journey like this happens I say to Susan that will be the worse day we have, it can’t get any harder than that. Then along comes a day like today.

When we arrived at our cheap motel, I sat in the motel room whilst Susan made me a coffee. I couldn’t stop shaking from the cold. I trembled all over.

Here’s Susan with my coffee looking cosy in my fleece.

Susan was mildly amused when she noticed I looked purple. No I wouldn’t let her take a picture – there’s was no way I was getting the name ‘big purple heid’!

That evening we went to the historical saloon in town. I got chatting to a guy at the bar and he said we had just missed hail the ‘size of softballs’ on our road that day.

Sometimes, when you think you’ve been unlucky with the weather you don’t know how lucky you are!

Wyoming Wind

From Manitou Springs we headed north to Boulder, Colorado.

Short journey and so I took the opportunity to visit people who can help people with worries about motorcycles.

The problem I didn’t mention was a starting problem. Twice over a week the bike wouldn’t start first time. That’s pretty unusual.

It meant everytime we stopped in the middle of nowhere I was wondering whether the bike would start. That’s a little bit stressful. Believe me.

Without getting technical I suspected it was to do with either the clutch or stand switch. Ten days we lived with this issue, wondering if and when it would reoccur.

Well I say ‘we’ but Susan was quite chilled about it. She delegated the worrying to me and wasn’t even fussed about the bike getting checked in Boulder. Good approach – ‘ forget all your worries and your strife’.

She wasn’t quite so happy that we were taking less and less breaks in our riding. Several hours without stopping was quite commonplace by now. We often stop in the back of beyond and whilst Susan looks at the scenery, I wonder how long it would take a tow truck to get there.

So when the guys at this garage, who are BMW specialists, told us they couldn’t find an issue, we were reassured. So it’s all fine again. Except maybe it isn’t. You see as far as I’m concerned, we haven’t explained what happened?

Oh, and whilst I’m getting bike issues off my chest I may as well tell you about the other.

We have a fuel filter, which is basically a perforated filter bag, inserted into the fuel tank and retained at the tank nozzle area. This was done before South America because the fuel can be dirty especially in places like Bolivia.

All fuel served in South and Central America is by attendant and some can be less than careful placing the fuel nozzle in our tank. Gradually, they knocked the fuel filter into the tank. I didn’t think that could happen but it did. I don’t know when it happened and only noticed the first time I had to fill the tank myself in the USA.

So now we have a 9 by 6 inch filter bag with plastic nozzle floating randomly inside our fuel tank. I’ve had a peer into the tank and can’t see it. All I can see are electronic switches inside the tank – that’s not reassuring!

Boulder, our destination that particular day, is another lovely place to visit. We had two great days doing tourist things. Susan looked at interesting geology ..

And I bought a bottle of single malt whisky ….

… made by a Scot, trained at the Arran Distillery and distilled in Boulder using Scottish imported malt in stills imported from Scotland. Nice.

I drank as much as I was allowed by Susan in two days, poured the rest into a plastic water bottle and then it was time to head north.

We decided to join two planned days of motorbiking and complete 350 miles to South Dakota, on mixed roads, in a day. Ambitious plan.

Unfortunately, the weather also had plans for the day – gale force cross winds, gusting over 65mph! Jeezo!

We waited until 10am to leave our motel as the weather advice was for the wind to reduce in late morning. It didn’t.

My insides were uneasy at the thought of what was to come. I had memories of our experience in South America. It’s one thing to deal with a bike and yourself, it’s completely different feeling when you’re fully loaded and responsible for the safety of another.

Also when two up and with a top box the surface area for the wind to hit high up is increased significantly. If only Susan was disproportionately skinny and 7 stone it would be so much easier.

Personally, I think part of our ‘baggage’ problem occurs because she’s got too many snacks and biscuits and cream bars and muffins and porridge and peanut butter satchets secreted in her bag and jacket. Oh please don’t think I’m being flippant and making this up! She even carries plastic bloody spoons to eat the porridge!

Yes of course I moan and say it’s ridiculous. Yes of course she does what she wants and replies – ‘what the big dog wants ……. Damn!

So we set off on our journey with trepidation and were absolutely hammered by the wind. The roar in our ears and the force on the side of the bike were relentless.

The first 90 miles were on the interstate and it was frighteningly turbulent. There was no consistency to forces on the bike and it was difficult to handle and impossible to keep in a straight line.

We stopped at Cheyenne for a break and I wasn’t sure it was safe to carry on. But it’s amazing how a coffee and time to relax helped. Susan watched me the whole time we were stopped. Yes, you’re absolutely right – she’s wondering if I’m going to go for that plastic bottle of whisky in the side bag!

We decided to give it another try. Well, I decided.

Susan was okay about it. She just sits on the bike and doesn’t worry about it. That’s pretty calm when we’re not going in a straight line and regularly heading towards a heavy vehicle or off the road.

I’m full time struggling keeping going. But we keep going. And we keep going. Hour after hour.

Then we crossed into Wyoming. F**k me!

The High Plains of Wyoming have a mean elevation of 6,700 feet. Its vast, totally open countryside as far as the eye can see, with absolutely nothing to stop the path of the roaring wind until it hits two old ‘cracker barrel’ people on a bike.

It’s ferocious.

We can’t stop because there’s nowhere to stop. It’s just road and countryside. Even if we did stop at the side of the road we can’t park the bike. It would be blown over and we would struggle to get it up.

It takes us over eight hours to reach our destination. Oh yes, I know you’re waiting to hear me say this – we’re totally exhausted!

We couldn’t get a photo of the high plains of Wyoming but take it from me they’re absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. America doesn’t get enough credit for it’s wonderful landscape and, in my opinion, it’s unparalleled.

Our destination that night was Custer. Named after the guy who fought the native Americans and lost. More about that another time.

So no photo of stunning Wyoming. Sorry. Here’s the next best thing – another photo of me in another bar. Sweet as a nut.

This is the kind of bar I would ride for 8 hours in tortuous, terrifying winds.

Wonderful atmosphere. Wonderful food. Wonderful beer. Wonderful Susan dealing with the day.

Yes, of course there was always the option for us not to travel that day and we did seriously discuss it and start making alternative plans.

But we’re not that kind of people. If we were that kind of people we wouldn’t be here in the first place. To be honest, in hindsight we should have stayed but with hindsight we would do the same again.

Next day we went to see the Presidents. You know the guys I’m talking about – these stoney faced guys.

Wonder if there are any quart people who can name these guys without looking it up? Well, you’ve got Washington at the front (left); Lincoln at the back (right); Thomas Jefferson (second from left); and Chuck Norris at the back.

Yes, yes, you’re gonna have to look it up now!

We added a couple of heads – ‘big heid’ and ‘big dog’.

The monument was completed between 1927 and 1941 by the sculptor Gutzon Borglum and his son.

Each head is 18m tall and the sculpture was originally intended to be depicted from head to waist but a lack of funding cut them short. It’s a pretty spectacular monument in the flesh – well, you know what I mean!

So what is the meaning of Mount Rushmore? Is it just three random presidents and Chuck Norris?

They symbolise different principles. George Washington signifies the struggle for independence and the birth of the Republic. Thomas Jefferson the expansion of the country. Abraham Lincoln the permanent Union of the states and equality for all citizens, and Chuck Norris, the 20th century role of the United States in world affairs, the rights of the common man and the ‘Code of Silence’.

Awesome.

It should be recognised, however, the Mount Rushmore sculpture is in land that was illegally taken from the Sioux nation.

The US Govt seized the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1876 because gold was discovered and settlers began to encroach onto Native American land that had been agreed by treaty. In effect, the ‘immigrant’ Americans reneged on legal promises made to the ‘native Americans’.

In 1979, the US Court of Claims decided that said seizure was wrong and awarded the Sioux $17.5 million. With interest, this amounted to $105 million.

The Sioux refused to accept this ‘hush’ money because acceptance would legally terminate Sioux demands for the return of the Black Hills. The money continues to accrue interest and stands over $1.5 billion today.

Activity continues on behalf of the Sioux but recent presidents, including the superficially supportive Obama, delivered nothing.

To show our support for the Native Americans we went to see Crazy Horse. Yes, of course he got bayoneted by the US Cavalry and we didn’t see the guy himself but we did see him larger than life.

They’re currently carving out Crazy Horse from a mountain. It’s a quite astonishing venture.

Below is a representation of what the sculpture will look like.

Started in 1948, the sculpture was the inspiration of Chief Standing Bear and started by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski who had also worked on Mount Rushmore. It’s a significant undertaking and relies on private funding. Progress is slow but continuing.

Crazy Horse, leader of the Lakota, was chosen as the subject because he ‘never signed a treaty or touched the pen’.

The sculpture depicts his left hand gesturing forward in response to a derisive question he was asked ‘where are your lands now?’

Crazy Horse replied ‘my lands are where my dead lie buried’.

Shine on you crazy diamond.

Long live the spirit of Crazy Horse.