Broadus, MT → Alzada, MT → Rapid City, SD

After our long day into Broadus, we turned off the alarms and woke up late (7:30) on Monday. There aren't many towns in southeast Montana; the next town with anything more than a post office and a school house, Alzada, was 56 miles away, and the town after that, Belle Fourche, South Dakota, was another 40 miles. Given our slight fatigue after the 115 mile day and a weather forecast showing a headwind, we opted for a shorter day to Alzada.

We grabbed breakfast at the Cashway Cafe and hit up the grocery store for food provisions. The town of Broadus has only 450 people, but from our first encounter outside Big Sky Bar with Scott, an 80’s era Blackhawk helicopter crew chief from the 82nd Airborne, to our conversations with random interested locals, Broadus charmed us. At the grocery store alone we had several people seek us out. John, the local pharmacist, told us to take extra water because there weren't many drinkable wells along our route--the soil was full of Bentonite, a clay-like substance used for many things, including kitty litter. Robin, a manager at the grocery store (who also doubles as a ranch hand and is running for county commissioner), was so excited to see us--he didn't grow up in town, but it turned out he also rode cross-country from Seattle to Kitty Hawk, NC and came through Broadus on his way. Fate seemed to have led him back. A store clerk heard we were from Boston and wanted to know if we knew about her nephew's restaurant near Fenway (the Boston Red Sox's baseball stadium).

All the conversations made for a very late start and we didn't hit the road until about 11a. To make the going more interesting, just as we were preparing to take off, Robin came out to alert us to the severe thunderstorms and potential hail cropping up in our path. He said the part before us was known as “hail alley” and often has ice balls falling from the sky large enough to kill people.

We assessed the map and noted the “town” of Hammond 30 miles away. Hammond has one post office and a school that houses one visiting teacher from Billings and four students. There was no potable water--the post office clerk said she brought three gallons with her to work everyday for coffee and drinking--but it would be shelter if we needed it. That, and the random barns and chicken coops.

We set off with the wind in our faces and the growing clouds to the south. After the previous day's riding, the combined fatigue and anxiousness about the weather made for some short and snappy conversations on the road and made us skittish. We ducked into a Montana DOT barn (no trespassing warning posted) once to check the radar and then, as the storm continued to brew around us, hurried into Hammond around 2:20 where we found Penny, the post office clerk, just getting ready to close up shop. She offered us coffee and cookies and said we could stay in the lobby, which stays open after hours, for as long as we needed. Seeing nothing but green, yellow and red storm cells on the radar south of us, we took her up on the offer.

For the next hour and a half Ben worked on the blog and I, thoroughly exhausted, pulled out my sleeping bag pouch for a head rest and put down a priority mail box for floor cushion and slept. Meanwhile the wind picked up as a major storm cell passed by along our route to the southeast.

Around 4pm Ben woke me up and said he thought we had a good window to sneak through to Alzada. The ground outside was damp from rain that came through during our stay. The radar showed a storm over Alzada that was expected to clear within two hours, and another storm that was supposed to hit Hammond, also in around two hours. We needed to play our cards to distance ourselves sufficiently from Hammond before the next storm while timing the entrance to Alzada so that we didn't ride straight into their current storm. The rest break was exactly what we needed to feel confident we could make it, and we did.

Looking back, it was a marvelous sight to ride toward a storm moving in front of us on the horizon. The grand transparency of it all made it really easy to time our arrival. We even stopped a couple times to stall and admire the rain clouds on the move.

Alzada is also a small town. The locals drive thirty minutes to South Dakota for groceries. In addition to a few houses and a convenience store/gas station, the main attraction in town is the Stoneville Saloon. The owner, Diane, bought the place twenty four years ago and runs everything. Unless there is a big event where she needs more help, such as her signature “Topless Tuesday” biker rally in August, Diane is hostess, waitress, chef, dishwasher and cleaning staff all in one.

The Saloon looks like an old style western bar with hitching posts out front. Sawdust lines the floors inside and old ranch and farm artifacts hang from the walls and ceiling. The bar is ornate, made of handsome carved wood and a broad mounted mirror. When we walked in, Diane was sitting by herself behind the bar smoking a cigarette, sipping Bud Light over ice in a wine glass, watching Lifetime television. She looked comfortable and we were momentarily sorry to disturb her. After a couple beers and some of Diane's homemade ham and bean soup, she warmed up and even offered to let us camp behind the building. Showers could be got down at the convenience store for $5 a person. Done deal.

The next morning it took us all but three miles to come to the Montana/Wyoming state line. After ten days of learning to ride the mountains and brace the headwinds, our longest state came to an end. I couldn't help bursting into tears at the realization that we made it across Montana. From the northeastern mouth of Clark Fork Valley to the southeastern barren vastness, this state has claimed and will claim the most riding of our trip. It was big, it was challenging, and it was unforgettably beautiful.

Our jaunt through Wyoming, on the other hand, lasted only ninety minutes as we coasted the northeastern tip on highway 212 for twenty miles. We crossed into South Dakota in what seemed the blink of eye.

From there the going got pretty tough. Our ride from Alzada to Rapid City, over ninety miles in total, included a stint on interstate 90 to avoid tracing far flung gravel country roads and headwinds a down the eastern edge of the Black Hills. Given our timeline and target distance, we decided to put riding through the Black Hills on our “Do With the Kids” list and skirted them this time around.

When we finally arrived in town we headed for the KOA campsites, passing through downtown Rapid City on the way. It was so peaceful, reminiscent of home, and we were so exhausted that we decided to treat ourselves and got a room at a clean motel on the main street.