By paying $80 a year, a fee that I feel is reasonable to help with the upkeep of National Parks, the Annual Pass is supposed to allow me into the sites free of charge. Which is the case in almost every National Park, National Monument or other National Fee Related Place I have ever entered. Except for Mount Rushmore. To get around the inconvenience of not removing every single tourist of $20, the parking lots at Mount Rushmore are privately owned, and therefore exempt from the Annual Pass. I had to pay these dicks for the privilege of parking at the foot of this National Memorial. Frustrating.

OK, sorry ’bout that. Bitchy whiny mode off…

Standing before the actual monument that I’d read about as a kid was impressive:

George

Paul

John

And Ringo

From Mount Fab-Four it was a simple ride over to the other carved-up musical mountainside salute, this one a still unfinished tribute dedicated to Neil Young’s band.

This crazy monument was started in 1948, when monument carving was probably a hot occupation in the South Dakota area. But, much like internet stocks, the Macarena and hopefully Crocs, fads fade, and then what happens? You’re left with a quarter of a monument, that’s what.

Just to show the scale of Crazy Horse, note the full sized bulldozer and crane.

On the way down to Crazy Horse, we passed a helicopter touring center. Since this was our day to splurge, we decided to get high, err… I mean see what everything looked like from the air.

No matter how long I waited, the old, lost-looking goof on the right wouldn’t get out of the picture.

Our thirty minute flight took us over Crazy Horse and Mount Rushmore, over the unknown-to-me Needles Highway, then landed without crashing us into the Black Hills.

The Front of Crazy Horse

And The Back

The Beatles

The Needles

The Pigtail

Rain Cloud Follows and the Unnamed Concours

Helicopters are fun, but motorcycles are funner. We took our fun motorcycles to the fun fourteen mile expanse of road known as the Needles Highway, which, if you hadn’t guessed, was fun.

The Needle Eye

Fun. Then, to cap the day, we headed to the mecca of motorcycling known as Sturgis to find a place to stay for the night.

Wow. Sturgis, in my humble opinion, is the little town that got lucky once a long time ago when some bikers stopped by to hang out. That luck mushroomed into a motorcycle rally that most likely saved the little town of 6400 from complete anonymity. Fortunately, we missed that little gathering, because even as empty as it seemed, finding a room in Sturgis was difficult enough.

However, we were able to be part of another gathering. There was a Ford Mustang rally happening that weekend, which, while a bit less well-attended than the other, famous rally held every year, conveniently explained the lack of hotel rooms.

After that excitement, all ten minutes of it, we decided it was time to head out of town, toward something very evil indeed. But first, before surrendering to the impending evilness, there was a quick stop to make on the way.

Wyoming is one of only two states in my long traveling career that I had yet to set foot in (and defile.) And, with this stop, Montana was the sole state left on my ‘To Defile’ list. With Wyoming now safely crossed off that list, it was time to set off for the day’s diabolical destination.

Devils Tower National Monument

Because we were still in goof-off mode, we actually went into the demonic monument grounds, to see what was going on. Normally we’d have just gotten a quick passport stamp then immediately took off on the way to somewhere else far away, like Montana. And, I am happy to report, the Annual Pass allowed us both in free of charge.

People were high up on the ledges of Tower, apparently ready and willing to sacrifice themselves to the Devil.

Careful guys, gravity’s not just a good idea, it’s the law!

From The Devils Tower, we immediately took off on the way to someplace far away.

Here on the back roads of Wyoming, I succeeded in breaking one law and failed to break another. The roads in the middle of Wyoming are so straight, flat and deserted that I decided to hold Rain Cloud Follows throttle wide open and see what would happen.

142 MPH happened, and there was even more to go, but I lost my nerve. My FJR may be a sport-tourer, but there’s a reason that the word ‘sport’ comes first.

Then, when I was done monkeying around out there in the middle of nowhere, on those straight, flat and deserted roads, the worst thing that has ever happened to me happened.

I tried and failed to break the law of gravity.

The next installment of the Epic Ride can be found here.