It’s been 102 weeks since I left home. That’s nearly two years. For some time I’ve thought about what it would be like to go home. And finally I’m getting close…in fact, I will be there in one more day. As we drop down out of the Big Horn Mountains into Buffalo, I think I can almost see South Dakota on the horizon. But not quite.
A man named Luke meets us at the campground we will be staying in for the night. He rode his KLR from eastern Montana all the way down to the bottom part of Argentina last fall. And just as he was nearing the last leg of his tour of South America, his bike had problems and left him stranded. We had planned to meet up somewhere around Ushuaia or the bottom of Chile or Argentina. And when I found out about his troubles, my heart was broken for Luke.
Luke stored his bike somewhere in a remote corner of Argentina and came back to Montana just in time to get back to his job. He plans to return someday and retrieve his bike and finish what he started. Lucky for me, Luke is willing to drive over to Buffalo for the night to see Brian and I since we didn’t get to see him in Argentina.
Luke is a great guy, and we really enjoy getting to hear and share some moto-adventure stories with him that night. He even treated us to dinner, sweet guy.
The next morning I’m chomping at the bit to get back to South Dakota. I think there is some unseen force, sort of like that of gravity, that pulls me home and becomes stronger the closer I get. So after a bite of breakfast, a few minutes of packing and a goodbye, we are off….bound for home. Well, at least for me.
We ride from Buffalo to Gillette and then on, past Moorcroft and to Sundance where we stop for gas. Of course, I’m reminded of the Sundance connection we found in southern Argentina with the story of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
And another 15-20 minutes up the road we finally hit the state line. South Dakota, you’re as beautiful as ever, and oh, how I have missed you.
We keep moving east….toward Spearfish.
And less than 20 miles past Spearfish we finally get to Sturgis.
We stop on Main Street for a photo….and as per usual, except for a couple of weeks every August, it’s a fairly quiet day in the town I was born in and where I graduated from high school.
It’s good to be home.