What appears to be slushy snow had hardened into solid ice. I engaged the drive for the sidecar's wheel and had a blast sliding around - while remaining in the ruts formed by four-wheeled vehicles, back when everything was more - fluffy.
The high point had been nearly 7,000 feet. I'm somewhat below that here - and on more of a southern exposure. I crossed into Wyoming on dry gravel, but as soon as I dipped into the more thickly forested canyons, the snow returned.
That snow was still mushy, and I found that even though the third wheel keeps you from falling over, and the two-wheel-drive does a great job of maintaining forward momentum - it does next to nothing for keeping you on the road! I came around one downhill corner too fast and about slid off the embankment and into the trees. Lesson learned.
OK, a lot of road passed under my wheels between this photo and the last one. As you may have noticed, I'd entered the "Cowboy State" on Forest Road 875. The original plan had been to follow Road 807 through Lost Canyon. How could you pass up an opportunity to travel through Lost Canyon, right? Well, I did - though not on purpose. To me, it remains lost.
Route 875 turned out to be quite enjoyable, however. It meandered through innumerable draws, somewhere above the floor of the canyon. It did eventually join 807, only a mile south of the junction with 863, Sand Creek Road - aka the Grand Canyon of the Black Hills. That was the other primary destination of the trip. And that one, I didn't miss!
The gravel road along Sand Creek took me all the way down to the small town of Beulah on Interstate 90 - a dozen miles west of Spearfish. I stopped there for gas, then went right back into The Hills on a different gravel road that loosely followed the state border, heading south.
That route began just as well-maintained as the last one, then quickly deteriorated to Jeep trail status. The mud holes were the largest and deepest I've ever negotiated with the Ural, requiring quite a bit of finesse with the clutch and liberal application of throttle to climb out of. Fortunately, the holes were largely dry, so I didn't need my snorkel.
I met a truck coming down and asked if they'd come through from the better road on top. "No, we were going up, too, but gave up and turned around. It's real bad," they concluded. I figured it couldn't be much farther, so I pressed on. Finally I came across the barn you see above - with heavy equipment and an RV out front. I knew they hadn't brought all that up the way I'd come!
And sure enough, just past the barn, the trail became a road again. I'd made it through! The farther east I went on 222, the better and wider the road became, until I passed Roughlock Falls and hit the pavement again at Savoy in Spearfish Canyon. Talk about more adventure than I bargained for! Was good to know the Ural (and I!) could do it though. The Ural's tough. I'm just stubborn.
From Savoy, it was on up to Cheyenne Crossing on 14A, then north a ways on Highway 85 to my last gravel of the day, Forest Road 227. That was a very nicely groomed seven miles, which spit me out onto the paved 404. I took that twelve miles to the quaint town of Nemo - famous, in part, for it's one and only store.
Now only thirty minutes from home, I still couldn't resist going in for a cold Dr Pepper and a candy bar. In the process, I discovered I'd arrived on one of their last business days of the season. I told the proprietor it was likely one of my last riding days of the season as well. And it was. Not a bad closer though. Not bad at all!
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