THE Lakota called the incongruous patch of low mountains erupting from the prairies of southwestern South Dakota Paha Sapa — Black Hills — for the dark drapes of ponderosa pine that decorated the gray granite slopes. To the Indians they were sacred. Then prospectors discovered gold, the United States Army took over, and miners, railroad men and settlers dug, drilled and dynamited. Despite these scars — and this judgment might not pass muster with the Lakota who knew them first — the Black Hills remain downright stunning.
The High Line, a railroad running north to south through the heart of the hills, once hauled lime, coal, timber, general freight and a few passengers over the slopes and valleys. Today, its tracks long since removed, it lives on as the 109-mile George S. Mickelson Trail, drawing bicyclists, along with a smattering of hikers and horseback riders, who want to see this land up close.
Climbing out of Deadwood, the resting place of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane (now a national historic site and the state’s epicenter of gambling), the trail ducks through old rail tunnels and skirts abandoned mines and ghost towns. Despite these traces of industry and humanity, the hills still seem wild and isolated, with views of rushing streams, brooding granite cliffs, long valleys and forests.
With a friend, Jim Weseloh, I set out in May to begin a trip on the Mickelson Trail at Deadwood, but a four-foot-deep snowdrift from a late spring storm still blocked a pass outside of town. So we started our southward ride from Rochford, 26 miles along the trail. Covering 50 miles in two easy days, we’d still be able to see what was reputed to be the most scenic part of the trail.
At nearby Silver Creek, where we spent the night before setting out, half a dozen houses sit in a lonely valley. “Believe it or not, hundreds of people once lived here,” Carol Mettler, who runs the Silver Creek Bed and Breakfast, told us. “There was mining all up and down the valley.”
CROSSING: Cyclists traverse a rebuilt trestle on the George S. Mickelson Trail, which was once a train track.
Rochford, an old mining town, is one of many fading reminders of those days. The town began in 1877 when gold was discovered in a nearby canyon. Today its main features are the Moonshine Gulch Saloon and a tiny artists’ store known as the Rochford Mall. It was too early for a beer, so after a look around, we headed out.
The fine gravel of the trail crunched beneath our wheels. I pedaled a hybrid, and Jim rode a full-fledged mountain bike — this crushed limestone is no surface for a skinny-tired road bike.
During the morning, we passed through the Mickelson’s four railroad tunnels. The tunnels are one testament to the tremendous effort needed to build a railroad through this mishmash of granite and shale. Yet the job was done fast, spurred by the hunger for gold and other minerals. According to one trailside sign, crews blasted tunnels, laid 100 miles of track, and built more than 100 trestles in 255 days in 1890 and 1891.
The tunnels are a bit disorienting — passing from bright sunlight to near blackness, it would be easy to take a tumble. The trail’s bridges, built for bikers to replace the old trestles, are pleasant diversions where the bike tires rumble over the boards.
The hills are known as cougar country, but riders are unlikely to see this reclusive animal. They stand a better chance of spotting one of the resident elk or bighorn sheep. I wasn’t so lucky and satisfied myself with glimpses of a couple of yellow-bellied marmots and a few white-tailed deer that bolted from the side of the trail.
Soon, another trailside sign described a pile of crushed rock across the creek that ran along the trail. It was a remnant of an early mine, known as the Old Standby. It didn’t stand by for long, closing in 1909 and reopening briefly during the Depression.
Farther south, a mining claim was fastened to a tree, marking the Glory-Hunters Gold Mine, where $45 buys a tenderfoot a mining share, individual instruction in panning gold, and all the gold he can find.
We rolled through another tunnel and into the ghost town of Mystic. Like so many things in this part of the country, Mystic was both dynamic and ephemeral. It was home early on to a plant that crushed and concentrated gold, and later to a sawmill. Later still it had some importance as a railroad junction until the line connecting it to Rapid City was abandoned in the mid-20th century. Now, except for a pine-log chapel used for weddings, the original settlement has disappeared.
From Mystic, according to our map, we had a six-mile climb ahead. As the trail tilted upward, we came upon a trailside bench with an inscription from Isaiah: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles.”
SUN AND SHADE Leaving one of the four former rail tunnels on the trail. Adjusting the eyes can sometimes be a problem.
From time to time Jim and I walked our bicycles or simply sat to rest. Breathing hard, Jim groused, “These mileposts aren’t going by very fast.”
Eagles hadn’t found him yet. But the occasional buzzard circled on the rising thermals.
At the crest of our climb we found Redfern, marked by a trail shelter and old foundations. When the Burlington and Mariposa mines operated nearby, Redfern had a store, school, saloon and stables. Today it, too, is a ghost town.
For the next hour, we glided mile after mile, and then we reached Hill City, a place that’s still very much alive. Once a mining town, Hill City has hung on and transformed itself. In Granite Sports, a rock-climbing store, I found the manager, Michelle Anderson, who moved here with her family in the mid-1970s. “It used to be an old, dirty, dumpy town,” she recalled, adding that the future had looked especially bleak when a new truck route bypassed the community a few years ago.
“But,” she said, “we had a lot of forward-thinking people who said we’re going to take advantage of this. We’re going to make some opportunities here, get the artists in here that we have.” Today Main Street is lively with restaurants, gift stores and two art galleries.
HILL CITY is perhaps best known for a famous custody battle — over a Tyrannosaurus rex named Sue. Discovered and unearthed in 1990 by the Black Hills Institute of Geological Research, a private fossil preparation outfit in town, the spectacular fossil was lost in a complicated battle with the federal government. These days, Sue sits in Chicago at the Field Museum. But the Black Hills Institute appeared to be thriving nonetheless. Its Main Street museum was crammed with loads of fossils, including two different mounted T. rex skeletons (one a cast, the other mostly real fossil). Ancient ammonites gleamed like artworks.
“You can go to almost any one of our display cases of fossil invertebrates and find more invertebrate fossils than you’ll see in the entire American Museum of Natural History in New York City,” boasted Neal Larson, the institute vice president. We stayed in town that night, at the Alpine Inn, a hotel and restaurant done up in frontier Victorian, with dark hardwood and ornate wallpaper. We ate the only thing on the dinner menu: filet mignon, baked potato and a wedge of lettuce with house dressing — for $9. The lack of dinner options was made up for by a range of imported beers and 30 different desserts.
Next morning, as Jim and I pedaled out of town, the 1880 Train, a Hill City attraction, blasted its whistle and set out for Keystone with a load of tourists.
We started up another long grade, following a stream that poured from the hills. The landscape was changing. Narrow valleys opened up. High meadows yielded to broader grasslands. We saw fewer cliffs and outcrops; more farms and ranches. As we climbed, the wind roared in the pines.
We crested the hill near the Crazy Horse Memorial and stopped a moment to admire it: a massive, partly finished sculpture of the mysterious Lakota warrior emerging from a nearby mountainside. From here, we had 17 miles to go, mostly downhill — an easy afternoon’s ride. Crazy Horse’s head, nearly 90 feet tall, looked out from the rock. The suggestion of an arm pointed south, as if to show us the way.
VISITOR INFORMATION
The George S. Mickelson Trail in South Dakota runs from Deadwood to Edgemont. Travelers can fly into Rapid City and drive to the trail in half an hour. The cycling isn’t terribly strenuous, but to avoid long climbs, some bikers arrange day trips on the downhill sections. To rent bikes or set up a shuttle in the Hill City area, contact Mickelson Trail Adventures (605-574-4094) or Rabbit Bicycle (605-574-4302; www.rabbitbike.com). Trail concessionaires in other towns are listed on the South Dakota Game, Fish, and Parks Web site for the trail (www.sdgfp.info/parks/regions/northernhills/mickelsontrail/index.htm).
Cycling passes (day, $3; season, $15) are available at trailheads or through the trail Web site or the Black Hills Trails Office in Lead (605-584-3896).
Rooms at the Silver Creek Bed and Breakfast (22425 Silver Creek Road, Silver Creek; 605-584-1596) begin at $65. The Alpine Inn (133 Main Street, Hill City; 605-574-2749; www.alpineinnhillcity.com) has rooms from $125. Information on other B&Bs and services, including a trail guidebook, is available from Mickelson Trail Affiliates (605-745-3463; www.mickelsontrailaffiliates.com).
Campsites are available at the United States Forest Service Oreville Campground just south of Hill City.
The 1880 Train ride between Hill City and Keystone (605-574-2222; www.1880train.com) is $21 round trip.
If you want to pan for gold, visit Glory-Hunters at www.angelfire.com/sd/gloryhunters; (605) 574-2081.
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