The midday sun was beating down on me. I wear a do rag on my head mostly because I have no hair to hide my scalp anymore. In high winds, the rag helps keep my sun glass frames where they should be and keeps my scalp from turning into beef jerky. Thank God in this state, I still have the freedom to decide what to wear- at least for a little while longer. Can you imagine Custer wearing a helmet? Every time I am here, I have this spiritual feeling that floods over me- like I have been here long ago. Just like the first time. I don't know what to call that- but it is undeniable. On two wheels, Spearfish Canyon is one of the most beautiful venues there is. I am due south and east, traveling to a little town called Pine Ridge. They don't like me there. I am white. The young Indians flash vitriolic looks my way and then quickly look away. The defiant ones just stare at you. You can feel the hatred and the years of Indian indoctrination. I am a trespasser here. The hate is tangible