The Black Hills Cruiser Classic, A Spiritual Experience.

Gather round, my Brethren, and I shall tell of my experiences in the near mythic Black Hills. It is an epic journey, with songs to be sung for generations to come.

Tuesday was spent in frantic last minute details, loading tools and clothing and food and all those road trip necessities. Oh yes, and the Abomination. Forget not thy trail truck, lest ye be left in camp to fret and fume.

The Goddess arrived home from work, followed shortly by Andru Anderson, my faithful side kick and acolyte. We climbed into the FJ60 with Elsie and tugged our trusty trailer up the drive into another adventure. We departed at 6:30 pm (CST) and followed the sunset. Go west young man, go west!

I must tell you that as much as I love our wonderful '87 FJ60, it is not my first choice as a tow vehicle. The weight of the Abomination plus trailer grossly exceeds the rated limits of our trusty steed. The only things that make it remotely possible to tow any distance with are electric trailer brakes and a load adjusting hitch. Even so, this is not a journey for the faint hearted.

We drove through the land of cheese and bag milk, stopping only for fuel, lest the natives get cranky. We crossed into Minnesota, only to encounter the most horrendous washboard concrete I've ever driven on. At 1:00 am, it was decided that we would stop for the night in Rochester. Alas, there were no rooms at the inn, in the whole darn town. Seems that patients of the Mayo Clinic keep the local motels full, year round.

We pushed on to Austin, finding room at the Holiday Inn. Our stay was marred only by our accidental placement in a smoking room. The Goddess and I were too tired to return to the desk, so we slept there. Upon waking, our sinuses were in rebellion. A discount was offered and we gratefully accepted.

Breakfast at Perkins was less than stellar. Andru humbly requests chocolate chips in his pancakes. The cook flatly refuses. No CC shall ever soil his griddle. After much wangling, the waitress agrees to place the CC upon the cakes instead of within. Andru accepts this compromise with good grace, only to discover his omelet is really nothing more than a couple stirred up fried eggs with Cheese Whiz squirted on top. The Goddess and I each have a mediocre slice of berry pie. Breakfast is not to be a high point today.

At 11:00 am, we stop at the shrine of the Jolly Green Giant. Blue Earth MN. is home to this 60 foot icon to vegetable lovers everywhere. We gather at the gift shop to purchase trinkets and pins for Elsie. Andru acquires a small Sprout doll, which rides our dashboard for the rest of the trip. Just past Blue Earth we see our first Wall Drug sign. It's good to be on the road again.

We take a brief lunch stop in Adrian MN and I make sandwiches. A little later, Andru takes the wheel so I can rest a bit. Soon, we'll be in South Dakota.

We cross the Missouri River in time for an early dinner, but choose to move on. Al's Oasis, home of the finest chicken fried steak in South Dakota is bypassed. We want to be in Rapid City by sunset, and other detours are yet to come.

We sideline through the Badlands as dusk approaches. What an incredible place. Beyond description and different each time we see it. This is an absolute must for anyone passing this way. I suggest allowing a half day to drive through and stop at the many wonderful sights. Plan to spend the other half of the day in the town of Wall.

Wall is the site of that most Holy of tourist Meccas, WALL DRUG. Due to time constraints, we shall make our pilgrimage on the return journey, but stop we shall. One may not proceed through SD without a walk through Wall Drug. It is sacrilege.

We reluctantly leave the town of Wall behind around 7:00 pm. Soon, as we top a rise, we see the promised land. There, on the horizon, the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota. 8:00 pm sees us sitting down to a moderately decent meal at a high price in the Hotel Alex Johnson. Hmmm. I should have had the Buffalo burger.

We proceed to our permanent digs at the Garden Cottages Motel. This is a delightful place on Rt. 44 on the western edge of Rapid City. We are about 20 minutes from the campgrounds. If you decide to base yourselves in Rapid City, we recommend this spot. Kitchenettes are available, or just little cottages with a bathroom, bed and TV. Good prices too.

The dawn saw us up and ready, scurrying to unload the Abomination and generally get set up. A quick doughnut and cappuccino preps us for the road. With great anticipation, we load up and the 4 of us head for the Whispering Pines camp ground. Up into the hills we climb, passing through some of the most beautiful scenery in all the U.S.

Pine forests climb the sides of steep rock hills, with the occasional cabin or house perched high above the road. 44 follows a stream for some distance. We pass through Johnson Siding, a few miles from the camp ground. We notice a motel there, much closer to camp. Oh well, we'll be okay at the cottages.

As we round a bend, there it is. Whispering Pines. A really, really nice camp ground. Several different types of sites for tent campers, trailers and motor homes. Incredibly clean shower and toilet facilities with a nice laundry room. A well stocked camp store with hot meals served. Evening brings outdoor grilled meals, including steaks, trout and buffalo burgers. Peter and Natalia, the owners, are very cool people, dedicated to making your camping experience the very best in the U.S.

Did I mention the Cruisers? As we look into the little meadow, there are Cruisers everywhere. 40's, 45's, 55's, 60's galore. Is that diesel I smell? Ahhh, the Canadians are here, hey? We pull in to be greeted by friendly smiling Cruiser folk. One of the first to greet us is Park Owens, followed by Henry Brimmer. So many faces, so many names, it's hard to remember them all.

We collect our registration packet, buy more of Henry Brimmer's Gregory books and invest heavily in raffle futures. Much Cruiser talk is going on and all the introductions become overwhelming. I'll never remember all the names, so please excuse me if I don't mention you here. Elsie proves to be very popular, especially after demonstrating her famed liplock maneuver on Park. Our pre-trail inspection goes well. We get to run with the big boys!

After a couple hours in camp, we head back for Rapid City and swap vehicles. Park has given us some leads on FJ55's. Andru Anderson seeks same and is willing to consider a broad range of prices and conditions. We trek west to Sturgis, looking for a specific bone yard. The 55 we find is pretty used up, but the collection of old iron makes the trip worth it. Andru has dreams of old IH Travelalls dancing in his head. And, we get a lead on another 55.

Sturgis is prepping up for the massive Harley invasion this coming week. Bikers are already dribbling into town. Banners fly everywhere and eagles on black are THE theme. The 55 lead doesn't pan out, but we do get a lot of local flavor. Sturgis is a tiny town, about to experience a population explosion to 50 times it's normal size. Glad we'll be gone.

We move on up to Belle Fourche (pronounced Bell Foosh) to scope out the bone yard Park has shared here on the list. Thousands of vehicles, all lying there, exposed to the elements. Many wonderful old trucks, Scouts, Broncos, IH pickups, you name it. Many were still salvageable, until a recent hail storm. Stones the size of coffee cups had rained down. Nearly every windshield in the yard was blown out and there wasn't an undamaged roof to be seen. The 45 wagon we came to see was toast. Very little left. So sad.

We continued on, doing a little sightseeing. In Spearfish, yours truly bowed to the inevitable and sought out a local chiropractor. All those hours driving have taken their toll, and I do indeed share your pain.

As we head south through town, Andru spots a Cruiser. We turn off to look, only to discover that Andru has spotted a CJ. He gets 2 demerits on his Sidekick report card. In West Chicago, Illinois, a bough breaks from a tree and falls on Andru's '66 FJ40. It seems the Land Cruiser Gods have also handed out some demerits.

After I get my spine stretched, we take a cruise down the Spearfish Canyon road. Incredible beauty. Nearly vertical walls in spots, rustic cabins dotted along the river, quiet beauty, as far as the eye can see. We love the Black Hills.

We work our way south, drinking in the wonders of the Black Hills. Through the towns of Lead and Deadwood, then on to the campgrounds. We arrive in time for dinner, more Cruiser talk, then the drivers meeting at 7:00 pm. After the meeting, 7 or 8 trucks make an on-road evening run to Mount Rushmore. Eric Dodd rides out with us. Eric has ridden a Greyhound Cruiser out to the Classic and will be a passenger for the next couple days. The night lighting of Rushmore is very inspirational. It's good to be an American.

We rise early on Friday; we have to get back to camp to sign up for trails. The system is simple and fair. Based on your date of pre-registration, you are allowed to sign up for your trail choice. On Saturday, the list is reversed, and the last registrant is allowed first choice. We get ourselves lined up for Deadman's Canyon, a 4+ trail. At 7:30, we mount up and head out.

A string of Cruisers heads east into Rapid City, then northwest out of town. We thread our way up a back road, then, a quick zig through an opening in the fence line and we are at the trailhead. We lock up and air down. The narrow trail leads us along a canyon ridge. Our passengers look out and down, with a steep drop at tire's edge. The few off angle spots in the trail are no problem, but then, there is no rain.

I don't have the names of all our trail buddies, so please excuse me if I leave you out or place you in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bill Colson is our leader. Richard and John in a red Toyota mini are present. These "Crazy Canadians" make for a lot of wheelin' thrills and chills. Rob Mullen is behind us with his BJ40/42 (I'm not sure which). Kevin Erlick is driving, with Andru riding shotgun. Directly ahead of us is an absolutely awesome (forgive me, oh Land Cruiser Gods) '48 Willy's. The only J**p part left is the body, so I guess it's okay. Duane (last name?) is our tail gunner. A nice red rig (Red Fox) is along, and a number of other very capable trucks.

We drop down the trail into the beginning of the *Real* trail. We're in a rocky dry wash, obviously a major water conduit in spring. The trail is rough, but not impossible. 3+, so far. We come upon our first real challenge. It's a side loop about 4-5 Cruiser lengths. Climb up and in, cut right, cut right, cut right and out. Sounds easy. Right.

After watching the first few folks attempt it, I realize the 33's on the Abomination will never lift us high enough. We bypass, but many others take the challenge. Several rocker panels are munched here, but the wildest time comes from the Richard and John in the mini. They choose a totally new line, impossible for a 40. Only a long wheel base has a chance. In the end, it is too tough. The mini is nearly on it's side, only a rear quarter saving it from rollover. After several valiant attempts, they winch over.

It was here that we realized how truly crazy these two characters really are. Richard drives, John steps out, picks the lines and take photos. The trust between the two is obvious, and complete. John picks incredible lines and Richards carries out his commands like an artist. "Come 8 inches forward. Engage your crawler. Turn one crank right and crawl forward one foot. Stop! Two cranks left, back 6 inches. Stop. Hard right and forward, good, good, STOP!". We watch, amazed, as Richard engages in 4 wheel ballet.

We proceed to the next obstacle, but Elsie is casting backward glances every so often. Again, the trail is tough, but not impossible. Larger tired vehicles are fairing much better than we, and it becomes obvious that 33" tires are barely enough for this trail. Ground clearance and departure angle is everything here.

My memory is spotty, sticking mostly in the places we stuck. A tall vertical step provides our first real stuck, and considerable entertainment for the crowd. Bill Colson allows us to attempt the obstacle unaided. Ominously, it begins to drizzle. Wet rock, small tires, this could get dicey. And indeed it does. We take several tries, and in the end, hang on our skid plate. I've still got traction, but the plate is dislodging a huge rock slab. This draws a large crowd of amazed onlookers. The Bbomination is lifting a multi ton slab out of place. We must reposition and winch over. Both rocker panels are munched and a fender flare is torn off, but that's about it.

Several individuals congratulate me on a good try and quietly urge me to not feel bad about the obstacle. I'm okay with it. We didn't come here to break the truck or destroy the terrain. There is no shame in winching. I knew going in that our 33" tires were going to be an issue if it rained.

We've also encountered another issue. The alternator I installed after my GSMTR debacle has carked. It worked fine on Monday before we left. Now, I must switch all wires to the winch battery and hope we make it. This would not be too bad, but that big 292 needs an auxiliary fan running while we crawl. I'm in a dilemma. I need to avoid restarting the engine as much as possible, but I must also limit the use of the fan.

We work our way from obstacle to obstacle. Elsie is looking back more frequently, but won't say why. I'm worried about her. Has she lost one of her many pins or buttons?

We arrive at yet another serious obstacle. With the rain, even the go-round is a 4 or 4+. We barely make it through the go-round unaided. Rob Mullen attempts the high road with no luck. After a number of tries, he attempts to winch through. There is a bang, followed by the high pitched sound of aluminum clattering on stone. Rob's 8274 has experienced a C-clip failure and the brake has come apart. Bearings and winch bits are everywhere. Rob works his way through the go-round and the rest of the group works the obstacle. Some go the high road, some go the low road.

The final obstacle is an odd passage. The go-round is in the center, with a high step on the left and a brutal rock strewn chute on the right. All but the mini use the go-round. Richard and John shoot the chute. It is possible only because a deadfall log is laying in the chute lengthwise. His right tires must stay on the wet, slippery log. To slide off is to drop into the pit and risk very serious vehicle damage. Quiet bets are made amongst the spectators. And, to the amazement of all, the mini comes through. Unbelievable!

We all proceed to an open point on the trail. Tires are aired up, hubs unlocked. And we have a major problem. I've left the Abomination running, but forgotten the fan. She's boiling over. I shut off the engine and kick the fan on. I crack the cap (lift latch type) to speed the venting. Water is poured over the radiator, but the bottle geysers anyway.

With the help of the Canadians and others, we get the situation under control, only to discover both batteries are now drained. We need a jump start. Richard and his mini again come to the rescue. Fool that I am, I fail to keep the truck in 4 wheel. I get stuck and stall again in a muddy banked stream bed. Richard jumps us again.

The final humiliation is when we stick and stall in a long flat rutted mud hole. Me, the flatlander, from mud city, is stuck again. The truck ahead of us straps us completely out of the mud. I'm told part of the stalling problem stems from a weak spark from the depleted battery. This doesn't ease the embarrassment. I've been a drag on the group and have needed more assistance than I feel is proper. I'm tired and still have a lot of work to do if I'm going to be able to run tomorrow.

And now, it's a race against the clock. It's a long way back to camp and dusk is settling in. I need to make it back before headlights become a must. Our small group from the back of the original line head towards camp. I can't run my CB, so Richard tails us in case of a breakdown. The group splits again at a gas station, and Duane tails us back to camp. We make it just as the sun is dipping behind the hills.

It's approaching 8:15. Kevin Erlick pronounces my alternator pooched. What am I to do? Where will I find this part at this time of night? Bill Colson to the rescue. Bill owns an auto parts store in Rapid City. He and Andru hustle back to town to pick one up. In the meantime, I pull the old alternator.

While they're in town, I wander aimlessly through camp. Cruiser folk are good people. We wander and chat and take up an offer by the Canadians. After being strip searched at the customs checkpoint, we are welcomed into their camp. Sourdough, grilled chicken and other goodies are offered. Elsie is looking cow eyed at Richard. I think she enjoyed the strip search. Tired but fed, we drift back towards the truck. We run across folks viewing videos of our run that day. Hey, that's us!

Bill and Andru return with the goods. The alternator is not an exact match, but Kevin Erlick assures me this is the one I want. With his invaluable assistance, we get the new unit installed and functioning. It's a jury rig, but with a few more touches in the morning, it will get us through the trail. Without Kevin's help, we'd likely still be there.

I can't say enough to thank all those who helped us out on this day. To everyone who spotted for us on the trail, offered guidance to this novice and showed us the way to wheel. Special thanks go to Kevin, Richard, John and Bill. You towed us out, jumped our truck, got us vital parts and walked us through the repair. These four guys spent literally hours helping us out. We cannot thank you enough.

Did I mention it rained steadily throughout the repair and testing process. Dark cold and wet, bent over the fender of a Cruiser. Things could be worse. The Cruiser life is a good life. The Abomination gets us back to town with no real difficulty. We fall into bed, sleeping hard and fast for that early morning wake up call.

We had set the clock for 6:00 am, but a pre-dawn racket woke us early. About 4:30 am, we were roused by heavy pounding on our cottage door, followed by car doors slamming and a foreign truck engine buzzing off with squealing tires. We opened the door and caught a flash of red speeding away. Looked like a pickup with a cap.

There on the doorstep stood Elsie. She was covered with mud, walking bowlegged and drunk as a Lord. She staggered in the door singing "Oooh Can-a-da…Oh Baby! Oh Baby! The Goddess and I were rather shocked. We thought Elsie had sworn off….well….many things. We tried to get more details on Elsie's evening, but she clammed up tight.

By the time we had gotten her cleaned up and tucked into bed, it was time for us to get up. Needless to say, Elsie was not going on the trail today. I resolved to get to the bottom of this. She had obviously made plans earlier, then snuck out after we had fallen asleep.

Andru and I repacked the Abomination and we all loaded up for the ride to camp. We arrived in plenty of time to sign up for Prospector's Gulch, another 4+ run. Jump off time was 9:00 am, so we had time to do a bit more electrical repair work on the Abomination. We got the dual battery system functioning again. All our work will be torn out when we get home, but for now, it will get us through the trail (we hope).

After we finish the wiring, enough time remains to take care of another pressing matter. I seek out the Canadians and confront them with my suspicions. Richard all but confirms my worst fears with obscene gestures and grunts, but, being the Canadian gentleman that he his, offers no details about his tryst with Elsie.

As soon as we return home, it's off to the ob-gyn with Elsie. If we're going to be graced with a litter of Canadillos, I'll need time to prepare a nursery. Not to mention making arrangements for 'dillo support payments. I want to make sure payments come in American dollars.

As departure time arrives, we kick off with pretty much the same crew. Andru is riding in the Abomination today. A very welcome addition is Jim Toland, a fellow Windy City member. As nice as everyone is, it's nice to have a familiar face in the group.

Another new face is that of Karr Accord, TLCA Membership chick. Karr has driven down with Rob Mullen and is hanging out with the Canadians. Yet another is our trail leader. Park Owens is leading this group today. We'll find out if he's as good a driver as he is an event organizer.

As they say, we head for the hills. A short drive and we're at the trail head. Lock up, air down, hup, hup, one, two, three. Just as we start up the steep, rocky trail, it begins to rain. Suddenly, the 3+ run to the Gulch is a greasy 4+ nightmare. The worst point is a deep hole in the trail, about 15 feet across. Getting in is easy. Getting back out proves impossible for some of us. Rob Mullen gets strapped out, then in turn straps us out of the hole.

Another fifty feet up the trail is a roof eating tree. Everyone is having trouble here. Angles and slick mud slam Rob's Cruiser into the tree and his soft top takes a hard hit. The driver of Red Fox (behind us) comes up and picks us a different line. Against all logic and apparent physics, we turn towards the tree instead of away. Success! Word is passed down the line about the new line.

We struggle up the slimy hill and around a 90 degree bend only to be met with a very steep step, about 7-8 feet high. We struggled valiantly, but in the end, a strap was required. It took the group nearly an hour and a half to cover terrain that would have taken 15 minutes on dry ground.

At this point, Park is having serious doubts. He is considering changing our exit point at the end of the run. We were scheduled to exit through a series of muddy "Glory Holes", but we're chewing time like crazy. We haven't even arrived at the *real* challenge yet.

We run easily through a mostly flat forest area and arrive at the top of a muddy chute. Is this the famed Prospector's Gulch? No, just the feeder. We wheel down the chute, encountering some mild drops and turns. So far, no big deal. As we round a series of turns, Prospector's Gulch comes into view. Gulp!

It's a long, rocky chute. 500 feet long with about a 40 degree angle. At most points, one or both walls are taller than a Cruiser. The width is about 8-10 feet, but the line is narrow, too narrow in some points. This rock strewn nightmare looks like it's going to claim a lot of victims today. Picking lines through the rocks would be tough enough, but the rain means that all bets are off. All that stone is held in place by greasy mud. Help me, oh Land Cruiser Gods, what have I gotten us into.

We all park and walk down this monstrosity. Park Owens walks the line, pointing out catch points and danger zones. The line down is tricky, but we decide that I'll try it. This novice is about get a whole heap of on the job training. I try not to think about the trip back up.

Park mounts up and picks his way down the chute. Hmmmm. He made it look easy. Sort of. Well, not easy, but at least not impossible. There are several very tricky spots, including the "can opener", a horizontally jutting rock that dines on quarter panels. Several more trucks work their way down the chute. It's tough, but do-able.

Now it's our turn. The Goddess chooses to remain outside, taking pictures. Andru takes shotgun. Park is spotting me down the hill, but Andru will be my eyes on the right side. We start down this slippery slope with great caution. The first barrier is the can opener. We get close, but slide on past without peeling a quarter panel.

We bump and grind through a few rather hairy spots. The next really tough one is a tight zig zag. We have to pull left to get a line on two major rocks. We then turn hard right to get left and right tires on these flat slabs, in order to execute a hard left around a tall frame hanger.

We're doing okay, until we start to climb the wall. My 14.5" wide Swampers put the stance a touch too wide, and I turn left about 3 inches too late. The front right tire goes straight up, and before we know it, the Cruiser is an inch or so away from a roll over. The paparazzi flock like vultures, snapping photo after photo, The Goddess included.

Very slowly, I inch back. The Abomination slowly drops back to a more acceptable angle. We then make our turn properly and slide on past the obstacle. Big sigh! After this mishap, the rest of the descent seems uneventful.

Truck after truck struggle down the chute. Most everyone works down without incident. There is one more near rollover similar to ours, but no major damage occurs anywhere. We break for lunch at the bottom of the chute. We are all lined in a circle. Why? Because it's a short turn around circle. There is no exit. The only way out is to climb back up the chute.

The big climb commences. Park dances his truck up the chute like a master. The line has been drawn. All we have to do is follow. One of the first vehicles up the chute impacts the can opener. This huge rock is torn out of the chute wall and dumped into the middle of the chute. The whole complexion of the climb has just changed. Amazingly, hardly any body damage was sustained.

One by one, the trucks climb the chute. It is incredibly difficult, but not impossible. Once again, ground clearance is King. I can see 3 potentially impassable spots for us. 33" tires just don't belong down here. Richard and John give a stellar performance climbing that mini back up. This run is normally death on long wheelbase, but they make it.

It's our turn now. We work our way slowly up the chute. There is much scraping of the skid plate. I dance the Abomination from rock to rock, just barely clearing each obstacle. In a way, the climb is easier, or at least less dangerous, than the decent. On the way down, gravity and greasy mud nearly eliminated any chance at fine control. Going up, things happen more slowly.

We reach the point the we nearly rolled at. We make several attempts to get around the protruding rock spike and onto the flats. Our last power effort lands us firmly in the wrong place, high centered on the skid plate. It's been fun, but now it's time to winch.

The cable is run all the way up to the top of the chute and secured to a tree. I could run a short distance, but we have two more spots that I'm simply not going to clear without winching. We decide to winch up the rest of the chute to save time. The Canadians act as winch spotters and give the all clear.

Up we come, scraping bottom in several spots. The 33's will never do. Perhaps if it were dry, we could make it. With all the mud, it's not possible. I suppose this is as good a time as any to share the following tidbit. Of the five trails being run that day, ours was the only one to get rain. The Land Cruiser Gods work in mysterious ways.

We reach the top and toast our success. Winch or no, we've have gone where very few can go and return. I still have a lot to learn, but I'm very happy with my driving today.

The rest of the trucks work their way up. Red Fox punctures a sidewall, but no other significant damage ensues. An incredible run is turned in by the driver of a white 40. He picks lines completely contrary to logic and physics. Where the rest have ridden the right wall, he takes the left. In an absolutely stunning run, he clears every obstacle without a break or hesitation. As he reaches the peak, applause and cheers can be heard echoing through the hills.

After the chute, the run back up the hill is a piece of cake. We all assemble in the flat area to air up and unlock. Any thoughts of taking a tough trail out are gone. We've spent at least two more hours out here due to the rain. The glory holes would really put a dent in the rest of the day.

The group rallies down the hill and emerges on the main road. This has been a great run, and spirits are high. We form up and run back towards camp. At Rt. 44, we turn towards Rapid City. Andru, The Goddess and I will catch a quick nap, the return to camp for the evening's festivities. We look forward to the raffle with hopes. Will we do well tonight?

We arrive at the cottage tired but happy. Elsie is awake, but not doing well. She begs off on returning to camp with us, claiming the mother of all hangovers. A little more grilling produces additional info. She has a thing for burly Canadians. They turn her head every time. We're going to have to do some serious thinking before we allow her to attend any Canadian events.

After a bit of a snooze, the three of us load up in the 60 and head back to camp. We arrive with plenty of time to eat and commune with the gang. I opt for another of Peter's dandy steak dinners. Grilled Rib Eye and all you can eat potatoes, gravy, beans, corn and salad bar for $10.00. Not a bad deal. The Goddess opts for the trout dinner. Same trimmings, all for $6.00. Pretty good, except she orders it "head on". Little bugger kept staring at me all through the meal, as if I could actually rescue it or something. Never, ever step between the Goddess and a fish dinner. Your life depends on it!

Other trail runs are returning to camp. Smiling faces are everywhere. Camp gossip says that all runs were happy making places. I hear wonderful things about trails, leaders, scenery, people, you name it. So far, BHCC has been a screaming success.

Park Owen has spent the afternoon guarding the raffle stuff and generating ticket sales. The pile of goodies is pretty impressive. Prizes include a Ramsey Pro 9000 Winch, Kayline Fast Track top and doors, Set of Warn hubs, Set of Black Diamond XT shocks, Set of Black Diamond AT shocks, 12-ton Stubby Hydraulic Jack, Birfield, 5" Heavy Duty Industrial Vise, Greasable Spring Eye Bolts, Four Heavy Duty Jack Stands, Two Survival Packs, Two Optima Batteries, Hi-Lift Jack, Four Doetsch-Tech shocks, FJ-40 Navy Blue Polo Shirt, Two sets of Pro Comp 100 watt driving lights, Lisle Mechanics Creeper, Warn Snatch Block, Set of 4 Heckthorn Shocks, Greasable Shackles, 2 1/2 Ton Floor Jack, mugs, pedal pads, T-shirts, a wash bucket and a host other stuff.

We settle in and hunker down. I have a feeling the Land Cruiser Gods are going to be good to us tonight. And I'm right. Things are moving along briskly. Henry Brimmer is one of the first winners. He gets a tow strap. Park is picking tickets and Greg is modeling and handing out prizes. He does a wonderful Vanna, and soon, members of the crowd are asking to buy vowels.

Our heavy investment in raffle tickets is starting to pay off. We win a case of oil and 2 filters. Then, the big bench vice. Next, a tow strap comes our way. The crowd is getting surly. I keep telling them, "You have to play to win", but covetous looks are cast in our direction. The raffle is cooking along. There are five or six folks who keep on winning. I don't know if it's heavy ticket purchases or the Kiss of the Land Cruiser Gods.

We win a set of late mirror heads. Jim Toland has picked up 3 prizes. A Dakota member is cleaning up also.

A discovery is made. Greg has a set of clutch and brake pedal pads in hand. He moves forward to hand them to the lucky winner. This lovely lady takes one look at the pads, squeals in delight and advances upon Greg with obvious intent. Apparently, the pads have a strong aphrodisiac effect on the fairer sex. Suddenly, priorities change. The heck with the winch. Every man in camp wants pedal pads. Eventually, 6 sets are distributed. Lucky buggers!

As the raffle progresses, we pick up more prizes. The Birfield, a 2 man survival kit and a set of Black Diamond shocks. Wow. The Land Cruiser Gods have smiled upon us tonight. My substantial ticket purchase has paid off. It's time for the good stuff. Tensions are high. Even more exciting are the rules for the two big prizes. This year, Dakota Territory has decided to limit the grand prizes to drivers only, no passenger may win. In addition, members of the Dakota club are excluded from winning.

The ticket is drawn for the softtop. All eyes stray towards our table. If I win, the mob may get ugly. We get ready to grab the prize and flee. The number is called out. False alarm. It's a Dakota member. Another ticket is pulled. I notice our escape route has been blocked. The number is read. And, Richard, the Crazy Canadian is the winner. A sigh of relief goes through the crowd. Brother Andy will not face a lynch mob tonight. The funny part is that Richard owns a mini. Maybe Rob Mullen can cut a deal to replace his mangled top.

And now, tensions build again. It's time for the winch ticket. Fingers crossed, we wait. The ticket is pulled, the number is read. Another false alarm. I suspect the club will be reviewing that "no members" rule for next year. The next ticket is drawn. The number is read. Oh well. No winch today. It goes to another lucky Cruiser fan.

All in all, nearly $6000 worth of goodies have been distributed. Many have won and all are happy. Some doubters look upon the One True Cruiser Faith with new respect. I hear mutterings about chrome removal and D*ngl*rs to be sacrificed. Maybe my winning will prompt a little more attention to the Land Cruiser Gods. Or, maybe people will just buy more tickets next year.

People start drifting towards various camp sites. VCR's are running in RV's, with fresh trail video. There we are, winching up the chute. We wander from camp to camp, saying our good-byes, thanking the many who helped us. We sadly load up and head for Rapid City. We'll be pulling a very long drive tomorrow. Andru needs to be at work Monday morning.

I'll forego a blow by blow of the journey home. We had some trouble with the trailer. We also stopped at Wall Drug, sadly cutting our visit short. It was as wonderful as I remember. We took nearly 20 hours to get home, including several long stops. We discovered bag milk, which made the entire trip worthwhile in itself. We finally rolled up our street at 4:15 am.

We give a hearty round of applause to all involved in the BHCC. In addition to thanks for the Dakota people, we owe a heck of a lot to all of our trail buddies who taught us, spotted, help with repairs, tows, jumps, and on and on and on. The camaraderie was at the highest level I've seen at any of the events I've been to, local or national.

People, I'm not here to judge, only to report, but if you don't go to the BHCC next year, the Land Cruiser Gods are going to look down at you and wonder about your sanity. Park and the folks in the Dakota club have put forth a premier experience.

The organization was excellent. Things were done as promised, when promised and done well. The attitudes of everyone were happy and courteous and friendly and helpful. This was contagious, and the virus was picked up by all who attended. Cruiser people are generally pretty nice, but the Classic brought out the best in everyone.

The trails were utterly awesome. I believe six were offered this year, with a little of everything available. Park informs me that next year, another day will be added as well as several trails. There are 40-50 trails in the area to choose from, so you folks who attended this year need to show up again. You will have the opportunity to run completely new trails.

A critical issue in my mind is trail leader preparation. All leaders were required to run their trails a minimum of 6 times in the month prior to the Classic, with a lot of cross training in case of illness or other emergency. The Dakota members who took us out knew the ins and outs of these hills. It made for a very pleasurable experience.

The scenery is breathtaking. I didn't dwell on it during my trail talk, but those hills are beautiful. During breaks between obstacles, it was quite common to come upon a driver simply standing and staring, awestruck at the wonder of mother nature around us. And don't let the word "hills" fool you. These are little rock mountains, with all the challenge any wheeler could ever hope for.

The campground is really nice. The owners go out of their way to make this a campground experience you will use as a yardstick for all other camps. For those like us who prefer to motel, ample accommodations are available with 20-30 minutes of the campground, with several even closer.

The entire Black Hills area is a wonderful vacation spot. The Goddess and I plan to take a couple weeks next year and come back to rediscover this beautiful place. In addition to the scenic wonders, many vacation attractions exist for the whole family. Obviously, fishing, camping, wheelin, mountain biking and hiking are top draws.

Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monuments are here. The historic town of Deadwood, where Wild Bill Hickock caught it in the back is 20 minutes from camp. Casinos abound for those who find the raffle too tame. A number of caves are open for exploration. Arts and crafts shops are everywhere. All in all, this is a stunning vacation opportunity for the whole family.

Andru, The Goddess and Brother Andy give the 1st Annual Black Hills Cruiser Classic 3 thumbs up! We'll be back next year. Will we see you there?