The subsequent day we make the requisite cease at Mount Rushmore—4 granite presidents staring into perpetuity, equal components engineering marvel and extremely contested heritage web site—earlier than tackling the Wildlife Loop in Custer State Park. Navigating its hairpin turns with few guardrails, I repair my gaze on the centerline and can myself to not overcorrect.
Later we pause to admire a herd of bison, freshly corralled after the annual Buffalo Roundup, and I make the mistake of approaching their pen with my helmet nonetheless on. When one “fluffy cow” expenses the fence, I peel out quicker than Evel Knievel clearing the Snake River Canyon.
Not each shut name entails death-defying drop-offs and enraged bison. In Spearfish, Yu hesitates over a set of cow grates and dumps her bike at low velocity. We rush to her facet. Bent body, bruised ego, however no damaged bones. If that is the worst that occurs, we’re fortunate.
By the time we collapse into mattress at the historic Hotel Alex Johnson in Rapid City, 12 hours later, my haunches ache and my throttle hand is locked in a Lego-man grip. Physically, I really feel like Wile E. Coyote after a steamroller incident. But mentally? I’m on prime of the world.
Riding appears like flying. The type the place your physique becomes the vessel itself. The engine rumbles between your legs, the highway streams beneath you, the curves beckon you onward. Walking right into a diner with a helmet tucked underneath your arm, you are feeling the heads turning and relish the double takes once they notice you are a lady. Gearing up is like stepping right into a go well with of armor. Not invincible, however undeniably succesful.
Maybe that is why, in a second when the country feels eggshell brittle, using has turn into such a vital outlet for me—a strategy to flip my rage into ahead movement. When a lot feels past my management, that is one thing I can regular with my very own two arms.
On our remaining night time we cease at Wall Drug, the 95-year-old roadside establishment identified for its free ice water and towering jackalope, earlier than checking in to Badlands Frontier Cabins, proper as the solar melts into the prairie. We toast the journey over sirloin and huckleberry bourbon smashes at Salty Steer. I’m protecting tempo at 72 miles per hour (the prime pace on my 350-cc bike), using on gravel with out hesitation, and transferring with the confidence of somebody who lastly hit her stride.
I got here to South Dakota chasing a legend. I go away understanding why this legend persists. The open highway is not nearly escape however the best way to lean with the wind.
This article appeared in the July/August 2026 difficulty of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the journal here.