The morning I left Mount Rushmore, the presidents were still staring out across the Black Hills with that calm, granite confidence they always seem to have. I loaded up the car, cranked up some country, and started west toward Yellowstone. I had every intention of making good time, but in true road trip fashion the journey had different plans for me. Two of them in particular. Sturgis and Devils Tower.
Sturgis The Town That Rumbles
About half an hour after leaving the Black Hills I rolled into Sturgis, a town that looks perfectly ordinary for most of the year. Then you remember what happens here every August. Sturgis becomes the center of the motorcycle universe. Hundreds of thousands of bikes roll into town for the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, a tradition that began back in 1938 when a small local riding club started hosting races. Those early events drew a few dozen competitors. Today the rally draws more people than many national parks do in a year.
Even without the rally happening, the spirit of Sturgis is everywhere. Old storefronts proudly display vintage photos of past gatherings. Locals love swapping stories about the wild weeks when the streets are packed with chrome, leather, and engines that seem to vibrate the entire town.
I popped into the Motorcycle Museum, partly to stretch my legs and partly because curiosity got the better of me. Inside I found everything from early twentieth century bikes to weird and wonderful custom machines that looked like they belonged in a sci fi movie. Whether you ride or not, the museum is a tribute to American creativity on two wheels.
After grabbing coffee on Main Street I headed west again from Sturgis and Devils Tower. The sky was wide open, the prairie unrolling ahead like a giant green carpet, and somewhere far off on the horizon a strange looking shape began to appear.
Devils Tower Where Geology Went For Dramatic Effect
The closer I got to Devils Tower, the more it felt like I was approaching something ancient and important. Standing more than twelve hundred feet above the surrounding plains, the tower looks like it rose right out of the earth overnight. Scientists say the formation is the hardened core of a volcanic intrusion that erosion slowly exposed over millions of years. Others say something different entirely. Native tribes have passed down legends for generations, describing the tower as a sacred place shaped by bears, spirits, or stories older than history itself.
No matter what you believe, the moment you see it up close you feel the mystery. I walked the Tower Trail, a short loop around the base. Every angle brought out a new pattern in the rock columns. Every turn of the path gave me a new view of the plains stretching out forever. At one point I spotted climbers inching their way up the wall like tiny insects. Devils Tower became the first national monument in the United States in 1906, and ever since then it has been a magnet for geologists, storytellers, and adventurers of all kinds.
With a trail snack in hand, I found a shady spot and tried to imagine what it must have been like for the first people who encountered this place long before any roads or maps existed. The tower must have looked just as massive and just as mysterious then as it does now.
Sturgis and Devils Tower Westward Again Toward Yellowstone
Eventually the open road called me back. From Devils Tower the journey west winds through quiet ranch towns, rolling grasslands, and the rising shoulders of the Bighorn Mountains. The farther you drive, the more the land begins to hint at what awaits you in Yellowstone. Hot springs. Wildlife. Mountains cut by ancient glaciers. And the kind of wide open silence that makes you feel small in the best way.
By the time I reached Billings, the sun was starting to sink and the sky was turning that warm western shade of gold. Yellowstone was only a short drive away, but I could not help feeling grateful for the unofficial stops that shaped the day. A town built on motorcycle legends. A tower built by time and myth. And a road that reminded me that the best part of any trip is sometimes the part you did not plan.
If your journey takes you from Mount Rushmore toward Yellowstone, do yourself a favor and let Sturgis and Devils Tower interrupt you. The presidents will not mind and you will end up with a better story.
