Many years ago I read a dog story in a magazine and the author was of those whose canine obituary was spent lamenting her struggle to tame a wild spirit in a dog who was she said “a challenge to love.” Curiously I feel the same way about South Dakota.
We haven’t yet finished telling the tale of the Badlands but I write this in Iowa, the sound of I-80 incessant in my ears and I look back and am relieved we have left South Dakota.
There really is a lot to like in South Dakota and I was curious to see some of it. I was astonished to figure out as we crossed Montana that South Dakota was the last state I had never visited among the Lower 48 (Alaska and Hawaii are yet to come). And that wasn’t for a lack of desire.
Our early morning foray to Mount Rushmore put us in the small town of Custer on Sunday before the world was awake. Rusty and I walked and we greatly enjoyed, he with his nose and I as usual with my eyes.
I bumped into Deputy Thompson on foot patrol and we talked a while. “Oh” he said, “you used to be the voice we like to get mad at,” he joked. “Oh not at all” I replied. “I got to tell cops where to go.” I was impressed to see a cop on foot patrol checking his community.
Layne back at the van was surprised by my enthusiasm for the small town. Her biscuit was basic and huckleberry jam we bought in a Montana small town market failed to make it great. We drove off to Rapid City for some shopping.
The Black Hills are pretty enough and we liked our wild camp at 6,000 feet in the National Forest. But, and it’s a big “but,” the place is small and isolated. It’s a rolling pine forest surrounded by hot flat farmland beyond the horizon in every direction. Little wonder it is packed with visitors summer and winter. It’s a unique playground in this part of the world.
Deadwood and Keystone are small hill towns wedged into canyons in the forest and they make Duval Street look laid back. There was no way we were wedging ourselves into the crowded sidewalks, not a mask in sight, to look at t shirt shops and bars and ice cream parlors. There were traffic jams as we tried to work our way back to the wilderness.
You can wild camp here and it is a great place to recharge your batteries before you face the drive across 90 degree summer plains.
Rapid City is the commercial center east of the Black Hills where you can buy whatever the supply chain allows you to find. To give you an idea it was 45 minutes from our camp and half that to Mount Rushmore. This hilly area is small. And by the way, they illustrate their warning signs. Behold the dreaded Bighorn Sheep! At last.
Oddly enough our visit to Mount Rushmore fell, quite by accident on our 28th wedding anniversary. We went into Rapid City to pick up a steak for cook’s day off. It wasn’t an adventurous dinner choice but we figured this is steak country.
Rapid City is not attractive but it is useful and we took advantage. Layne checked out a health food store but recoiled at paying eight bucks for a portobello mushroom.
Safeway came through and we took a sandwich to Memorial Park and wasn’t I surprised to see this permanent exhibit.
I never knew the back of the wall , facing East Berlin, had a cement foot to help it stand upright. I guess it’s obvious when you think about it.
The East Germans didn’t allow a close inspection but I walked the wall on the western side when I was at Checkpoint Charlie in October 1981. I’d spent two weeks traveling behind the Iron Curtain by train from Siberia to East Berlin and I was so happy to be back in the West.
I think of this wall every time I see the rusty wall and all the trip lights and cameras drones and human patrols on the Mexican border trying to keep people from crossing. It gives me the creeps honestly if some what irrationally. I was very excited when the Berlin Wall came down as I remembered President Reagan’s exhortation to tear down the wall. Now we have our own and it’s about as effective at stopping people crossing. Oh well, history is not such a great teacher.
Driving east was not something I was looking forward to. Miles of rolling ranches, 95 degrees and not a lot to hold your interest. I set the cruise control to 63mph, our sweet spot for gas saving (and we are up to 17mpg on the computer from 15 mpg in Mexico), and watched the cars and travel trailers zip by at 80mph, the speed limit, which surprises me. Everyone complains about gas prices but they burn it like they don’t really care.
And yet I always find something to watch and look out for on these long drives. Perhaps I am a creature of my generation but I like driving. Every morning when we start the day with a drive I am full of anticipation waiting for a new day and fresh locations to unfold.
Around the Black Hills and beyond we saw signs to remind us that in winter conditions can become so bad they have to close the interstates. That gives a fair weather traveler like me pause. Icy roads and frigid winds and blowing snow. That’s just one reason to run from South Dakota.
Mile upon endless mile of the freeway was closed for invisible road works. Driving in single lane traffic is no fun even when you can easily hold 65 miles per hour but traffic wants to go 80 which is the normal limit in this wide open state. Not much fun.
South Dakota felt to me like an old person’s state, rather crotchety and set inits ways. The highway lined with political slogans, anti abortion messages everywhere which ended up looking like a plea for population growth from ab indifferent populace. There were pleas for workers to sign up with offers of hiring bonuses and promises of a great life if you settled in this little town or another. The effect was rather depressing. One got the feeling of a state slowly fading away and forgotten by younger people fleeing to rather more upbeat locales.
I asked Layne if she would be tempted to move to South Dakota were she 25 again and she gave me a look of incredulity. I get the feeling South Dakota needs to worry less about arresting dope smokers and abortionists and more about how to attract jobs and young people and families to prop this state up. Perhaps it’s not worth the struggle to the leaders of this state. I can’t say I blame them. I got fed up working with 25 and 30 year olds before I retired. I don’t share the same work ethic to put it politely. Perhaps I should move here and tell passersby to get off my lawn.
I got annoyed at myself. I’ve seen every single state in the lower 48 and this last piece of the quilt should have been a joyous conclusion. Perhaps I didn’t look hard enough or in the right places. But I did look.
