When people tell tales of their past roadtrips, their romantic accounts of the beautiful drives don't often include the unpleasant reality that driving due west through America's heartland into the sunset with no mountains, hills, trees, buildings or any bit of civilization to blocks its painful rays is nothing short of uncool. The are plenty of cows, to be sure, but none are nearly tall enough to provide the adequate shading needed to prevent irrevocable damaging one's retinas.
So across South Dakota we drove to the Badlands, losing the use of both our eyes and our cell phones. We reached our destination with the use of a sheet of paper that our ancestors called a "map" and set off to explore the terrible, terrible lands we were now within. The rugged protrusions of crumbing, colorful layers of rock certainly lived up to their name. I wouldn't want to take a ox-drawn wagon through those parts, but a hike was both do-able and beautiful.
After the hike, we continued on to make camp, first passing a herd of bison that were causing several carloads of people to ask the question, "Why did the bison cross the road?", then heading through Prairie Dog village, filled with hundreds of little prairie puppies, some of whom ostensibly had a background in modeling judging by the way they approached the car and struck a pose.
We set up camp in time to hike up a nearby mountain to watch the sun set behind the rolling hills, and on our walk back down to camp we were astounded to see a bison had apparently laid claim to our tent. We opted to stick to the high ground as he meandered through the camp site, making friendly with the neighbors, before taking the valley to presumably nap.
Bison seem just listless enough to be a strong proponent of the nap.
After dining on tuna, we thought it best to watch 127 Hours, in order to illustrate how not to lose one's hand when hiking and climbing in areas such as those we found ourselves in. We learned that you should always bring a spare gatorade and knife and to always inform loved ones as to where you will be going.
Dear loved ones, by the time you read this we will already be somewhere else.
By movie's end, the night was upon us in a way that the english language can't fully convey. The milkiness that our galaxy has to offer was laid bare on cloudless sky, utterly devoid of light, save that of the billions of celestial bodies ever shining on.
Dan snapped some photographs, while I laid in a haze listening to Sigur Ros, staring up at the sky, shattering my previous record of shooting star sightings in mere minutes.
The following morning, we arose and took a short run on one of the nearby trails through the hills, during which Dan, in a "Rocky" moment of triumph after conquering a particularly sizable hill, failed to notice a bison breakfasting a mere 10 feet away from our course. We opted for a safer route back to camp, creeping through nearby grove of trees to avoid becoming part of his morning meal.
After dismantling our camp, we set off for one last lookout point, praised as the best views in the Badlands. We drove the car up toward the point until we saw a sign warning low clearance vehicles that they might be disemboweled if they continue onward.
So onward we crept.
Dan took the road slowly and carefully, almost immediately regretting his decision, but Appa was brave and true, and carried us as far as she could. We finished the hike on foot, enjoyed the views, threw some rocks, some of which may or may not have hit Dan, and made our way back to the car, descending back towards civilization and another American treasure.
We arrived at Mount Rushmore amid a feeling of great anticipation. Seeing our founding fathers immortalized in stone is enough to make any patriot moisten his or her nether-region.
Needless to say, we were underwhelmed.
To be certain, their heads were all wonderfully detailed and beautiful, especially Teddy Roosevelt with his truly glorious 'stache. We also learned some great stories about their creation, including one about how the monument's designer decided to blow up Jefferson's head, at least partly because it was a bit too close to Washington and was mistaken to be Martha W. Also, Lincoln has an incomplete hand holding his lapel, making him the only one with any appendages. Unfortunately they never finished monument, so instead of four prestigious, half-bodied presidents, Mount Rushmore instead displays four unfinished, floating heads. If that isn't a testament to America's growing epidemic of ADD, I'm not sure what is.
We decided to stay with the theme of oversized, cliffside sculptures of significant individuals, so we headed over to the nearby Crazy Horse memorial. Commissioned by the Lakota tribe, this memorial is large enough to fit the four presidential heads within Crazy Horse's own head. When completed, Crazy Horse will be depicted on his horse pointing to his lands, where, as he puts it, 'my people lay buried.' The story of the memorial's progression is incredibly interesting, and the ultimate goal is for it to be the centerpiece for a Native American school and medical training facility. Luckily, if they stay on their current pace, the project could possibly be completed within the Earth's lifetime. After 50 years worth of labor, excavations, carving and blasting, they have completed only his face.
To be fair, this undertaking is maddeningly massive and has been funded entirely without any support from the federal government. The family in charge has chosen to keep this a project of the people, rather than that of the government. They must have realized that if the government couldn't finish a tribute to four of its greatest presidents, it would never complete a memorial to one of the people from whom it blatantly stole land.
We bid adieu to Crazy Horse and both look forward to a time when we can check out the completed project. Back to the road again, we made our way to Devil's Tower.
We got there late at night and camped in the car right at the base of the mammoth formation, getting some photographs of the night sky lighting up the tower. After some late night tuna sandwiches and many winks of sleep less than we needed, the sun was rising over the tower. We set off on a hike around the base, mingling with the fauna along the way. Dan took some pictures of a deer's backside, and I approached a chipmunk so cordially that he decided to stay put and see what I had to offer. Realizing I had nothing, he took to the trees, and periodically pelted us with acorns during the rest of our walk. I climbed and bouldered over all the rocks surrounding the base of the natural column, despite signs warning of fines and other punishments, and I tried my luck climbing up the tower before realizing I wasn't Spiderman.
Satisfied that we had seen all this satanic column had to offer, we departed, stopping for a buffalo burger, and made our way to Colorado, for the Rockies and the one, the only, Peter Hagan.
This post has been brought to you by penguins, the letter V and bison droppings.
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