Cliffhanger

I stood at the window of a motel off I-29 in Sioux Falls, South Dakota looking at the rain outside. I was preparing for the final stages of a journey which was already longer than I had planned, and still had quite a few days left. The sky was very dark, more like evening than morning. Wind was gusting and the thermometer barely read 40 degrees. I didn't know it yet, but the weather would play a fairly major role as I headed out across the Dakota plains for the west.

There is a lot to do and see in South Dakota. That may sound strange to you, but believe me it's true. The stuff I wanted to see and do was mostly in the western part of the state, so I had hours to drive through rolling prairie before I got to my first stop. I had put up a little poll for my friends on Facebook to pick out the most appealing destinations from a list of possibilities, and Badlands National Park would be the nearest stop. The hours ticked by as I passed by small towns like De Smet, where Laura Ingalls Wilder lived part of her childhood. I passed by cornfields and cattle herds. But mostly, I passed by prairie grass. The weather started to clear and blue skies struggled to escape from the clouds, though the air remained quite cool and windy.

I also passed by something else I have seen a lot of on this trip. I have seen massive road work projects everywhere I have gone. Most of them have signs that say "American Reinvestment and Recovery Act." This is the so-called 'economic stimulus' package at work. I think some bright person put the signs up hoping for a little good PR, like the way all the crates of free stuff we sent to Europe during the Marshall Plan said "Compliments of the United States of America." Sadly the primary impact it has had in my case is causing me to blame Obama for the lousy traffic conditions I have had to endure. More importantly, I have now seen with my own two eyes that the "American Reinvestment and Recovery Act" ain't no Civilian Conservation Corps from the 1930s. If any of you are out of work, I have the following advice: go to South Dakota. There's a stretch of I-90 about 40 miles long that's down to one lane in each direction, and I saw a grand total of five human beings working on it. Five. I counted. And this was the middle of a Monday morning. This is putting America back to work? For my $700,000,000,000 (I like seeing all those zeros instead of just writing 'seven hundred billion dollars') I expect to see work camps and ranks of guys swinging pick axes to make the roads better now. Where is James J. Braddock when we need him?

Enough with the politics, there's sights to see. The Badlands of South Dakota are accessible through a scenic loop you can drive through in an hour or two right off I-90. It's definitely a park made for cars. I learned some geology on this trip. A badland (there are lots of them, evidently, but this one earns the capital letter) is an area of soft sedimentary rock subjected to intense erosion forces of wind and moving water. Unusual formations like mounds, ravines, and these things called 'hoodoos' form as a result. That's a very dry description. This place is creepy. The effect of the South Dakota Badlands is to form a massive cliff running almost 60 miles east-west that separates the high prairie of the Dakotas, Wyoming, and Montana from the low prairies of Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma. The latter are relatively warm and wet and give us wheat. The former are cold and arid and give us cows.

It's not entirely arid. There are some ponderosa pines that are unusual. Their bark is shaggy. There's also a fair amount of scrub grass and a few hardy flowering plants. There are also the ever-present prairie dog towns and signs warning of rattlesnakes. Life finds a way, I suppose.

There's one spot that was particularly poignant. On Christmas Eve in 1890, a Minneconju Lakota (Sioux) leader named Big Foot, suffering from pneumonia, led his group of about 350 over a pass through the badlands. They were headed south, trying to avoid the US 7th Cavalry which had been sent to disarm them and put them back on their reservation. It was unusually cold even for this part of the country at that time of year. It's hard to imagine escorting a bunch of children and old people down this cliff face covered with ice and blowing wind. They made it through the badlands, but the cavalry caught up with them at a place called Wounded Knee on December 29. An incident occurred there, the details of which are a bit murky. Fighting broke out between the soldiers and the Lakota. The soldiers outnumbered the Indians, many of whom were women, children, or elderly. The soldiers were also much more heavily armed, including four light artillery pieces. After a few hours, about 200 Lakota were dead along with about 25 cavalrymen. The dead included Big Foot. Whether this incident should be called "the Battle of Wounded Knee" or, as seems more popular to me, "the Massacre of Wounded Knee" is still debated in some circles. It seems to me to be fair to call it a tragedy, regardless. There is a marker here for Big Foot pass, but a proper memorial is still waiting to be built on Sioux lands to the south.

After the badlands and a brief but inevitable stop at Wall Drugs, I headed straight to Rapid City. This town is the major hub of folks living in and around the Black Hills of the Dakotas and Wyoming. For some reason I wanted to stay at a hotel near downtown for a change, instead of a motel on the interstate. I'm very lucky I did. Rapid City, South Dakota is not a big place. But it has a very nice and walkable downtown built around two major streets. As it so happens, with the help of my home base support crew, I was able to dine at the best foodie place I've been to since Mise en Place in Tampa. The Corn Exchange on Main Street should be sought out with all haste if you find yourself in this fine little town. I had the in-season quail with fig and citrus jam, but I'm pretty sure you can't go wrong with anything on the menu.

In the morning I went south into the Black Hills proper. I'm not given to overly touristy things, but Mt. Rushmore was right on my path. I couldn't NOT stop. Here's my conclusion: Washington and Lincoln look determined, Jefferson looks hopeful, but Roosevelt just looks pissed. It's like somebody stole his canal or something. On the drive up to the mountain I got the next weather-related warning signs I was to receive. There was snow on the ground and it clearly wasn't going away thanks to the distinct chill in the air.

The real object of my drive south was a thing called the Needles Highway which winds through Custer State Park. Lonely Planet, my Facebook survey, and my waitress Carolyn from the Corn Exchange all recommended it very highly. After looking at the Presidents of the United States of America (the non-musical ones) I headed into the park. Unfortunately the northern entrance road was closed due to the snow. Not one to be deterred, I headed all the way around the park and up a state highway to try a different entrance, nearer the start of the scenic route. I got a mile or two up this before I came to yet another gate barring my way. Winters here are harsh, but snow in early October that sticks around is quite uncommon. And I'm told park closures before November are downright rare. Huh, just my bad luck. I finally decided to head north back toward the interstate. While I didn't get to drive the Needles Highway, I was not cheated for beautiful Black Hills scenery.

I stopped for lunch in historic Deadwood, inspiration for the HBO series of the same name. I was a big fan, I couldn't resist. The town isn't much like it was in 1876, but it has remained prosperous. Gambling is legal here and the place is a cross between Vegas and an old west amusement park. Also, Sturgis is the next town over, so there's a lot of entertainment aimed at the Harley Davidson crowd. I had lunch in Charlie Utter's Saloon #10. They have mounted on the wall what purports to be the original wooden headstone that Charlie put up on his friend "Wild Bill" Hickock's grave. It might even be true. I visited the infamous "Boot Hill" and Mt. Moriah cemetery after lunch to pay my respects to Mr. Hickock and to Martha "Calamity" Jane Burke who is buried right next to him.

I then headed out of town for Wyoming. I had one more planned stop before looking for a bed for the night. I wanted to see Devils Tower. Heavy clouds had replaced blue skies right as I entered Deadwood, and by the time I was climbing up the hills in northeast Wyoming they had opened up into snow flurries. But, as I said, I'm not one to be easily deterred. I kept going anyway, my little rollerskate of a car showing only the tiniest signs of slipping. Devils Tower, which the various Native American tribes in the area called "Bear's Teepee" or words to that effect, is a sight to behold. It's an even better sight to behold through a lightly driving snow storm. The tower is what geologists call an "igneous intrusion." You can look it up. Evidently there is lively debate (in geologist circles) as to precisely how the tower formed. Here in the non-academic world, I managed to get all the way up the park and walk part of the 1.3 mile loop trail around it before being driven to shelter from the cold and snow.

I pushed on. The snow picked up. I began to collaborate with friends back home on what my prospects were for continuing my trip through Yellowstone and the mountains of Montana as I had planned. I knew I was running a slight risk by starting my road trip in September rather than August, but a winter storm of any magnitude is unusual for this early in the year. When the radio started warning of winter weather travel advisories, I decided to pull over and get a motel room earlier than I had planned. Forget about Cody and the east entrance to Yellowstone, I 'm not sure I won't be snowed in by checkout time. What will happen to our intrepid, headstrong, and overall not-to-bright narrator come morning? If I don't follow up with another post in a few days, send the dogs.