Dream Jurney Day 3

Morning was dark and cold. Condensation covered the windshield, dripping down into the defrost vents. We slept in the car, which, over the last twenty years, I have done many times.

We were still an hour out from sunrise, so we headed to Badlands National Park outside of Rapid City, SD. The first overlook on the left when you enter the park from the East was a perfect spot to set up for the morning. Chris unpacked his butane camp stove, bag of coffee, french press, and kettle. A hypothetical good financial alternative to Dunkin, Starbucks, and wayward gas stations. We both are raving addicts who get a little itchy without our daily hit of caffeine.

Butane, as I learned that morning, does not do well in cold weather, but by the grace of a merciful Overlord, the water boiled, and the hit was administered. I cowered in the car from the cold and drank my brew while Chris prepared his camera for epicness.

Soon the sun came up, its golden light flooding the alien landscape of the Badlands. Others wandered the cliff where we stood, some taking photos, some just watching. One man kept trying to complain to me that there were no bathrooms open. I told him he could hide in any of the natural canyons around him. Even if he just went in the open 35 degree tundra, who would be around to stop him. He walked away, leaned against the hood of his car, and shook his head, probably peeing his pants.

The cold was unforgiving. Thankfully, past me had left the car blazing as we walked the edge and captured images. When we sat down in the furnace, we both intoned a huge sigh of relief. The day was upon us.

The drive through Badlands is beautiful. Each new turn revealed a new mountain or a view. Green and grey landscapes mixed with the warm colors of autumn grasses. Chris taught me the basics of photography while he hung out the window looking for any spare bird on a tall plant or hilltop. As is customary for men his age, his birdwatching persona has been emerging for a few years.

Once we got through the hills, we emerged onto a plains area where we were met by buffalo, big horn sheep, prairie dogs, bald eagles, and hawks. At one point we passed a somber buffalo, dead in his tracks, twenty feet from the road, a peaceful death in his repose. Prairie dogs yipped, buffalo ignored us, and the eagles flew away one by one, disappearing deep in the northern horizon.

An Evil Knot appeared in my front driver’s side tire. This was not my first tire experience on the road. In 2010, a flat in Glacier allowed me to see my first Grizzly. While scary, I knew had I not had the misfortune of changing the flat, I would have missed out on the Grizzly crossing the road near my car. With the knot, there was serious worry we would have a blowout, but I had faith that whatever happened would result in some Road Trip Magic.

In Wall, SD we went to the cafe for some coffee and to ask about a tire shop. Before getting another administered hit of the brown brew, we took the car to shop only to hear that the low profile tires I have (because I’m so cool) are not something they carry. Rapid City would be our last hope before the Black Hills. Maybe some breakfast would cure our defeated hearts.

Wall drug gives out coffee for a nickel and eggs for twenty dollars. After finding out these two things we wiped the shock off our faces and settled for their old fashioned donuts. We should have gotten twenty of them. They were that good. After our dough filled reverie, Chris mentioned that a donut shop in St. Louis was voted America’s favorite donut but he han’t been yet. We earmark it as a plan on our last day of travel.

I don’t like Walmart, but when it comes to tires, they typically have the least expensive ones for my car. After what I experienced that day in Rapid City, I may have to start paying the extra just to avoid going to the evil corporation mechanics. When asking about the replacement, the bearded twenty five year old with a ninja turtle accent all but promised me that it would be two hours and they’d be done for cheap. Calories from the donut had run their course by then so two hours sounded like enough to go this highly rated Mexican restaurant next door. We hiked the littered homeless trail behind Walmart and ten minutes later were in South Dakotan Tex-Mex bliss.

The beer was bad like a knock off Guinness mixed with plastic bottle vodka, but the food was cooked by an angel from Mexican heaven declaring the way of the Lord. Now two days into the trip with a first big problem, it was a much needed reprieve.

Back at Walmart we were shocked to find out they hadn’t even touched the car. Instead Beardo came back and told me they couldn’t just replace one, but instead had to replace all four per corporate policy. I didn’t even argue. I asked for my key back and walked out. The stink of corporate thievery was far stronger than the odor of danger. We got back on the road and headed away from that sad excuse for a place of business, into the Black Hills.

I was a little surprised that Mt. Rushmore was staffed during the shutdown. Badlands had been empty and locked down except for the trails and roads. George looked on as we took a few photos and hiked the monument loop. Chris found a piece of wood he really wanted to keep, but it just didn’t work out. I told him I’d help him find the piece he really wanted later in the week. We waved to the man giving out books on meditation and yoga and continued on our way through the forest.

Driving through the Black Hills is magical. There is a sense of wonder, mysticism, and nostalgia when you are surrounded by the outcrops of rock, dark fir trees, and dark soil. It feels like old reels of families camping in the 50s and 60s, picnicking on the side of the new US highway systems, collecting postcards and blurry photos on film you’d have to develop in your cousin’s darkroom. It’s a place you want to return to over and over again. The history and beauty are enough to keep you interested eternally.

By the time we made it to Devil’s Tower, the sun was sprinting the last few moments to the horizon. I was struck by the irony of thousands of prayer cloths tied in the disrobing Autumn aspens at the base of a place with such nomenclature. Originally, the natives called the place Bear’s Den. Now there are no bears.

Instead of camping, we decided to get down the road as much as we could. On the long road out of Devil’s Tower, the moon rose suddenly over the hills. Both Chris and I exclaimed, awestruck. Emptiness surrounded us in the dying light, but the moon burned a hole in the darkness. As cars sped past us, we took our photos, played our music, and laughed under the moonlight. Once the excitement passed, we spent the next few hours driving and driving up through Montana late into the night.

The Evil Knot possessed my thoughts, reminding me of its imminent danger. Billings, MT was the next possible repair shop, hours away. To taunt us, Montana sent mule deer and pronghorns to burden the long shoulders of HWY 112 as we careened and prayed down the long miles of curves and moonlight.