Where the Buffalo Roam

Click on the pictures for a better view

Last month we headed out on the Labor Day holiday for a road trip. Not counting long weekends here and there, it was the first real vacation we have enjoyed for nearly three years. Even though South Dakota is relatively close to Colorado, at least by western traveling standards, neither of us had visited the state and its many attractions.

Monday: We reached the town of Torrington, Wyoming in time for lunch and found a small park with picnic tables. No sooner had we started to eat when an old gentleman shuffled over to join us. He asked us a few polite questions, then launched into a rather detailed, lengthy recap of his life as a young boy during the Dust Bowl in Abilene, Kansas. What a character.

Much of eastern Wyoming is remote, desolate. We filled the time by counting state troopers and out-of-state license plates, and speculated whether this part of Wyoming may have even had water during a previous epoch (say, the 1950s). We did pass an area with unusual rock formations, including one I dubbed "penis rock" (which is probably not its proper name).

I enjoy taking photos of state welcome signs, but this one provided by South Dakota on Highway 16 was so tiny we nearly missed it. Dave made a U-turn so that I could capture this image, if for nothing else than to prove we were indeed making progress on what was beginning to feel like an endless journey through space and time.

The day ended at our hotel, the Alex Johnson, by celebrating happy hour at the Vertex Skybar... where the Mojito was delicious, the Devil's Tower lager was chilled just right, the service was spotty, and apparently it takes two hours to prepare bruschetta.

Our room in this historic hotel had a lovely view of the HVAC units in the rear of the building, a favorite roost of the resident pigeon loft. Our bed was ever-so-comfy, and the shower came complete with a helpful warning sign: "Note: It can take several minutes for hot water." They were not kidding.

Tuesday: Our first glimpse of Mount Rushmore brought the same response from both of us: That's it? Kind of dinky, don't you think? Well, actually it's not, as we soon discovered when we found ourselves peering straight up George Washington's granite schnozzola.

We hiked all around the site and shot a dizzying array of monument pictures from every conceivable angle (including a reflection in the cafeteria windows), then spent some time comparing the fifty state flags to each other. Our determination? Colorado's flag is the finest. Naturally.

When we arrived at the Crazy Horse Memorial, we turned to each other and muttered a quiet, collective, "How much?!?" but dutifully paid the entrance fee and drove in. Compared to Mount Rushmore, the mountain looks so incomplete, almost unimpressive. That is until you are herded into the theater to watch a documentary and begin to understand the magnitude and meaning behind the project.

I loved the Native American museum and wandered from one display to another, snapping photos of inspirational sayings and paintings of handsome warriors. I even discovered a potential new best friend: The Spirit Helper.

Being a bit of an oddball, I also find myself drawn to the unusual, such as this sign proclaiming, "I am a Door, and I may Open when you least expect it!!"

Good to know.

Next we headed for Custer State Park, where we stopped at Sylvan Lake and decided to hike the easy shore path around the lake. About halfway into our hike, the path disappeared and we found ourselves scrambling over boulders, clinging to pine trees, and sliding down a steep slope before reconnecting with the "easy" shore path on the other side of the lake.

The park was crowded at the Needles area, and the day had grown hazy from the ever-present western wildfires. We drove, and talked, and listened to music, and drove some more. Then poof! we emerged from the winding mountain road and found ourselves in the midst of a lumbering bison herd. Such wondrous creatures! I snapped a mess of photos before Dave suggested a video:

Wednesday: We hit the road again, eager to experience Close Encounters of the American-Tourist Kind. Both of us expected to find Devil's Tower standing as a lone sentinel on the windy prairie. We were pleasantly surprised to discover the area consisted of rolling hills, sprinkled with picturesque farms and ranches tucked into pretty meadows.


Devil's Tower was crawling with people. Not just your everyday tourists wandering in and out of the visitor center in search of restrooms. No. The tower itself was crawling with people... more specifically, rock climbers. Since I suffer from acrophobia, I cannot understand what draws people to such folly, an activity in which a successful day would be one where you do not plummet to your death. As we watched the climbers from the safety of the walking trail, I noticed turkey buzzards, gliding and swirling around the summit of the tower, quite possibly waiting for lunch.

Further along the trail we stopped at a serene valley overlook. I pointed out a prayer cloth hanging on a tree, remembering the sign telling us not to disturb any Native American prayer cloths and bundles. Right then a pair of visitors wandered up behind us, one of them wondering aloud why some of these trees were marked with red flags. Was it to remember which trees need to be cut down? Or maybe the park service planned to use them for Christmas trees? Yes, that's it. Red flags = Christmas trees. Good grief.



Next we encountered an interpretive sign and a narrow makeshift telescope, aimed at an extreme angle toward a spot on the sunny side of the monument. The sign instructed us to look through the telescope to view the remnants of a wooden ladder constructed by the first crazy people explorers to climb the monument.

Unless you are very short, to look up through this telescope you must assume a pseudo-yoga position, bent at the waist with blood rushing to your head. Perhaps this was the reason neither Dave nor I could see the wooden ladder.

A group of four younger visitors came along; we waited to see if they could find the ladder. Nope. At this point I suggested that maybe the park service had a hidden webcam so they could laugh at everyone contorting themselves in hopes of spying an imaginary wooden ladder. One young woman teased her friend, the last to peer through the brass tube, that he now had a black circle around his eye.

Eventually that young woman found the ladder, with the naked eye, and directed the rest of us to its presence. One by one, the ladder came into focus for each of us. Afterwards we all remarked that once you had found it, that teeny-tiny object became the only thing you could see on the monument.

Thursday: If you find yourself yearning for a slice of cheesy Americana, Wall Drug is the place for you. There you will find an entire town designed to draw in unsuspecting highway travelers. On our way to the Badlands, eastward on I-90, every 100 yards or so we passed yet another roadside advertisement for this fine establishment. A sampling of signs included "Chuck wagon quartet," "Five cent hot coffee," "Shootin' gallery," "Something to crOw about," and my personal favorite, "Free coffee and donut for honeymooners." Who travels to Wall Drug for their honeymoon?

So of course with all this enticement, we had to stop. After indulging in what can only be described as complete sensory overload indoors, we strolled into the Wall Drug "backyard" where I coerced Dave into posing astride a huge jackalope. Yeah, it's silly. But it had to be done.

What can I say about the Badlands, except to assure you that the place comes by its name honestly. It's hot and dry--approaching zero humidity--desolate, eerie, and strikingly beautiful in a not-from-this-planet kind of way. There were signs along the pullouts warning of rattlesnakes. Somehow I found it difficult to believe there were living creatures of any sort in such a hostile environment.

Throughout the trip, one goal was to take a photo of ourselves in every location that we could entitle, "Self Portrait with iPhone at _____." Most smart phone users seem to come by this skill naturally. Not us. Dave claims my arms are too short. I blame his inability to do anything but grimace as soon as the button is pushed.

After watching us create multiple versions of the same sorry-looking photo, a helpful lady at the Badlands offered to take our picture. I told her thanks, but no thanks. We were determined to capture the essence of our journey, all by ourselves.

So, what do you think?

See the (serious) pictures here