South Dakota and the Badlands

After driving XDMLX into a ditch, a long night's sleep was just what we needed. But you can't always get what you want; not even on your birthday. Jojo was up before the sun, eager to get back on the road to make up for lost time; or so I had assumed. As we headed out of town, and West to Mount Rushmore, Jojo flashed me a mischievous smile. She had something up her sleeve. As she dictated directions, I quickly realized that my shortened sleep would most definitely be in vain. I could only laugh when she revealed our destination: Corn Palace; Mitchell, South Dakota's only attraction.

I guess she figured we needed a little comic relief. She was right. Corn Palace was exactly what you would think it would be: a palace, made entirely of corn. As funny as it sounds, it's detailed murals, made from corn husks, kernels, and stalks, were truly impressive. It made us smile the rest of the day.

The drive to Rapid City was nerve racking, to say the least. With last night's events still fresh in our minds, I white-knuckled the wheel, as we maneuvered XDMLX over the unplowed highway. After the most intense four hours of driving I've ever experienced, we pulled into Rapid City, eager to get our day started. We had a birthday lunch at the O.G. (Olive Garden), and made the trek to Mount Rushmore with tumultuous stomachs.

Towards the end of our ascension, Washington's stoney head came into view, and Joanna voiced her voiced her disappointment. "Not that it isn't impressive," she said, "I just thought it would be bigger." Her views changed once we walked through the flag path, and onto the

viewing platform.

We stood alone, in the silence of the Black Hills, staring, in amazement, at the beautiful sculpture. Apparently, March isn't exactly tourist season in South Dakota, and the lack of any other patrons made us feel as if we were granted our own, private viewing of the mountain. Adding to the serenity of the situation, the high altitude seemed to absorb every sound, and every breeze, allowing us to view the Presidents in total silence and stillness. The eternal expressions of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln seemed to smile upon us, in the warmth of the setting sun; the perfect blend of mother nature and human manipulation. It was truly breathtaking.

Adding to the drama of the moment, I watched as a man knelt at his girlfriend's feet, at the base of the mountain. I nudged Jojo's arm to get her attention. She already had the camera fixed on his proposal. As the couple hugged, Jojo and I cheered in congratulations. The man pumped his fist, knowing he was truly B.O.C. (ballin' outta control).

Our second day in South Dakota began with another mountain carving: Crazy Horse.

A monument to represent the culture and traditions of all North American Indians, It is the largest mountain carving in the world. To give everyone an idea, each face on Mount Rushmore is approximately 60 feet high.

Crazy Horse's head alone, can fit four Mount Rushmores inside of it. Crazy Horse, who was a respected warrior of the Oglala Lakota, led his people in battles against U.S. forces in the Wyoming, Montana, and Dakota territories (most notably against General George A. Custer, on the Little Bighorn), and was eventually murdered while under arrest, in September, 1877 by a U.S. soldier. In 1948, sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski was commissioned by Lakota Chief Henry Standing Bear to create a sculpture of Crazy Horse to show the American people that, they too, had heros amongst their people. It was agreed upon that the sculpture should be carved into a large mountain, deep in the Black Hills, with Crazy Horse perched high upon his horse, and with an arm outstretched, pointing his earthen finger towards the mountainous forests of the Black Hills; the ancient lands of the Lakota. This theme stems from a quote Crazy Horse made when asked by U.S. officials, "Where is your land now?" He responded, "My land is where my dead lie buried."

Ziolkowski dedicated the rest of his life's work to sculpting the mountain. When he died in the 1980's, his ten children, all of whom were born on the mountain, continued his legacy by vowing to finish the sculpture themselves. On multiple occasions, the family has refused millions of dollars of federal and state funding for the project, claiming that it wouldn't be right to stand with their hands out to the very government that slaughtered the people they are trying to honor. It was refreshing to see people stick to their principles, regardless of the decades of hard work they will have to endure. We can only hope that, in twenty years or so, we have the chance to see the mountain again, in its final form; with a hopeful Crazy Horse, marking the land of his fallen kin.

Our next stop was Jewel Cave, the second longest cave in the world. It had just recently been expanded to one hundred and fifty miles. Jojo's excitement level was through the roof, mainly because she was convinced that we would be able to harvest jewels straight from the cave with little rock hammers. She was mildly disappointed when the park ranger announced that visitors were not even permitted to touch the formations with their hands, as a single drop of human body oils could stop formations from growing for the next ten thousand years. Even though she wasn't able to wear an illuminated hardhat, she still seemed to be excited, especially when the park ranger announced that he was going to shut off all of the lights, and let us sit for a while, in 100% darkness, three hundred and fifty feet below the surface. Standing quietly in the darkness, Jojo and I considered hiding from the park Ranger, just to see how he would respond if, when he turned on the lights, two of the ten members of the tour were missing. We quickly dismissed that thought after recalling how angry he became when he saw a little boy kicking rock formations like field goals.

Putting our caving days behind us, we headed to the town of Deadwood for a little taste of the real wild west. When we galloped into town, we figured we'd mosey on down to the Gem Saloon, to rustle us up some grub. We were a bit confused when we found ourselves fighting through crowds of drunk people, as we walked down the casino and saloon lined Main street. At the restaurant, we were shown to a table, upstairs by a window, overlooking the crowded street. We found out that the drunken mob was celebrating St. Patrick's Day a few days early, and all of the drinking was building up to a parade later on that evening. After an amazing meal of prime ribs, rib-eyes, and buffalo chile, we decided we better get downstairs and start drinking, if we planned on hanging around the town for a while. In the true spirit of the old west, Jojo decided to get a little bit of gambling in, while I chose to pound whiskeys at the bar. Now, properly intoxicated, we headed through the crowds to see a few famous sights. We found The Number 10 Saloon, and ordered more drinks.

This place wasn't just your average bar. "Wild Bill" Hickok, one of the most feared gunmen in the west, was murdered in the back section of the building. We stood in the exact spot where Jack McCall shot Wild Bill in the back of his head during a poker game; a pretty rash decision, considering Wild Bill's reputation. Hickok was revered all over the western territories for his ability to fire faster and more accurately, with both hands, than any other gun-hand of the times. It was also widely known that Hickok's speed on the draw was contributed to the trademark "butts-forward" position of the guns on his hips. Unfortunately for him, no man, regardless of reputation,or speed of hand can outdraw someone if he's sitting with his back to a door. McCall simply opened, fired, and ended the legend of Wild Bill Hickok.

We joined the festivities out on the street just in time to see the irish marching band pass by. It was time to be heading back, so we hit the old dusty trail.

Early Sunday morning, we were up and ready to make the eight hour drive to Wyoming. At the gas station, I went to fill the wiper fluid, only to feel it pouring out on my feet. The I-90 crash was finally catching up to us. Concerned, we headed back to the hotel and asked around about mechanics. "On a Sunday?" was a common response. So another night in South Dakota it was. Not much to talk about here; We ordered a bedside buffet from Ruby Tuesdays, and ate our worries away.

The next morning, we dropped XDMLX off for a check-up. The crash bent a few things around, and it was a good thing we had it looked at. A few hours later we heading West again, through Wyoming, en route to Yellowstone National Park.

On the way, we stopped by America's very first national monument: Devils Tower.

The picture should speak for itself here. Although impressive, it was simply an odd shaped mountain in the middle of miles of flatland. While driving back to the main highway, we ran into a type of traffic that we definitely aren't used to back in Jersey: a rancher's entire herd of cattle. Massive, delicious looking, cows moseying across the highway without a care in the world. As they eventually dispersed, we were given a wave of gratitude by the rancher on horseback, and we were free to pass at last.

We arrived at our hotel in Yellowstone around midnight. We grabbed a few brochures from the lobby and decided to call and book a reservation on a snow-tour bus for the next morning:

"Hi, I was wondering if I could book a reservation for two on the tour tomorrow," Jojo asked, surprised someone answered the phone at such a late hour.

"I'm sorry, we closed at 6 pm."

"Oh I know ma'am, I was interested in making a reservation for tomorrow," Jojo said, thinking accents were clouding the issue.

"I'm sorry, but we closed today at 6 pm."

"I understand that ma'am, It's TOMORROW i'm interested in."

"No, no. We closed today, Monday, March 15th, at 6 pm, for the season. The whole park is closed."

Jojo hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Sooooo, I hear Idaho is really nice."