Road Trips

Road Trips: Deadwood, Wind Cave, and Devil’s Tower

The summer is coming to an end, yet I hadn’t seen all I had hoped to while working at Wall Drug. And so, the last few weeks have marked a series of road trips, all of which have taken me at least 200 miles to the west.

In hindsight, I suppose I should have visited these places as I headed east. But I was burdened with towing the trailer and hell bent on getting to Wall a day early so I could settle in before starting work. And so, the three trips.

Deadwood – pretty dead for a gambling Mecca

Deadwood was a frontier town. It was where “Wild Bill” Hitchcock died. Calamity Jane and Doc Holliday also resided here. And, of course the town pays tribute to those frontier days. These days, the focus is on gambling, with a half-dozen or so small casinos. South of Sturgis, the town famous for it’s biker rally as well as other motor rallies, Deadwood is somewhat dreary. If what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, what happens in Deadwood is something no one really cares about.

Unlike Vegas, the casinos are dull emporiums trying to fit into the old west theme, so there is little glitter outside. Parking in town is quite difficult and costly, and I just didn’t want to pay money to park so I could go into a casino and lose money. Towards the outskirts of town, there is a place called Cadillac Jack’s. In most of the parking, you are required to get a permit from inside. However, there are a few “free” spaces and I got into one. It was beginning to rain and as I walked into the casino, I searched for blackjack tables. Now for those who don’t gamble, blackjack is about the only game where the odds aren’t overwhelmingly in favor of the house. A decent player, like myself, can bet small amounts for hours and gradually build up a small pile of chips, or if the cards aren’t quite working for you, at least you can get away with losing money slowly.

Like any casino, the gambling area is dimly lit and the slots make noise to attract people. In Vegas, payout is between 94 and 97 percent. Here, it was about 90 percent. And I didn’t like these slots very much. They require you to put your money into a card and your winnings or losses are recorded on the card. I much prefer machines that have actual coins coming out. Anyhow, I took $60 out of my bank and discovered there were only two blackjack tables in the entire casino. There were just four poker tables in another section, but there was no playing going on during my visit. In fact, the blackjack table I used was often near empty with just a few players. There always was an empty seat or three.

I watched for a while to remember my personal rules for playing the game. Basically, they are to follow the same rules as the house. I finally asked what the minimum bet was, and was surprised to hear just $3. Most tables I have been to in the past few years have $5 minimums and are usually far more crowded as many other tables have $20 minimums.

Anyhow, I started playing and started losing; not much, about $30. The cards just weren’t going my way. I thought about walking away, but the rain had developed into a major thunderstorm and I didn’t want to drive in it. In fact, one person had left his/her expensive BMW convertible with the top down and was being paged about it.

I gradually started to win and when I was up around $15, the rains had ended and I went out.

And so, for me, Deadwood wasn’t much of an adventure. But I can say I visited it. I kept a $1 metal coin as a souvenir, but haven’t a clue what to do with it.

Wind Cave National Park: An “unknown” National Park

A few weeks later, I was sick. My blood sugars dove really big time. After consuming both 10 ounces of OJ and a candy bar, the reading I had was only 59. I had nearly passed out, and probably should have seen a doctor or gone to a hospital. But it was Saturday and the doctor’s office was closed and the nearest hospital was 60 miles away. I just wasn’t up for the drive.

Anyhow, I left work and spent the rest of the day pretty much lying in bead and trying to get more carbs into me. The next morning I woke up feeling like death warmed over and again called in sick. I went back to bed. Waking up around 1 p.m., I felt great. The low sugars were a side effect of my diabetic drugs and I had not taken any more either the night before or in the morning. So I decided to head towards Devil’s Monument. However, while en-route, I realized that I would not get there before the visitor center closed. I checked my GPS and it suggested Wind Cave National Park.

Wind Cave is located between two major tourist attractions: Custer State Park, which features a nature loop packed with wild animals including the largest buffalo herd in the country and wild burros left by prospectors. Black Hills National Forest features some of the most beautiful scenery in America. So Wind Cave is a distant number 3 and few people are even aware of it. I certainly wasn’t.

After passing through Custer, I reached the entrance to the park. One would think the big attraction is a cave. There is one, but most of the park is prairie lands where buffalo were recently re-introduced, though I didn’t see any. 

And so I journeyed into the park and the visitor center. Now one of the things I do at every national park I visit is request a Jr. Ranger badge. I show the rangers a photo of myself at the visitor center at Ft. Clatsop (Lewis & Clark National Historical Park in Oregon) and show the rangers the collection of badges that are displayed on the wall from other parks. Anyhow, I’ve been collecting them. But I also learned I was just in time for the last cave tour of the day. I was delighted and because I have a senior pass, the tour was half price.

Now the first thing you have to know about Wind Cave is that there is no wind! The cave was discovered because a small hole leading to it was blowing out cool air. It is sort of like having a natural source of air conditioning. Ranger Dan, our tour guide, held a ribbon in front of the hole and you could see it waving from the wind.

 

But once inside the cave, there is no wind. It is unlike any cave I’ve ever seen and Dan said it was one of a kind. The last cave I visited was Luray Caverns, located in Western Virginia. It is an impressive site with huge caverns filled with giant stalactites and stalagmites created over the centuries from dripping water. But there were none here. Instead, the rocks were laced with delicate “box” patterns and are as fragile as potato chips.  The “rooms” were also much smaller, with many a tight squeeze as we descended about 20 stories down. There were no ponds of water. In fact, there was little to be found at all. The cave supports little life, except a few pack rats that make some of the entrances a temporary home in the spring and autumn months.

The way up was very easy though – via an elevator!

I went home with a sense of satisfaction. I had visited a place off the beaten path and was rewarded with an interesting and unique place and marvelous scenic vistas outside the cave.

Devil’s Tower: Close Encounters with a really huge rock

Yes, Devil’s Tower is where the aliens landed in the 1970s film: “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” And there is an annual celebration featuring a star watch every autumn. It’s one of Wyoming’s best-known sights, though pales in comparison with Yellowstone on the other end of the state.

My visit didn’t include meeting aliens, but was quite rewarding. This is one huge rock. Scientists believe it is volcanic magma hurled from the earth millennia ago. But they disagree on how it happened. It’s huge, its radius is about 1.3 miles (2 kilometers) and there is a paved trail around it.

Anyhow, I stopped at a viewing place about ten miles away and met a couple. We took one another’s photos and then continued onward. I made my usual visit to beg for a Jr. Ranger badge and got one, along with a patch (my personal souvenir vice). The ranger pointed me to the trail and after ensuring that Pup was walked and watered, I left him in the truck and started climbing.

It was a long, hard climb. I have been walking for miles recently and this one nearly knocked me out. But the views were spectacular and well worth it. As I reached the base of the tower, I noticed that many eagles were soaring around the top. They were hard to photograph because I neglected to bring my telephoto lens with me.

I moved onward, thinking that the trail would end soon. It didn’t, but the initial climb was the hardest part and after that, while there were many “ups and “downs” along the paved trail, the tower itself was incredible, but the trail also offered many different vistas. I especially liked one called “Cattleman's Heaven,” a magnificent valley.

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As I began circling the Tower, I observed a climber attempting to reach the peak. I thought about my friend Frank’s son, Justin, who was born about a week after my youngest son. He has done a lot of climbing in the east, but nothing compared to this.

As the trail continued, I ran into the people whose photo I had taken earlier. We again took one-another’s photos and I got one that I am sure will be my Facebook photo soon. And the trail continued. I realized that most other people had hauled some water with them. A group of volunteer conservationists even carried a gallon. Until that point, I didn’t think I was thirsty, but the sight of water made me realize I was starting to become a little dehydrated. By now, despite a mild day, I had worked up a bit of a sweat.

After about 40 minutes, I reached a sign that said “halfway point.” By then I was really tired. But I refused to stop. I was determined to burn some extra calories. I had a rather bad encounter with some bagels and cheese the night before and had gained a couple of pounds. And so I refused to stop and sit at any of the many benches. Though I did wander off the trail to empty my bladder.

Soon, the trial began going downhill and my pace slowed, as I had to take shorter steps. At the begging of the trail, one could go in two different directions and I was glad to have chosen the one I did because the uphill climb was clearly easier than the part of the trial I was going downwards on.

Suddenly, I discovered I was near the starting point and with a sense of price finished the trail. I encountered the ranger I had spoken to earlier and asked how long the trail was. When I learned it was 1.3 miles, I was astounded. It seemed like at least three miles. For me, it was probably closer to 2 miles as I often journeyed off side tracks to explore the entire area, but still it exhausted me, but in a good way. I was pumped with endorphins, the body’s chemical that gives one a sense of well being.

As I drove out of the park, I came across a prairie dog town. I again cursed at myself for not bringing a telephoto lens. But by slowly approaching them, I got a few close-ups. One critter actually walked to me after I sat on a log for a while. I suspect that park visitors sometimes are willing to give a handout.

I took a more northern route back towards South Dakota and saw some beautiful country. But I was generally too tired to stop and shoot photos. As I got back on the Interstate, the sun began to set, rewarding me with beautiful magenta clouds reflecting it in the east and then a spectacular sunset in the west.

I stopped en route at a fast-food store in Belle Fouche, which is the dead center of the continental United States. As you exited, they had a bell to ring if you were happy with the service. I rang it and heard a chorus of “thank yous” from the employees and I answered back, “No, thank you.”

I proceeded to drive the last hundred miles along the interstate in one big leap and got back to my trailer by 10 p.m. Still wired from the trip, I wrote this, and then gave the dog one last walk before hitting the rack for six straight days of work. Next stop,
Fort Mandan in North Dakota before heading east in about three weeks.

Beer For My Horses

Well a man come on the six o’clock news.

Said somebody’s been shot. Somebody’s been abused.

Somebody blew up a building. Somebody stole a car.

Somebody got away. Somebody didn‘t get too far.

They didn’t get too far.

For someone who never really paid attention to country music until a few years ago, I’m a big fan. I spend much of my working day listening to old songs by Roy Rogers and the Sons of the Pioneers as it emanates from the diorama behind me every 12 minutes or so. Just about every day, people ask me if it drives me crazy? I tell them no, because the songs are the same songs I heard in my childhood in the 1950s.

I, like most people my age, experienced early television with Roy, Gene, and Hoppy (Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Hopalong Cassidy). As I grew a bit older, Marshall Dillon laid down the law in Gunsmoke, Pallidan had a gun and would travel, and there seemed to be a zillion Warner Brother’s westerns on ABC (The Rifleman, Maverick, Sugarfoot, and many more).

And so when I heard this “Beer For My Horses,” it brought back memories of the days of the wild west as shown by early television. It was glamorous. It was brutal. We watched people gunned down and hung nightly. Is it any wonder how screwed up my generation is?

The song is originally by Rodney Carrington and Toby Keith and I understand it is from a movie of the same title. I listened to a version with Toby and Willie Nelson and I thoroughly enjoyed it. You can view it on YouTube. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1JOFhfoAD4

One of the biggest disappointments of my wasted youth was I didn’t get my cousin’s six shooters when he outgrew them. They remained in storage in the guest house. What a set of cap guns. Now if you go into toy stores at Wal-Mart, K-Mart and other places, you won’t find cap guns. But the tourist trap toy store where I work has all sorts and the kids flock to them. I spend much of my day listening to pre-schoolers shoot each other with popguns. And I swear in at least a half dozen “deputies” every day as they promise “by the code of the west” not to shoot their brothers and sisters and never use them in the car. This is not just a “boy” thing. Girls can get their capguns with pink holsters. Of course, there are also pink and lavender cowgirl hats too. It is also clear that this is a gun control related issue. Inevitably, gun owners let their kids buy the capguns while non-owners drag their kids away from the merchandise with loud “nos.”

Grandpappy told my Pappy back in my day son,

A man had to answer for the wicked things he done.

Take all the rope in Texas, find a tall oak tree.

Round up all of them bad boys, hang ‘em high in the street.

For all the people to see.

I remember when I was a reporter covering the Morris County (NJ) Courthouse in the early 1970s, the sheriff brought out the gallows onto the courthouse lawn for people to see. The role of the sheriff at that time was to run the county jail, and serve civil court subpoenas.  When asked, they would render assistance to local police departments, but that was very, very rare . . . usually for searching the woods for missing persons and a rare suspect.

I used a wide-angle lens and photographed the sheriff through the noose with his arms twisted and the gallows in the background. Of course it made our front page. But public hangings, and other forms of execution no longer exist in this country. I suppose some bleeding heart decided that it was too embarrassing to the criminal, or too violent for children.

Whatever it was, it brought to mind a photo I saw of a hanging. It was in the south and a bunch of white people were having a celebration underneath a tall tree where a black man was hanging.

That justice is the one thing that you always should find.

You gotta saddle up your boys, you gotta draw a hard line.

So do we need public executions? I don’t know. I know we kill too many innocent people, not to mention people who are incapable of understanding their actions. I certainly would not want to be subject to Texas or Florida justice.

We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds.

Too much corruption and crime in the streets.

It’s time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground.

Send them all to their maker and he’ll settle them down.

You can bet He’ll set them down.

But there is a basic wrong in our society today. Criminals are optimists. First of all, they think they can get away with the crime. Then when they get caught, they think they win a trial, or get a great plea bargain. And when they are found guilty, they think they can get off with a light sentence. And too often their optimism is justified.

And as I thought about it, it comes from childhood and the schools. A student knows the law well before they enter the sixth grade. They have learned that disobedience holds little consequence. They know that if a teacher touches them, the teacher will lose their job. They know their parents, who are both working, aren’t home when teachers call and there are rarely consequences at home either.

That wasn’t always a fact. When we were kids, you pretty much respected the teacher, though a sub got some grief. A call home, where mom was a housewife and not working, meant problems when you walked in the door and “Wait till your father gets home,” meant a very uncomfortable bottom.

When the gunsmoke settles, we’ll sing a victory tune,

And we’ll all meet back at the local saloon.

We’ll raise up our glasses against evil forces, singing

Whisky for my men, beer for my horses.

Of course no one ever listens to me, but how about a society where justice is swift and sure? In this era, I don’t know how it’s possible. Cops have always been corrupt. I suspect it’s worse than ever. I have a friend who did hard time because he tried to defend himself against an off-duty cop who chased him all over town -- and never identified himself as a cop.

No, justice has to be just as well as swift and sure. Just as their student’s test scores shouldn’t judge teachers, their number of arrests shouldn’t judge cops. Because if the cops are judged by the arrests they make, they aren’t judged by the arrests that didn’t happen because people fear the consequences.

When I was a kid, the death sentence applied to crimes other than murder. I remember there was a lot of news coverage about a black man who raped a white woman being given a death sentence back in the late 1950s.

And so I wish we could, just once, round up all the drug dealers, find that tall tree with all the rope and hang them for the people to see. I wonder how much better, or worse, our society would be as a result. What do you think?

When the gunsmoke settles, we’ll sing a victory tune,

And we’ll all meet back at the local saloon.

We’ll raise up our glasses against evil forces, singing

Whisky for my men, beer for my horses.

It's about time

"The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time." Abraham Lincoln

I suppose I’ve been obsessing about time lately. I currently abide in South Dakota. Most of the state is located in the central time zone, but some of the western part of the state, where I am, is in the mountain zone.

And that can be weird at times. For example, the CBS affiliate I get on cable is located in the central time zone. So prime time shows begin at 6 p.m., shortly after I get home from work. And the nighttime news is at 9 p.m. It’s rather strange to see Letterman two hours early.

Because of this, the sun rises about 45 minutes early and thus sets 45 minutes early. And today, with some mild bit of shock, I realized that summer is approaching its end. Oh sure, it’s still two weeks until Labor Day, which comes early this year. But I took a stroll with pup at 8 p.m. tonight and was rather surprised. About 3/4ths of a mile away, there is a huge dinosaur statue near the highway. It is, of course, an advertisement, but there is a paved path to get to it and it’s fairly safe. The lawn on each side of the path is regularly mowed and so there is little risk of encountering a rattlesnake.

But tonight’s walk was different. I started it around 8 p.m. and realized the sun was setting. This didn’t register because I knew I had left for my walk a little later than usual, not knowing the time. But shortly into the walk, I realized I was chilly. There was a mild breeze and the temperature was in the mid 60s. But I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt. The walking helped to ward off the chill, and I told myself this is a good thing, because I would hopefully burn off more calories. But on the way back, I encountered another couple walking their dog. They were wearing jeans and hooded sweatshirts. And by then, the sun was long down and it had turned dark. And it was only 8:30 p.m. And it hit me. The summer is ending. I had my first exposure to the oncoming winter. And it does not please me.

I suppose unhappy memories of last winter emerged. I arrived for a four-month stint along the Oregon Coast at a National Park. It didn’t snow last winter, but it rained just about every day from December to February. Of the 105 days I was there, I had about 20 days of sunshine. But the short days of the winter equinox were the most discouraging. I would arrive at work around 8:45 a.m., in the dark. And leave around 4 p.m., also in the dark. My nights were lonely and dark and depression was a constant companion.

Being alone sucks. Christmas and New Years were the pits. The area where my campsite was had become flooded and it added to the feeling of isolation. When Lewis and Clark wintered in the area in 1805-06, Clark wrote in his journal that the only good thing about the new year was they hoped to be with friends and family the next year. I felt the same way. I spent “Christmas” a couple of days early with my son’s family. Yet I knew the ex would have the actual day with them. The only part about the divorce that I regret is that despite having children and a grandchild in common, she cannot abide my presence. And that saddens me to. My son’s in-laws have a wonderful Christmas holiday with a breakfast at an aunt’s; dinner at my son’s and presents in the evenings at his wife’s parents.  I suppose this is what functional people do.

My life has been dysfunctional. Many of the Christmases I remember as a child involved my mom’s drinking and passing out. One Christmas Day, when I was a junior in high school, we had about two feet of snow overnight and I helped the landlord shovel the walk. We were marooned and plans to eat in a restaurant were shot. Mom got angry with me for helping shovel snow. She didn’t like the landlord I guess, but she had already been drinking. Later, the landlord brought us a half roast beef and the veggies and a pie and we had a real dinner instead of the planned canned stew.

Other Christmas days with the ex were often quite nice. When we lived in Queens, we held the annual dinner for everyone. After we moved to Long Island, my sister-in-law did the honors. But there were other times when family feuds meant we stayed at home.

And I can feel the winter closing in, even if it isn’t even Labor Day yet. I am looking at this year’s holidays with a sense of grimness. I haven’t a clue where I will be. I am probably visiting the New York Metro area for a couple of weeks to see my son, my doctor and some friends. Then I suppose I will be heading south. Then I will head for Georgia, where I expect to make my winter quarters. The RV park I would be in is like a second home on the road. I feel safe and secure there and my fellow snowbirds are friendly. But all this is up in the air.

And so I need to take another look at time -- one day at a time. I don’t need to deal with the uncertainties of the future. I shouldn’t deal with the drama of the past. Just for today, I am significantly saner, my blood sugars are at or below the normal range and I’m losing weight. I am grateful for the return of some of my health. I’m working at a job where I’m appreciated and my co-workers are pleasant to be with. My neighbors at my RV site are great and I’m trying to count my blessings.

But it’s so effin hard. Time sucks. Not all the time, but much of it.

"In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit." -- Albert Schweitzer

You might be a biker if ...

Welcome to Sturgis, South Dakota, where motorcycle rallies have been a tradition for more than a century.

You might be a biker if … your best shoes have steel toes!

Prejudice is an ugly thing. And we all have them. We often judge a group from what we hear from others. One of the groups I didn’t know but didn’t like was bikers.

Now the first person I knew who had a motorcycle was my best friend, Bill. In fact, back in the ‘60s, we spent a week camping at a state park in central Pennsylvania. Starting in northern New Jersey, He drove his 250cc Honda while I chugged along in my ’61 Ford Falcon.

Bill still has a bike and I think he’s a great person. My only other acquaintance that owns one is Bobby Mac, a man who was once a hard-core drug user who has become a minister of the Gospel. Another wonderful person.

But as a newspaper reporter, I covered a few incidents involving outlaw bikers and my worst experience came upon discovering that we had purchased a house whose back yard was across the street from a biker bar. The gang didn’t come by too often, but were there on summer holiday weekends. I remember one day around July 4^th when I had my son in our backyard pool and started hearing shots. I quietly removed him from the pool and brought him inside and insisted everyone stay in the front side of the house. The bar, then known as the Silver Dollar Saloon, underwent many name changes until it burned to the ground. I remember watching the fire with my neighbors and the fire department concerned itself mainly with ensuring the fire didn’t spread, rather than salvaging the building. There was great happiness on the block, though we had to wait nearly five years before the building was demolished.

There was constant traffic (and noise) from the hundreds of thousands of motorcycles invading Sturgis every day. 

And so I had a definite prejudice against bikers. Last July, I spent a month throughout South Dakota and learned that there is an annual biker rally in a town called Sturgis, west of Rapid City in the Black Hills. About half a million bikers attend the ten-day event. I made damn sure I got the hell out of the state several days before the rally started.

You might be a biker if…your two best friends are named after animals!

This year was quite different. I had my prejudice blow up in my face. As many know, I work in a tourist trap along I-90. It’s about 90 miles east of Sturgis and thousands of bikers stop by every day during the rally. While they dress tough, they are kind, gentle people -- every single one of the thousands I’ve met has been so, without exception.

There were lots of portable toilets scattered throughout the town

The black leather they wear inevitably features a home “club,” usually a city or small region. A lot of them are Christians who spread the Gospel through their contacts. Some even belong to my group – RVers and keep their motorcycles in what we call “toy” trailers that feature a storage area for motorcycles in the back of the trailer and have a fold-down door to ride out of.

Despite some incredible tattooing, biker babes are “hot.” I can’t quite figure out how these women in their middle age through seniors, who are athletic and toned with often rock-hard bodies, are doing with fat, aging men who look (and often smell) horrendous.  Of course, I’m jealous. Besides a bike, what do have that these guys don’t. I suppose it’s money.

I’m told a lot of these men are doctors, lawyers and other professional people. In other words they’re well to do, if not rich. Whatever! I asked a lot of them and almost all said they were just plain lucky. One guy had an answer that made sense. They had to be that way to fit on the back seat of a bike!

And so I just had to visit Sturgis on my day off. At this point, I only have a single day off during this time because of all the bikers stopping off at my workplace. So my impressions are based on a single day there. And the visit was daytime one, so I didn’t observe the legendary wild partying. But I suspect what happens in Sturgis, stays in Sturgis.

The day started a lot later than I planned. On the previous night, actually early this morning, we were hit by a tremendous thunderstorm that dumped about five inches of water on us. With the lightning, I couldn’t get to sleep and didn’t do so until the thunder stopped and I finally passed out around 3 a.m. with a constant drumming on my trailer roof.

Even at 11 a.m, the party had already been well underway.

I also didn’t know how to dress. I’m not supertanned and windburned like the bikers are and I don’t own leathers. But somehow jeans and a tee didn’t work either. So I decided to go cowboy with boots, hat, jeans, a plaid shirt and a bolo tie. I looked like a tourist one way or another.

En route, I stopped at a rest stop about 10 miles before Sturgis. I spoke to some bikers after I admired a three-wheel custom machine. It was more than I paid for a brand-new pickup last year. Oh well. Back when I was in high school, there was a thing going around that Army surplus cycles were available for $13. It wasn’t true, but I had my $13 ready to send away.

So I got into town. The outskirts were packed with bikes and all sorts of places offering service. Churches and Service organizations were giving away free breakfasts and there were many free bike washes along with oil change lifts where you could change your own oil.

You might be a biker if … you have motorcycle parts in your dishwasher!

The place is mobbed. More than half a million people, mostly bikers, attend this rally. And area motels, RV parks and restaurants increase their prices as much as 10 times. One biker told me he was paying $800 a night for a chain motel!  Even where I am, 80 miles away, motel prices have been doubled.

And so it took me nearly an hour to drive through all the traffic and find a place to park. A biker sent me to a church at the top of a hill, where teenage girls, showing very low cleavage, charged me $8 to park on the church lawn. At least it was going to a good cause. I saw private homeowners whose lawns were filled with tents. Other houses were rented out to biker groups.

Parking was difficult for bikers, nearly impossible for cars and trucks.

You might be a biker if …your idea of jewelry is chains and barbed wire!

And so after a brief lunch, Pup and I started our tour. As I opened my truck’s door, I was overwhelmed with the noise from bikes. It was loud and constant. We walked into the main street where thousands of bikes were parked. It was around 11 a.m. and the party was well underway. Bars were packed and people were filling up. Yet there were no problems I could detect. Everyone seemed well behaved and easy going.  The booze industry was very supportive of the event. Huge signs and inflatable bottles were everywhere.

Of course, there was plenty of money to be made and vendors had pitched tents all over, selling tee shirts, leather goods, helmets and much more. One of the most popular areas were places selling patches that the bikers put on their leather vests. There were people to sew them on right there and the cash registers were rocking!

Top: one of the many biker clothing suppliers. Bottom: Patches for biker vests were quite popular, with people sewing them on right on the spot.

You might be a biker if … you can tell what type of bugs they are by taste!

Along the packed sidewalks, people were very nice about letting me through. Many stopped to pet Pup and tell me what a wonderful dog he was. Now Pup loves being the center of attention, but after perhaps 50 people stopped to pet him, he started freaking out. He seemed OK, but he started dumping. Now I had three empty bags to take care of his remains. And they were all used quickly. I had to stop at a place selling patches to ask for a few more bags. I knew Pup had just about had it. Besides pooping all over the place, his tongue was starting to drag. He rarely pants, and drool was coming out at a constant rate.

It wasn't "normal" to be topless and tattooed, but this woman was pretty much ignored.

We headed back to the pick-up. En route, I noticed a topless woman who had tattooed her breasts being interviewed by some sort of television crew. On another block, I spotted the Hell’s Angels hangout. I was surprised to see that most of these guys were clean-shaven, compared to the rest of the crowd. They were quiet and orderly and caused no trouble at all, quite a contrast from their “outlaw” image.

You might be a biker if…You’re only sunburned on the back side of your hands and your neck.

I had hoped to stay through the evening and observe some of the louder party activities. Major rock and country musicians were scheduled for the evening and I was thinking about leaving Pup in the truck for a couple of hours after darkness when it was cooler. But Pup was beat and exhausted. He was also confused. I opened the door and poured him a bowl of water and placed it on the ground for him. He didn’t know if he should jump in the truck or drink the water. He kept looking at both. Finally I said “up” and into the truck he went and I placed the bowl on his seat.

He lapped up way more than usual and quickly went to sleep as I started driving the truck homeward. He stayed that way for the two hours it took to get back to my RV site.  If I’m in the area again sometime, I’ll be sure to re-visit, and leave Pup in the air-conditioned trailer.

You might be a biker if…you know where Sturgis is

 Hells Angels from California were quiet and well behaved. 

Free Ice Water

I’m spending the summer working (for pay!) for the first time in many years. It has been an exciting adventure so far.

I’ve been in Wall, South Dakota. It’s the home of a well-known tourist trap called Wall Drug. The Hustead family purchased the store back in 1931 during the depression. Eventually Mrs. Hustead decided to try something to promote business by putting up signs along the highway offering free ice water. The business boomed from there.

Today, there are a multitude of stores within the Wall complex, as well as a playground for kids featuring an animated T-Rex. The town, which has a population of around 800, gets well over 200 summer employees at Wall Drug alone, not to mention others in surrounding stores and touristy places like motels. On a good day, more than 20,000 people will visit Wall.

It’s located directly on I-90 next to one of the entrances to the Badlands National Park. And if you are headed in a westbound direction, it’s the first real civilization since Sioux Falls, almost 300 miles away. It’s about an hour from Rapid City on its western side, and about another half hour to Mt. Rushmore and Custer State Park, which features and incredible wildlife loop featuring herds of Bison, wild burros, prairie dogs and other creatures.

Anyhow, back to working. Those who know me know I became disabled about five years ago. I had a multitude of problems, including a lot of injuries to my neck, back and hands. Also being way too fat, I wondered how well I would handle working 40 hours a week again, especially while constantly standing. I had been working around 30 hours at state and national parks in Oregon and thought I was up to it. But I was quite wrong. Thanks to support from my employers, I am far healthier, happier and sharper than I’ve been in a long time.

Earlier this year, I had some problems with diabetes. With so much sugar running through me – usually a reading up to 400 on my meter – my brain wasn’t functioning very well. For example, I kept on losing things, like my dentures and my debit card. I went back on diabetic, blood pressure and other meds in April after a rather upsetting episode. But there was a side effect. Diarrhea. Lots of it. And as I continued to use it, I was having six or more attacks per day. I was going home from work physically exhausted. And the meds weren’t working. They were not in my system long enough.

I had to take several days off. I saw a doctor and he changed my prescription. Within a day or so, the diarrhea was gone. Eventually my sugars, and my weight, started coming down. My sugars are now normal and I’ve lost about 15 lbs. And I no longer come home exhausted. Tired, yes, but that’s expected. I can handle working. The management was very supportive, as I had to take some days off. For this, I am grateful. While I don't think I can handle year-round employment, the summer months are enough for some financial supplement to Social Security and I can handle my finances.

Working is fun too. I work in the toy department and swear in a lot of “deputies” when they purchase toy guns. I make them promise “by the code of the west” not to shoot their siblings and never, ever use the guns in the car. It’s a lot of fun and parents appreciate it.

I am also located next to “Dr. Feelgood,” an animated snake oil salesman who tries to sell his tonic. As his sales spiel ends, I chime in urging customers to “step right up” and purchase a bottle. "I can prove to you this stuff works," I tell them. "as you can clearly see, it cured my baldness." I am, of course, bald. When I started working, the empty bottles with Dr. Feelgood’s label weren’t selling at all. Now, I sell more than a case per week.

Behind me is the animated “Cowboy Quartet,” which sings a couple of cowboy songs every fifteen minutes or so. People ask me how I put up with it each day and actually I like them as they remind me of the cowboy songs of my youth when I was crazy about Gene, Hoppy, and Roy. “Happy Trails,” “Ghost Riders In the Sky” and other songs from that era provide a feeling of continuity as I approach my final years.

Many of the toys are the type that was in fashion more than 50 years ago. They bring great joy to old timers like myself who purchase them for their grandchildren. And that too, makes me feel pretty good as I help them with their purchases. There are popguns nearby and sometimes children will use them to a point of annoyance. But I realize they are kids having fun and then relax. I sometimes have to control rowdy teens with them, but that is not a real problem.

The unofficial mascot of the town is the “jackalope,” the completely tongue-in-cheek legendary combination of a jackrabbit and antelope. When I sell stuffed ones, I tell the kids and their parents that while jackalopes are very shy and quiet animals, they need to be offered food once a year, on every April 1. "You do not want to deal with an unhappy jackalope," I tell them.

In other words, I’m allowing myself to have fun. It’s a good thing.

Because I am working a cash register, my mind is constantly challenged by the mathematics of making change. With the return to normal of the blood sugars, I feel a sharpness that I haven’t felt in years. It is easier to deal with problems and figuring out solutions, though I’ve yet to figure out my next destination when the summer ends.

Any suggestions?

Montana on my Mind

May 30, 2013

“I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it . . .Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans. Here for the first time I heard a definite regional accent unaffected by TV-ese, a slow-paced warm speech. It seemed to me that the frantic bustle of America was not in Montana. Its people did not seem afraid of shadows in a John Birch Society sense. The calm of the mountains and the rolling grasslands had got into the inhabitants. It was hunting season when I drove through the state. The men I talked to seemed to me not moved to a riot of seasonal slaughter but simply to be going out to kill edible meat. Again my attitude may be informed by love, but it seemed to me that the towns were places to live in rather than nervous hives. People had time to pause in their occupations to undertake the passing art of neighborliness.”

John Steinbeck “Travels With Charley” 1965

Montana is a big beautiful state. And that’s sort of my problem with it. It’s too big for more than a glance, no matter how beautiful.

I’ve travelled through here twice, mostly on Interstate 90. Heading east to west, the highway starts in the southeast area of the state and ends at the northwest corner, close to the Canadian border. It is awesomely long, about 550 miles along the route, taking at least two days of travel time. And, alas, both times I’ve travelled through here were when I had to reach a place by a certain day. So I-90 is most of what I’ve seen.

But that isn’t bad. There are incredible views all along the way and the Rocky Mountains end at the Idaho border and looking down into the mist and realizing  the journey is wonderful.

But today, I drove through a different part of the state. From Idaho Falls, ID, I went up Interstate 15. My GPS unit kept wanting me to go on other roads, but knowing where it took me before, I might have wound up hauling my trailer on narrow mountain roads with harrowing curves. I didn’t want to deal with it. But finally I gave up and took a local road. Highway 41. It took me through Jefferson Valley, near the Tobacco Root Mountains. This was ranch country and one could see that it a quiet place to work hard. The small towns were devoid of fast food joints and big box stores. You had to travel perhaps a hundred miles to Bozeman or Billings to see them. At the same time, the small stores and restaurants were well maintained. It reminded me of Denville, NJ in the 1950s. It was where I lived then and perhaps I keep looking for a place like it.

I have grown used to not having a McDonald’s or Wal-Mart nearby. Most of the places in Oregon where I volunteered didn’t have them within 20 miles. And this summer I will be in Wall, SD, which offers a great tourist mecca where I will work, but little else but miles and miles of the Dakota Badlands.

Like Denville, there are lots of lakes and streams and signs welcoming people to fish. I thought of Chet Huntley, of the famed Huntly-Brinkly NBC News team. When Chet retired, he was given a horse to bring back to his native state. He graduated from the high school of a small town I passed through and went to college in Bozeman, where I have stayed on my two trips here.

Chet also wanted people to share his vision of Montana. He was instrumental in developing Big Sky Resort, a major attraction, and died a few days before its opening.

I was glad to spend a few hours off the Interstate system. Tomorrow is a big push into South Dakota, probably for a day in Grand Rapids before reaching my next destination in the Badlands.

But Wal-Mart was on my list of places to see. Last year, I purchased a Yellowstone tee shirt for $10 and I hoped to grab a couple of more for gifts. They also stock this brand of water called Montana’s Treasure. It is goooooood! I bought a case for myself and a case to bring back east. But I don’t know if the second case will make it. Anyhow, the tees were now $7.50 and there is no sales tax. If it wasn’t for the fact that I had just spent nearly a year in Oregon, which also has no sales tax, I might have dumped a lot of money there. In a weird bit of déjà vue, I had to go shopping in Bozeman again. I spotted a beggar and his dog sitting in front of the Wal-Mart entrance with a sign saying he was marooned and needed help.  It was the same person I saw nearly a year ago. I guess business is good.

Speaking of business, Montana does not charge sales tax.

I camped  both times at a place called Bear Canyon. This year was in late May, last year was in late July. The view from here is incredible but this year; the snow-capped mountains enhance it.

Alas, it was been raining and I hoped to get a photo in the morning before I moved on to compare them. The rain did stop long enough for a magnificent sunset, but returned that night and has continued into its third day, accompanying me as I travelled east along I-90 through Wyoming and into South Dakota. I am now in South Dakota and it continues to rain for a fourth day.

En route, a friend of mine asked me to pick up something possibly unique to the Rockies – bear repellant – and I had difficulties finding it, hitting about seven retailers. But it was a pleasure because the people I spoke to are the type you wish you had for your neighbors. And if I ever pass that way again, I’ll try to discover more of the state so many love.

Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons

Many Americans love Yellowstone National Park even if they have never been there. I’ve been privileged to visit it twice, but the nearby Grand Teton National Park had a much greater impact on me.

Grand Teton for the first (and second) time

I had decided to base myself for a week in Idaho Falls. There were a number of reasons, but the main was the RV park I spent a week in was dirt-cheap: $146 for an entire week.

But it was also within a couple of hours of the national parks I wanted to see and Idaho Falls had bits of “civilization” such as McDonald’s, Wal-Mart and all the other exploiters of child and senior labor which make our lives so interesting.

The road at the entrance to the RV park was called “Yellowstone Road” and the people who named it that had a lot of gall as Yellowstone was well over 100 miles away. But it was also a direct route to Grand Teton. I decided that, even though Yellowstone was just 20 miles further on, that I would give it a day to explore.

About 40 miles out was a rest stop along the Snake River. I had passed along the river in many places in both Idaho and Oregon. It is the location of much of the Oregon Trail, something that as a historian, I have been interested in as I have been along much of it. At some places, the river was shallow and one could cross it on foot. Yet a few miles away, where the bed had narrowed, it became violent and dangerous. Here, was a lovely landscape showing the river in a small canyon.

The Snake River about 40 miles north of Idaho Falls, ID

Moving on, the road went deep into Idaho farmland and then through narrow, winding roads in Targee National Forest. I had been here before and I had no idea what I would see. And that was part of the wonderful surprises of the journey. As with all journeys, getting there is just as important as the arrival.

Targee offered plenty of beautiful views, especially of Pine Creek, which meandered through the forest. I had a close encounter with a semi-suicidal elk, which just didn’t want to get off the road as cars were coming from each direction and the panicked animal just didn’t know which way to turn, especially when the damn fool behind me started honking his horn.  The animal kind of reminded me of myself at times, having to make a decision, but not knowing what to do, but having to make one anyhow.

Targee National Forest offered a pleasant ride as I headed to the Grand Tetons.

There were many, many winding mountain roads with sharp turns and low speed limits. It was fine on the drive out, but very scary on the way back. I have recently been afraid of heights. It started last July in the South Dakota Badlands when I realized there was nothing to stop me from falling hundreds of feet. It takes a lot for me to stop and take a picture in these situations no matter how beautiful the scene is.

But at the top of one mountain there was a turn off. Far below was Jackson Hole. A sign told me that and it was next to a snow filled mountain. The thermometer was at 31 degrees. It was certainly not the type of weather I expected just before the Memorial Day weekend.  Take a close look at the sign. That is snow there.

Top: Jackson Hole, the huge valley where Yellowstone and the Grand Teton parks are located. Bottom: The welcome sign, Note this is taken on Memorial Day weekend and there is snow in the grooves. It is on a mountain with several feet of snow.

One has to understand the difference between Jackson and Jackson Hole. Jackson is a small town devoted mainly to tourism, as the entrances to both Grand Teton and Yellowstone are only a few miles away. Jackson Hole is a geographic term that describes a huge valley in which the parks lie.

Anyhow, I slowly descended along the mountain curves into the “Hole,” passing through a small town called Wilson before reaching Jackson. Jackson has a visitor center where one can purchase any number of high-priced souvenirs related to the parks, and I indulged myself in picking some patches. I have to start a new patch sweatshirt, as the one I have is full. I actually purchased some Yellowstone Tees at the Wal-Mart in Bozeman Montana. Anyhow, it is adjacent to a stream and a wildlife viewing area. I don’t especially like Canadian Geese as the crap all over wherever they settle and this was true of the visitor center. But I forgave them this once because they had recently-hatched goslings who were simply adorable. The ducks were kind of cool. There was a mallard swimming side by side with a wood duck. They were fishing together. It reminded me of my friend Bill. We are completely different yet remain strong friends over decades.

I proceeded on to the park. It was stormy in the mountains and I had some really dramatic photos. I stopped at the Park’s visitor center to see the exhibits and make a deal with the rangers. I showed them my “volunteer” pass and explained that my “home” park in Oregon has a wall filled with junior ranger badges and I would like to trade one of our’s for one of theirs. I guess my home park is just about the only one with a display like that because the rangers simply give me the badge rather than trade.

While there, I saw a live radar picture of the mountains and while the storm was increasing in intensity (I could hear thunder) it was moving fast and would probably be over in about an hour.

A couple of facts about the park might be in order at this time. The park runs along one side of the mountain range. A series of lakes separate the mountains from the visitors and climbing by the typical tourist is not available.

At the same time, it is a place to simply slow down. Take a drive along the range and stop at many areas. Just sit there and perhaps picnic or walk a trail (though it annoyed me that Pup wasn’t permitted on the trails – what difference is there between bear, deer, moose, elk and other crap and the small droppings of my poor corgi?).

Top: Mountains when clear. Bottom, during a thunderstorm

I stopped at a picnic area by Jenny Lake and took some photos, at the same time trying to outwait the storm. I really didn’t mind the rain at all. It was refreshing and I was refreshed by the wonderful view. My friend the professor says it is his favorite place on the planet and I can pretty much put it in my top ten.

As I continued to wend my way along the park road, the clouds began to clear and I got a few more beautiful pictures. At the same time, I did a lot of thinking about life in general. The ex had gotten re-married the day before and I thought about how we had once wanted to travel through this area. But it was not to be. I hope she has the chance to do so with her new husband. It is well worth the trip. But that too made me aware of my solitude. It is something I expect to live with, but hope that my eventual return east in the autumn will change that situation. But I have been gone for a year and then will be a time to evaluate things. I sometimes think of the Simon & Garfunkel verse: “I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.” It’s nice to claim at times, but completely unrealistic. This year’s holiday season was absolute misery.

Lake Jenny, just a place of peace with incredibly clear waters.

Because of the weather, the park was pretty much empty. But somehow, it gave me comfort. For all its majesty, it was still rocks and islands.

Two days later, I returned to the park while en-route to Yellowstone. I simply wanted to grab a few photos on a much clearer day. It was well worth it as it gave me much peace.

Yellowstone a second time around

Timing is everything.

I visited Yellowstone National Park last July en route to Oregon. I hadn’t a clue about the park and thought it was, at most, 50 miles away. I had camped near Bozeman, Montana a couple of exits west of the Yellowstone exit on Interstate 90. Little did I know that it was 100 miles more to be inside the park. Then, my agenda was simple. I wanted to see Old Faithful, the geyser that erupts about ever hour and ten minutes. That would take me almost two hours longer.

Then, I had left Bozeman around noon and didn’t reach the geyser until around 5 p.m. I had to wait an hour for its eruption and spent time at the souvenir shop. So following the eruption, I had little real time to explore the park. I left the area somewhat disappointed. I had hoped to return the next day, but was exhausted from all the driving I had done in the non-stop haul from the South Dakota Badlands to Bozeman.

And so, I proceeded on to Oregon.

But this time, the return trip was different. My Idaho Falls locale is about 100 miles from the West Entrance. After taking my first day in Idaho Falls to explore Grand Teton, headed out around 6:30 a.m. to Yellowstone, relaxed, refreshed and ready to explore.

A general rule for tourists is if you take their picture, they will take your's. Courtesy of one of the many Japanese tourists I encountered.

To get to either park, you have to take the same mountain roads through Targee National Forest. So I enjoyed a repeat of the beautiful views. After my stop at Grand Teton, I moved on to Yellowstone, arriving around 10 a.m. Like my first visit to Yellowstone, I had an agenda – to see the magnificent canyon and waterfalls in the park. Ironically, I had to go to the Old Faithful area to reach the Grand Loop Road, which went through the park with many of the major sites.

So I stopped at the Ranger Visitor Center and again traded Junior Ranger Badges. I hope to have around a dozen before the end of the year to send to my “home” park in Oregon.

And the timing was right as Old Faithful was scheduled to erupt in about 20 minutes. The last time, I waited nearly an hour. There are many places around Old Faithful to buy stuff. But I used the non-profit store to get a DVD for myself and a Yellowstone “ranger" hat for my granddaughter, part of her Christmas parcel.

Old Faithful erupts

I ventured over to the geyser, and waited. I noticed something odd. I was surrounded by Japanese tourists. Throughout the day, about half the people I encountered were Japanese. I had worked for several Japanese companies over the years and I recognized a little of what they were speaking. Apparently several tour buses were here, as well as rental cars. Later in the day, one had run off the road and had to be hauled out and towed away.  It seemed impossible to go off the straight road where they were, but I also had several close calls as the many scenes distracted me.

From Old Faithful, I began the loop and stopped at many geysers. Many of them could be seen fairly close as we walked along boardwalks more than a mile long.

It was difficult to take photos as the air was cool, in the low 40s, and the vapor from they geysers blocked views. But the colors of the pools were extraordinary. Topaz, sapphire, emerald and more were vividly deep, as the absolutely clear but boiling water had reacted with the minerals in the ground underneath.

The many colors produced by the reaction of the waters with the minerals are visualized by clear water

I went to several of these sites, enjoying each of them. At one point, the steam was so great that the visibility was zero and the smell was disorienting. I had to frequently stop until the vapors cleared, afraid I might trip and fall into the turbulent waters.

The eruptions can turn the observation boardwalks into fog.

Moving on, I went through a few meadows. I had been apprehensive that Pup might go a little crazy as I remember a description by Steinbeck in “Travels With Charlie” as Steinbeck’s normally placid poodle had to be locked in the camper and tore it apart when it smelled bear.  In both visits to Yellowstone I did not encounter bear. There were deer and elk, and a herd of bison and pup had no reaction. But we passed by a lone coyote and as I stopped to take a photo, Pup let out a sharp, alpha-male bark that was about as loud as I have ever heard from him. The coyote went on his way and I didn’t get the shot.

I saw plenty of Bison but failed to see Yellowstone's famous bears for a second time.

We finally started reaching the falls. I know the lower falls is the largest, but from the parking area, the hike is nearly a mile each way on rough terrain. I just wasn’t up to it after several miles of geyser hikes.

And so I moved on to the upper falls. I was entirely unprepared for this. To reach them, you had to move along Yellowstone’s “Grand Canyon.” Now I’ve flown over the real Grand Canyon many times, but have never been there. From my Yellowstone experience, I would probably just as well take it or leave it. The Yellowstone Canyon is magnificent and incredibly deep as the Yellowstone River wends its way through it. There was little in the way of barriers to prevent one from falling hundreds of feet to their death other than small boulders about knee high. I got my photos, but told myself that what I would do for my “art” could be downright stupid.

The incredible Yellowstone Grand Canyon, All that was between me an the river when I took this photo was a two-foot rock.

There is a place in Sullivan County, NY along the Delaware River called the hawk’s nest. It is a road with many winding cliff-side curves that is frequently used for automobile commercials. I took my friend Emily to the overlook there and she was very scared. I couldn’t understand it then. But now I do. As I think of that place, it too was very deep. Multiply that by a factor of 20 and I have had enough Rocky Mountain Highs to last the rest of my life, thank you very much!

I drove past some other waterfalls and cascades but the next really impressive thing was Lake Yellowstone. It is immense. When you consider the Great Lakes border Canada, this is the largest lake in the continental United States. With mountain backgrounds, it is something of beauty that one can only understand by visiting there. Photographs only give you a minute perspective. It is, in my opinion, the only thing of beauty I have ever photographed that I couldn’t capture adequately.

Waterfalls, such as the Keppler Cascades, are abundant.

Throughout the park are many dead trees surrounded by thriving smaller ones. I thought they had been killed by disease, as there was no charcoal black on them. But more than 1/4^th of the park was destroyed by fire in 1988 and I suppose the blackened part has simply washed away over the decades since.

It, too, is a thing of beauty in some respects. The trees that have risen from the ashes could only have been grown from the pinecones that require fire to burst open seeds. The dead trees are filled with insects that birds prey on. It is a brutal exchange of nature, which can often be unforgiving.

I left the park around 6 p.m., hoping to get out of the mountains before darkness. But I chose to stop for dinner in Jackson rather than open up the can of stew I had brought with me. And as I went into the mountains, I encountered any number of suicidal deer in the Forest.

But there was a full moon and as I finished my mountain crossing I saw this image. It is a little blurry since such a long exposure time was required and the camera shook.

A full moon near the mountains watched over me on the way back to my campground.

I made it home alive and spent the next two days recovering from my two trips.

My memories of the two parks will remain in my heart for a lifetime. I don’t know if or when I will return to the West, but you can be sure that if I do, I will continue to drink in the wonder.