South Dakota or Bust

14 HOURS OF DRIVING IS TOUGHEST ON THE MIND

Made it about an hour outside of Yellowstone NP on Sunday night and ended-up staying in a church parking lot in Parker, ID. Churches are by far my favorite place to take refuge because they are non-threatening and for the most part, are left unoccupied on all but two days out of the week. I awoke at 5 am and headed North to West Yellowstone, MT where I would enter the park from it's Northern Gate. West Yellowstone is the poster child for tourist laden towns next to a park. The place is a breeding ground for tacky t-shirts, meaningless souvenirs, and discount hotels attached to a fast food chain. Luckily I didn't eat any breakfast or I probably would have vomited on main street as I rolled through town.

I stopped at the entrance sign to the park to snap my ceremonial sign photo and noticed a young red haired hitchhiker standing by the sign. I quizzed him a little about his journey and took notice of his appearance and demeanor before offering him a ride. He looked clean, and probably smelled better than me. "Where you headed", I asked. "Colorado, but will take this ride as far as I can if you'll let me". He took shotgun and we set-off into the park.

I hitched a lot in college while hiking the AT and have picked-up my fair share of hitchers throughout the years. There are a few standard rules that apply when hitchhiking or picking-up a hitchhiker; they are as follows:
#1: only use your first name
#2: never pick-up someone of the opposite sex - especially if they are alone
#3: never share too much info about yourself (you never know if the other person is a stalker)
#4: always share stories from the road and embellish them so that they sound cooler than they really are.


My new co-pilots name was Patrick. He had shoulder length red hair that was matted in sections and was beginning to spawn a few dread locks. He had a matching scruffy, red beard and a wore a wide brim hat that gave off the persona of a frontier woodsman crossed with a Phishhead. He exuded a confidence and a assurance in himself that is only found is someone that has spent days on the road with only the pack on their back and a zeal for what's around the next corner. I liked him immediately. He reminded me a lot of myself - traveling the country, in search of the next beautiful place with no real destination other than the unknown. He shared with me the tales from his journey which included a surfing trip to the frigid waters off of Vancouver Island and walk-a-bout through Montana's Glacier NP. We stopped at Old Faithful before parting ways at the West Thumb juncture so that he could continue his journey on to Grand Teton NP and I could continue mine on to South Dakota. Patrick, if you are reading this, safe travels!

I stayed on US 16, which by all accounts is quite possibly the most scenic and beautiful road in North America. I took it from West Yellowstone, MT to Custer, SD, covering over 600 miles of mountain passes, black hills, open prairies, farm fields and every rural town in northern Wyoming. I passed the time away by listening to marathon sessions of Steve Miller Band, Perpetual Groove and Dire Straits. Music makes the time go by faster and helps me set a rhythm that allows me to conquer long distances behind the wheel with little effort.

I arrived in Custer, South Dakota, home of Mount Rushmore, 13 hours after my departure this morning. I decided to hit the iconic carving first before visiting the other items on my list, Wind Cave NP and Badlands NP. The drive up to the President's faces is a windy, tree lined road that will ever so often offer a glimpse of exposed rock, teasing you with an outcropping that you think is your eventual destination. Upon your final arrival you are greeted by a park ranger directing you to a parking garage. I quickly whipped out my NP card thinking that it would cover any fees only to have the attendant tell me that the garage is privately managed and I would need to pay the $10 entry fee. I felt as though I was being raped. $10 was my allowance for the day and I felt that the park should have other alternatives for parking...and I let her know it. The lady behind the glass didn't care and snatched the $10 from my hand.
Pissed off, I ventured into the park only to be underwhelmed by the carving. "This is it?" I said. "Stone Mountain, GA makes this place look like a postage stamp". But after I cooled down (I was still upset over the $10 parking) I spent some time studying the mountain and began to appreciate the amount of time and detail that most have gone into carving each of the president's faces. I snapped photos from a variety of angles and by the time I left I grew a new appreciation for Mount Rushmore. I won't be back anytime soon, but I am glad that I had the opportunity to visit.

That night I took refuge just outside of town in an abandoned saw mill. It was by far the creepiest place I have ever stayed and the glow from the surrounding street lights cast some eary shadows on the buildings. I spent hours trying to capture the mood, before heading off to sleep. Tomorrow I am off to NP's # 29 & 30! Until tomorrow.