While we are charting the almost day-by-day story of our grand year-long RV adventure here on the Veness Travel Media blog, we’re also writing a monthly considered piece for The Independent travel section, featuring the full lowdown on how to do this great American road trip. Part one is now online here:
The more we’ve toured, the more questions we’ve had, but that’s part of the point of travel, isn’t it? The boring stuff you learned in school was the hook on which you hung little bits of information that, hopefully, act as a starting point when you’re out in the world exploring.
Susan had constant flickers of those schooltime factoids when it came to places like South Dakota’s Wounded Knee and the events that happened all across this part of the country, but it was all told through the side that “won.” Simon’s point of reference was Westerns from television and movies. Neither of us felt we had a well-rounded story, and we were eager to learn more.
Our next-door neighbors from back home in Florida have a place in Rapid City, and they were there while we were in town and invited us over for dinner. They do a great deal of work with the tribes, teaching them how to play and appreciate music, and we spent several happy hours in their company, learning more about the local tribes and their history. They recommended a visit to The Journey Museum, and that was our next day’s morning stop.
The museum is thoughtfully presented, and while it includes sections on paleontology, geology, and archeology, we were there primarily for the Native American exhibits.
We’d been told it was difficult to get any kind of reliable history, as the tribes tended not to keep written records in the past, and nobody seemed to agree on what really happened versus what is perceived or idealized to have happened.
Like much of the area’s history, the museum’s Native American and Pioneer sections intersect. It was difficult in most cases to get a well-rounded understanding of the two culture’s realities when they came together or clashed, when the focus is inevitably more on their separate experiences than on a realistic view of “how we got to now.”
Even so, we really enjoyed the museum’s displays, and Susan was especially happy to see women represented as much as men (almost), with a heart-tugging exhibit that featured (in video style) an older woman talking about how girls were welcomed into womanhood within the tribe. She even sang a lullaby. So beautiful.
Today’s scenic drive was Iron Mountain Highway on our way to one of the country’s most iconic sites.
We won’t bore you with the outrageous “shortcut” our GPS took us on to get to Iron Mountain Highway, which was so long we began to wonder if we were already on that highway. Instead, we’ll show you a couple of examples of the grand views we had once we were on the right path again.
Iron Mountain Highway doesn’t end with the view you’re about to see, but WOW! What a spectacular “reveal” for our next destination!
Neither of us ever thought we’d ever be in a position to see Mount Rushmore, and standing there in front of George, Tom, Teddy, and Abe felt just a bit surreal. Considering their human rights records (not you, Abe), we had some mixed feelings before we got there. Once there, we felt a surge of pride and patriotism (in the best sense of that word).
We probably took 40 or 50 photos of the monument itself, but we’ll just share a few here, including a side view of our first President taken from a cut-out along the road once we left the park.
A second drive along Needles Highway was a welcome journey as we made our way down into Custer National Park again, with a stop at one of its visitor centers to get a steer on where to see Bighhorn Sheep (we’d nearly given up on the elk, who, we were told, were spooked by the last few evenings’ thunderstorms and were in hiding), and the docent was right on target with her suggestion.
Squeezing the last drops out of Custer State Park, we drove one side of the Wildlife Loop again on our way back to Hermosa, and buffalo and pronghorn herds’ reliability held up.
But tonight we were treated to a spotting we didn’t expect at all. We watched this coyote for about fifteen minutes as he/she/they hunted, and our patience was rewarded with an up-close view as the coyote came up to the road, gave us a good look, then trotted away.
It wasn’t an elk, but we felt, yet again, we’d been treated to something rare and special. What a great way to cap off a great day!
*That sign that had us wondering what it was trying to communicate is for a little tiny theater in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Cute!
Why were so many places across the country named after a man who lost one of history’s most infamous battles, a battle aimed at genocide of the native peoples? We don’t know, and we’re not in a position to right the historical wrong or re-frame the story, but we will say the State Park named for Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer, better known as General Custer, is one hellofa fabulous park.
We could yammer on about the rolling hills and the lush greens that splash across the landscape, as if some insane artist with a passion for the verdant is forever in the process of painting and repainting according to the whims of sunlight and clouds.
We could wax poetic about the Black Hills specifically, and we could throw in the fact that “hills that are black” is the English translation of “Pahá Sápa,” from the Lakota language of the Sioux people, and that the Black Hills rightful return to the Sioux Nation is a long-standing, contested issue the Sioux are currently losing.
If we really wanted to get all up in ourselves, we’d casually toss in the utterly self-promoting comment that the book, Paha Sapa: Land of the Gods, mysteriously made it into the queue for The Jungle Cruise at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom park, and therefore into Susan’s third edition of The Hidden Magic of Walt Disney World.
But we won’t spend time on those topics, because on our second full day in Hermosa we were all about animal tracking from the comfort and convenience of our car.
We had been lucky enough to see bighorn sheep in the Badlands, and you’ve already read about our encounters with bison in Theodore Roosevelt National Park, so today we were on a mission to track down a herd of majestic elk.
We entered the park’s Wildlife Loop not far from our campground, and first up on our sightings checklist were the burros, fondly nicknamed the “begging burros” for their willingness to eat whatever you’ve brought them (more accurate than “willingness” is “insistence”). Hence, they’re super friendly, and come right up to you rather than waiting for you to approach them.
Their hearty ancestors were pressed into service nearly a century ago, toting tourists and their paraphernalia up Black Elk Peak from the Sylvan Lake Lodge. Only a small herd is left, but they’ve been roaming wild ever since their forebearers’ tourism-based employment end. Most of them are descendants of the originals, but a few of the burros are donated newcomers.
Having frittered away the morning working, it was well past lunchtime when we found ourselves caught up in another bison jam, so we got out our sandwiches and spent nearly an hour enjoying their wanderings, their playful calves, and one truly peevish specimen who wanted to pick a fight with everyone.
We don’t know what the deal is (probably salt from the roads?), but this herd also had a liking for licking cars, starting with the one parked in front of us. And again, one of the bison gave us the stink-eye through the front window, then spent about five long, long, long minutes alongside Nippy, deciding if it wanted to ram us or just move on.
A certain dog in the back seat was riveted, but this time she didn’t bark. She just sat there making little huffing sounds, clearly aware now that the beasts surrounding us were much bigger than she is.
We moved on when they moved on, and had a lone male on a side road nearly to ourselves as we made our way to Custer, with Needles Highway as our next major adventure.
We did stop at Calamity Jane Coffee Shop in the cute town of Custer to help Simon deal with his lack of caffeine, and while I’m not usually a coffee drinker, I got one anyway and it was honestly the best cup of mocha and Joe I’ve ever had. Sadly, Jane wasn’t on hand that day, but her employee was friendly and the bathroom was clean. Score!
Needles Highway is a 14-mile scenic drive punctuated by the most outrageous granite spires that were pushed up sideways by the forces of nature. Every turn reveals a thrilling aspect, and we goggled at the magnificence and took selfies like the tourists we are.
South Dakota’s governor, Peter Norbeck, mapped out the entire trail that would become Needles Highway on foot and on horseback. It’s so winding, and has so many tight turns, it takes nearly an hour to drive just 14 miles, even longer with stops for panoramic photos. But you want to go slow, because this is prime elk territory, and we’re out for elk sightings today. Right?
There are three tunnels along the highway, carved through the rock by wind, rain, and the area’s harsh winter weather. Each tunnel is impressive, but we’ve never seen a tunnel more impressive than the Needle’s Eye. Nippy is small, but Simon could touch the side of the Eye as we drove through.
We agreed we’d have to come back and do Needles again, next time stopping at the lovely Sylvan Lake for a stroll and a picnic lunch. When we finally did that a couple of days later, the weather suddenly turned freezing cold, and was hammering down with rain and pounding with thunder and lightning, so we sat in the car and had lunch while feeling very, very sorry for a bridal party running through the storm to get to the lake’s reception hall, with all the girls in sheer, sleeveless formalwear and the bride’s veil whipping in the wind.
After Needles we went back to the Wildlife Loop, where the Visitor Center assured us we’d have a chance at spotting elk as dusk came on. Instead, we saw deer and lots of pronghorn, including the wonderful treat of a mama pronghorn and her baby, with daddy not far behind.
We made two more trips into Custer State Park after that, determined we’d see elk, but to no avail. To add insult to injury, a couple we got to chatting with at the campground said they’d seen a herd of elk right on the road the previous evening, at around 6:30 p.m., which was about 15 minutes before we arrived at the same spot that same evening.
Would it take until Yellowstone before we’d see elk, or would South Dakota be kinder to us than that? Either way, what a grand and exciting place for wildlife and for absolutely magnificent scenery. But Custer wasn’t done surprising us yet.
We entered the new-to-us state of South Dakota on June 19, eager to see more of the Dakotas after a fantastic stay in the northernmost state in the Midwest. We’ve got a week in Hermosa, then 3 full days in Sturgis, to see Custer State Park, Crazy Horse, the town of Custer, Deadwood, Badlands National Park, Needles Highway, and Six Grandfathers, now known as Mount Rushmore.
To break up the long trip from Medora to Hermosa, we had an overnight stop at Harvest Host location, Belle Valley Ancient Grains in Newell, SD, which felt incredibly rural but was just minutes off the highway heading south.
We learned about the ancient grains owner Brian is farming, and came away with whole Spelt and White Sonora Wheat that we’ll make into grain bowls and hot cereal.
Then it was on to Hermosa, with a butt-clenching 11 miles through construction cones on a highway with a speed limit of 75mph. You can imagine the number of cars that passed us after the construction zone ended. We’ve decided their honking and single-finger salutes are congratulatory celebrations of how well we navigated a tight lane with harrowing twists and turns, and we felt very special indeed.
But enough of that, and on to the touring. We settled in at Heartland RV Park, enjoyed a pizza and live music at the campground’s event center, and had a relatively quiet night (rain is loud when you’re in a metal can), then made our way to Badlands National Park the next morning.
It was quite cloudy and windy all day, but that didn’t deter us. We were on a mission to see something other than the rolling hills we’ve been driving over, and even before we reached the park, the landscaped changed. Immediately off the highway, the hillsides on either side of us opened to two massive valleys, with structures completely different to the ones we saw in Theodore Roosevelt.
We made a quick stop at the Visitor Center, where they told us we could find gas in the appealingly-named town of Scenic if we needed any, but when we found it, it had obviously been a dead town for years. Decades maybe. The gas station had a price of $5.55 per gallon, so we’re guessing the place drew its last breath back when Jimmy Carter was President. Luckily, Nippy is very sippy, so we didn’t need to fill up until evening.
Once we reached the first outcroppings, it was obvious we were in an entirely new landscape. The peaks were sharper at the top and more angular as they descended, with a softer, more “melted” look when we got up close.
The badlands here were created by runoff that washed into an inland sea as Colorado’s Rocky Mountains rose into existence. We could see the layers when we took a short hike into a wide canyon, and the ground we were walking on was primarily the finest silt imaginable. Just like walking on talcum powder.
Other areas in the same canyon were like petrified mud, hard enough to create hills you could stand on but also dry and cracked on some surfaces.
Another surprise were the “yellow mounds” (called paleosols) that were left when the inland sea drained away and chemicals from its plants left staining of yellow, red, purple, and gray. Against the cloudy sky, they’re less striking, but when sunlight hits them they positively shine.
We could post a few hundred photos from the park, but we’ll spare you that and instead share a few from the absolutely bizarre town of Wall, our exit point from the park as we headed north to Hermosa.
Normally, commercials on TV and billboards along highways have zero impact on us. But Wall Drug Store is too smart for that, and the sheer number of billboards they’ve installed made it inevitable Simon would have to see what all the fuss was about.
Like Buc-ee’s, if you’ve been there, you know. Wall Drug Store is just…massive. Like, a full city block massive.
Want a billion shot glasses, T-shirts, cups, mugs, magnets, and every other form of tourist crap you can imagine, all wrapped up in interactive stuff that includes a jackalope the kiddies can sit on, a gorilla animatronic playing a piano, and an insane trio-plus-one of mechanical cowboys singing in a wild-west setting of howling coyotes and an upset bear? Wall Drug Store has all of it and much, much more.
We didn’t buy anything. We didn’t even try the “free water” the store so proudly advertises on the front façade. But we’ll remember Wall Drugs with the same fondness we remember that wacky gas station with a beaver as its mascot.
Tomorrow (subject of our next blog) would see us making the first of many trips into Custer State Park, and we’ll just say that at $20 for a seven-day pass, we absolutely got our money’s worth.
Where do we even begin? With the epic wildlife, the rugged buttes and valleys that make up the landscape, or the absolute vastness of this national park that has launched itself into our top favorite places in the U.S.? It’s the easiest blog to write due to our enthusiasm, and the hardest due to the immensity of its impact on our minds and our hearts.
We won’t bore you with the facts around President Roosevelt’s hand in protecting 230 million acres of land and establishing the National Parks system, or the history of the mounds, buttes, ridges, and points that make North Dakota one of the most distinctive landscapes we’ve seen so far, save to say each layer that now makes up the area’s badlands was formed, evolved, and, in some cases, was laid bare over the course of 65 million years. It’s a big number, but as we drove the Scenic Loop in the park’s South Unit, and later, the North Unit, “big” was a word that took on new meaning.
Still in awe of the seemingly endless farmlands and prairie lands as we drove from Bismarck to Medora, the small (and very touristy) “cowboy” town where we had a reservation the Red Trail Campground, the landscape changed, and almost without warning we were looking at colossal sandstone, siltstone, and mudstone “mountains” towering over deep valleys with rolling green hills and meandering rivers.
That morning, as we headed to Medora, we agreed we’d spend the evening and the next day catching up with work, then visit the South Unit on our second full day and the North Unit on our third full day. Obviously, that was a stupid and unrealistic plan, and our first trip into the South Unit saw us chomping at the bit as we entered the park around 7pm on the evening of our first day, lured by the promise of prairie dog towns and a greater chance at seeing wildlife around dusk.
Just minutes after entering the park we came upon our first prairie dog town, where hundreds of the adorable little rodents with almond-shaped eyes and sticky-uppy tails were going about their evening grass munching, while “sentinels” kept watch, throwing their whole upper bodies backwards and their arms upwards while emitting the cutest bark imaginable as part of their warning system.
It was straight out of a David Attenborough documentary, and Simon could have stayed there watching them until dark, but after about 20 minutes and a bit of prompting, he pointed Nippy up the hillside to see what else was in store.
The landscape had us utterly captivated, and over the course of three days we never grew tired of seeing the majestic hills and valleys.
But we had buffalo to find, and again, it wasn’t long before we spotted one, then drove alongside three more, so we congratulated ourselves on our incredible luck.
We weren’t going to do the entire drive that first evening (made longer due to the south part of the loop being closed, so it was an out-and-back journey), and just before we turned around we were treated to a small group of wild horses, which capped off an excellent evening of wildlife viewing.
The next day we went up to the North Unit, fueled by the bacon and pancakes I made because I’m no quitter and was determined I’d be up to the challenge. The drive was a bit more difficult due to a stretch of Highway 28 being closed, so we had to detour about 66 miles, round trip, out of our way. Along the way, Simon saw a sign for Killdeer Mountain Battlefield, and being the sort of person who cannot pass anything by if it has even the slighted hint of interest for him (and despite the fact that he’d been wondering about finding a restroom for quite some time), he made the decision to find the battlefield, and he was unanimous in that.
Long, unpleasant story short, it involved 16 miles round-trip on a dirt road (which he hates but thought there might be a restroom at the end of), a farmer and his son who angrily confined us on their property by locking the gate along the road so we couldn’t get out (stupid people that we are, as indicated by the sign on his gate that made some unfathomable reference to Stupid People, and the fact that the obscure battlefield monument was just a foot or two outside his gate and nearly impossible to see), and what can only be called an extremely disappointing monument to a grand total of two people who died on the “battlefield.”
Simon’s face says it all.
The North Unit is supposed to be the part of the park where wildlife is at a maximum, but we only saw a couple of small herds of buffalo, both at a distance. We did see remarkable “cannonball” rock formations, created by minerals pouring through sediment layers, which Ruthie found as fascinating as we did.
It was back to the South Unit the next day, and as magnificent as the park’s big picture is, the smaller details are equally compelling, and often we felt we were looking at structures created by the hand of Antoni Gaudi, architect and designer of Barcelona’s grand basilica, La Sagrada Familia. In the same way Gaudi’s Nativity Façade seems to be “melting,” so too do some of the water-and-wind-weathered rock formations.
But today nature had three very special gifts in store for us. The prairie dog town, seemingly in just 48 hours, had sprouted dozens and dozens of babies! Tiny and hilarious and full of the joys of spring, they wrestled and barked and made sure their cuteness captivated hearts, and we spent a long time watching their antics.
The buffalo took things a step further. As we came down a hillside into a deep valley, there they were, in their hundreds.
One massive herd took up both sides of the road, and the road itself. We inched our way forward, hoping the people behind us were happy to go slow too, until we found a parking space in the cutout, and that’s when things took an unexpected turn.
This buffalo loves cars. It licked the pickup truck two cars down from us, it rubbed its head against their grate, then it moved on to the car next to us, and finally, as dessert, it began licking our car, chewing on the hookups for our tow bar, and looking us dead in the eye when Ruthie started barking.
Now, let’s just say buffaloes have huge heads, and those heads have pointy bits. We’ve seen videos of cars the size of Nippy being turned into metal hamburger by enraged buffalo. So when this one came up to Simon’s window and stood there looking at him, we, and everyone around us, wondered what might happen next.
What happened next was, it felt it had made its point without using its points, and it was right. It moved on, leaving us with a thrilling if slightly terrifying memory we’ll treasure forever: The day Nippy got licked by a buffalo.
If you’ve read this far, you’ve done well. We did have one more special encounter waiting, when we came across not one but two coyotes prowling a prairie dog town. We thought we might witness the circle of life, but they decided to lay down for a nap instead, which was probably just as well. We weren’t sure we could watch prairie dogs being eaten.
Of course, we have no photos of this encounter. They were just out of reach of our zoom lenses. Instead, imagine two scraggly gray coyotes laying in a field, and you’ve pretty much got the picture.
We returned to Medora that evening, a funny little town that was quite touristy, but not obnoxiously so, and while we skipped the $50 per person Medora Music show everyone we’ve talked to since has asked if we saw (we live in Orlando, where shows are second to none but buffalo are non-existent), we did see the tractor parade, and that was enough for us.
Simon loves the dark comedy movie, Fargo, with its relentlessly evil villains, the dogged heroine Marge, and that chipper no one who has ever seen the movie can forget. The Chipper prop now lives at the Fargo-Moorehead Visitor Center, and it was the reason we put Fargo on our Grand Adventure route.
We stayed at a Harvest Host in Minnesota the night before, celebrating Simon’s birthday in high style with cheese and bikkies (crackers for us U.S. folks) and a beer, since we had no access to electricity and didn’t want to use up our batteries (generators aren’t usually allowed at Harvest Hosts), plus we’d had a celebratory lunch and were too full for much more.
The host location was a farm with horses, goats, chickens, cats with newborn kittens, and a gangly, year-old dog named Pooh Bear.
We got to hold a three-day-old baby goat, meet the newborn kittens, and Simon, always ready to try his hand at something new, milked a mama goat.
We then spent the evening sitting on the front porch chatting with the owners, and felt it was exactly the kind of experience we were hoping to have during this journey.
The next morning we made the short trip into North Dakota, where we had another Harvest Host stay, this time at a winery, and while the sweet wines weren’t to our taste (neither was the eyelid tick), the food was good and we met another RVing couple who had come in from Oregon, which passed a happy couple of hours before heading back to the rig for the night, with a strong wind whipping through the prairie grasses as a small storm rolled past, which we loved.
Bismarck was our next destination, with a detour off the highway into Jamestown to see the World’s Largest Buffalo.
The roadside attraction included a touristy town with stagecoach rides, and it made for a nice diversion on our way to Bismarck.
We woke up early and headed back to Fargo for a photo op with the infamous Chipper. If you don’t know the movie Fargo, it’s the means through which the hapless main character gets turned into the human equivalent of ground beef, thanks to a crazy man with a passion for gruesome murders [Note: Leg in Chipper = hint].
The Coen brothers (Fargo’s producers and directors) signed the Chipper, but there was no way to get a photo of their signatures without glare, so here they are, just as obscure and unfathomable as the movie the brothers created.
Our next campground (with full hookups!) was Hillcrest Acres in Bismarck, a small, pretty place appropriately located on a hill, a forerunner to the scenery we’d see as we drove around the area for the next few days.
Countless times, we wondered how those hills (variously called “buttes,” “hills,” “points,” and “ridges”) formed, why most were grassy but some were bare, and why glacial movement made North Dakota so undulating, but Michigan so flat. Wind and water played their part, but we’d like to talk with a geologist to find out more. That’s one of the beauties of travel; it inspires curiosity.
Our first full day took us to Washburn, where we discovered the restored Fort Mandan, in an area the Lewis and Clark expedition spent the winter of 1804. The fort had various tiny rooms, such as quarters for soldiers, interpreters, and the captain, plus a smokehouse, blacksmith, and storage room.
Ruthie was absolutely captivated by the Sargent of the Guard’s quarters and didn’t want to leave. We don’t know why, but she was very clear about wanting to stay.
She was less captivated by the statue remembering Seaman, the faithful Newfoundland dog who traveled with the expedition, but she dutifully sat for a quick picture.
A short stroll beyond the statue rewarded us with our first up-close view of the Missouri River, whose waters were low and many big sandbars could be seen. We would cross over the Missouri several times in the following days.
Just a short drive away from the fort was the Knife River Indian Villages National Historic Site (using their cultural terminology, not the terminology we might have chosen), with a recreation of a Native American earthlodge that marks the area many tribes used as a trading center.
A buffalo hide acts as the doorway into the lodge, and inside the temperature is about 10 degrees cooler. A deep, smokey smell permeates, which gave us a small sense of what living inside it would have been like. Ruthie lost her mind in there, loving all the new sniffs.
The visitor center here was superb, giving an excellent overview of two tribes and their lifestyles. Although the day was cool and we could safely leave Ruthie in the car for a short time, we had to turn down the host’s offer to watch a movie, as our Floridian sensibilities made us uncomfortable leaving her for very long. But the exhibits were terrific, and we felt we learned more about the people who once lived there.
We drove further west for Lake Sakakawea (pronounced here as Sah-KAH-kuh-WEE-uh, not Sack-a-juh-WAY-uh), a huge lake set below stark cliffsides, which must be ideal for boating on summer weekends. The history of the lake is, predictably, one of eminent domain, force, and the subsequent throwing-of-a-bone in naming it after a famous figure who (it is my opinion) probably had as little say in her destiny as the land that now holds the lake named for her did.
This is the site of two-mile-long Garrison Dam, a three-part set of structures built by the U.S. Corp of Engineering in 1953, that includes a pump station…
…the dam itself…
…and a spillway that helps route water back into the Missouri when levels get too high. Neither of us are geeky in that way, but it was truly fascinating, and we spent a fair bit of time pointing and saying, “I wonder what that’s for….”
North Dakota’s oldest state park, Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park ($7 to enter), was our next stop, with three re-created blockhouses overlooking the Missouri River. On breezy summer days, the many narrow lookout windows must have afforded an excellent breeze. In winter, it must have been cold enough to freeze the brass whatsits off a monkey.
On-A-Slant Indian Village was within the park’s boundaries, too, and the earthlodges here were beautifully displayed, along with panels that described life in the Mandan tribe village from 1575-1781.
We were captivated by the idea that boys in the Mandan culture learned to shoot with accuracy by playing a game that involved throwing a hoop into the river and shooting an arrow into its moving center. According to an exhibit we saw, it was their belief that the dead buffalo they found floating in the river with each spring thaw were a result of these games. All of the children would have been treated to funny stories that told important tales.
On the way out of the park, Simon made a quick right turn when he saw a sign for Custer’s House. We couldn’t take Ruthie in it, so we agreed Simon would check out the house while Ruthie and I waited in the car with the air conditioner on.
Twenty minutes later he was still standing on the house’s porch, so the following phone call ensued:
Susan: Hey. What’s going on?
Simon: Oh. Yes. It’s nice to hear from you. Uh-huh. I’ll let you know when I’m there.
Susan: What the hell are you talking about? I can see you standing on the porch, so I’ll certainly see you when you get back.
Simon: Okay, thanks! All the best. Bye for now.
When he got back to the car, he detailed the conversation a docent sitting on the porch (whom I couldn’t see) had at him. Not with him, at him. Simon asked what rank Custer was during the war, and 20 minutes later he knew everything from Custer’s blood type to his favorite dessert and whether he preferred tighty-whities or boxer-briefs. (Okay, not really, but the docent talked for a full 20 minutes, and Simon had to pretend I was someone important so as to break off the dissertation gently and with respect).
For those who cannot bear not knowing, it turns out Custer was a Lieutenant Colonel during the battle at Little Bighorn, but was a General during the Civil War and was allowed to keep that designation as an honorary title when that bloody war ended.
We finished the day at Standing Rock, an important stop along the Native American Scenic Byway. Our goal was to visit Sitting Bull’s burial site, which we found after many wrong turns, having blown past it on the way into town. Most people probably do that, too. There is only a small sign on the side of the road that indicates where this great man’s resting place is (or rather, was; he’s since been moved at the request of his grandchildren).
The grand brochure we were given at the Fargo visitor center did not prepare us for what we found at Standing Rock. Perhaps we missed the highlights, though we’re not quite sure how we could have. Instead – and we’re assuming a LOT, all of which may be wrong – we found a town completely void of energy, as if a total lack of opportunity and a heaping helping of injustice held the place and its people in a state of downcast limbo. We’ll end our sweeping assumptions there, and, with heavy hearts filled with compassion, put our energy into hoping all good things come to the people who, by choice or by historical force, make it their home.
Want to see how far we’ve come in a month? This is the 31-day update of route – and distance – so far.
We now have a full month of our scheduled 12 officially in the books, and we have so far traveled a whopping 2,504 miles from home. We have crossed nine states, two time zones, and stayed in 14 different campgrounds and Harvest Host venues.
We have slowed down since our initial 7-day warp-speed approach (1,289 miles in that period; 1,215 in the 3 weeks since), and are paying more attention to savoring the sights as we travel. And we’re seeing some pretty stunning sights.
We are now in uncharted territory – for us – and ready for more adventures in the Dakotas, Montana and Wyoming. This is a hugely exciting part of the journey, with the areas rightly renowned for the wide open spaces of this huge country.
Having just arrived on the edge of The Badlands of North Dakota, the landscape is truly outlandish and full of intrigue. We’re here for the best part of a week, and will have a LOT more to report in due course.
For those keen on geography and geology, the term “Badlands” is a specific geologic feature of sedimentary rock erosion, and it creates some captivating and bizarre landscapes. We hope to see a lot of it in the next few days, as well as wildlife that should include bison, pronghorn antelope, bighorn sheep, deer, feral horses, and – Simon’s favorite – the prairie dog.
Minnesota’s North Shore provided a day of sights that filled our senses. Today would be a day that filled our hearts as we headed north again, this time aiming for Hibbing and the Iron Range, Ely and its picturesque forests, and, most of all, Eveleth, birthplace of Susan’s grandfather.
(Susan is writing the blog, so it’ll be in first person.)
My maternal grandfather was among the first ice hockey players who was picked up by a professional team and received a signing bonus along with his contract. Two of his four brothers also played pro hockey. When WWII broke out, pro hockey and their careers ended for the duration, but their passion for the sport they grew up with never died. Returning to Eveleth was, for me, a return to my family and the immense legacy they left their relatively small town, and, ultimately, the country.
Our first goal for this day was the Iron Range, specifically Hull Rust Mahoning Mine in Hibbing, where one of my grandfather’s brothers was – many long years ago – a miner before becoming a soldier during the war.
I recall a trip I made to the mine with my parents in my teenage years, and seeing the unbelievably massive dump trucks that moved the raw iron ore from the pits to waiting trains that would then journey to Duluth, Minnesota and Superior in Wisconsin and then to wherever steel was needed to help build this great country.
My grandfather’s proud Slovenian ancestry is strong in Eveleth. My family still has a black-and-white photograph of a man in his coffin, with my ancestor Frank Prelesnik and four other people standing next to the coffin. When Simon and I went to Slovenia and met family, they knew who that man was (his last name, IIRC, was Laser), and had heard about his demise in the mine.
Hull Rust Mahoning Mine is now known as the Grand Canyon of the North, and the viewing area we visited left no doubt that it deserved its nickname. You cannot get the scale of this place from photos, or even from the viewing area above it.
Standing next to the massive dump trucks, their tires tower over you. Compare the up-close view of this one to the trucks you see in the mine.
While we were there we met a man who once worked in another mine, and he shared some stories with us about his time there, before ill health due to his work forced him into retirement. It only reinforced our opinion that the folks ‘round here are as hearty as they come.
We moved on, aiming for Eveleth. I know I still have family there, but I don’t recall who they are, nor where exactly they live. I do remember when the Hockey Hall of Fame opened and my grandfather and his brothers were in it. We stopped by, hoping the attendant would let us look at the case I’d seen during my first visit, which had their exhibit in it, but instead we got to chatting with a man whose grandfather played on the team with my grandfather, and we relived their glory days.
I was sorry not to see the exhibit again (Ruthie was in the car, and we couldn’t really leave her there for long), but we took a drive around town and came upon a permanent display in the downtown area, where the Big Stick is located.
I asked Simon to stop, and I’d pop over and take a quick look, just in case. I’m sure the look on my face was priceless when I saw my grandfather’s name and photo as part of the display.
Even more astonishing, he was in it not once, but twice. That’s him, directly in the center of this photo:
My heart filled to bursting that he had such recognition in a town that lives and breathes hockey. I could not have been happier for him!
Filled with pride, we spent the next two days along a not-so-scenic byway,
crossed from Duluth into Superior on the Duluth Aerial Lift Bridge,
checked out a gas station built by Frank Lloyd Wright,
saw Paul Bunyan and Babe the Big Blue Ox, who hang out near the center of downtown Bemidji,
and paid a visit to the stunning Jay Cooke State Park, with its swinging bridge over the St. Louis River, which is the largest tributary of our good friend Lake Superior,
then capped it all of at Lake Itasca, the location of the headwaters to the mighty Mississippi River.
What a gift it was when we left the park and came across a new mama doe and her baby, who couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. She was making some poor decisions as regards crossing the road, and several of us stopped our cars and encouraged her to head back into the woods. I like to think she wised up, and that her baby stands a fighting chance at a good, long life.
But even that heartwarming encounter pales ever so slightly in comparison to seeing my Papa again, on skates, playing the game he loved.
June 14 marks the one-month point in our year-long Grand Adventure, and here’s what we’ve learned so far:
Things are going to break or need repair. Not sometimes, but all the d@mned time, starting immediately.
There are good people who are ready to help when things break or need repair. Some of them will require money for their assistance, some won’t. You’ll value both.
You’ll be that person in an online RV group who can help someone else who’s freaking out over whatever it is that broke or needs repair on their rig, because you’ve been there and gotten through it. And you’ll feel great knowing you helped.
Every itch or slight brush against your skin is immediately assumed to be a tick once you’ve pulled a tick out of your eyelid.
That screwdriver you used a few times a year in your sticks-and-bricks (house) is now your constant companion.
The ultraviolet water purifier works when it wants to work. When it’s working, fill up every receptacle you own for those times when it doesn’t work, and don’t bother wondering what made it stop, or what made it start again. You will never, ever know the answer.
You’ll be checking the temperature inside your refrigerator several times each day. It’ll either be freezing everything solid or hovering just under the “safe zone.” You’ll have no idea why.
Those frozen baby carrots in your fridge are nice and crunchy once they’ve thawed out a little bit.
Have canned chili in your cupboard at all times. It goes on everything and doesn’t need refrigeration.
The comforting smell of bacon and pancakes wafting through your window from your neighbor’s rig may make you shed a tear, but you’re not there yet. With the learning curve you’re on, your brain simply doesn’t have the capacity to safely combine propane cooking, proper refrigeration, and highly flammable fat. You will be there soon, but you’re not there yet.
Deet can be sprayed on clothing, but only certain clothing, and not when you’re wearing it, and not on a Tuesday, and not if you’re going to wear the clothing in less than two hours, and you should use skin Deet sometimes, but not under clothing, and not…..blah blah blah blah blah……..
When you get Advantix II dog tick repellant on your fingers – because how the hell else are you supposed to separate their thick fur than with your fingers, and the directions don’t tell you to wear gloves – you probably should rinse it off for the recommended 20 minutes, but you don’t actually have to call poison control, as also recommended on the back of the box.
Pull the gray tank while you’re rinsing your fingers for 20 minutes. That’s a lot of water.
When you take your Advantix II tick-repelling dog out for the first time after you put that stuff on them, bugs do actually stay away. Score, you genius!
When you’re driving the RV, you and your co-pilot will see the road surface in a way you never did before. When it’s rough, you’ll cringe over every single bump, because your rig has become a beloved friend and doesn’t deserve that abuse. When the road is smooth, you’ll feel a sense of euphoria you never knew was possible.
When you spill an entire glass of wine over your laptop, it will die of alcohol poisoning. Don’t fool yourself. It’s never going to live again. Just go get a new one, because this one is dead. And it won’t be the old one you spilled all that wine over. It’ll be the newer one. This is simply the way of it, so accept it and move on. Life is still worth living.
That washer/dryer combo you paid a shit-ton of money for is worth every single penny when you’ve got fresh laundry making your rig smell like a flower-filled summer’s day.
There is no rhyme nor reason for why any given roadway is designated “Scenic Byway.” As far as we can tell, that just means there’s either nothing but trees on both sides of the road, or trees that block whatever gorgeous view is just on the other side of them. Signs will indicate you might see a moose or a deer, but you won’t.
Deer live in the city. Go find them there. And when you find a mama with her brand-new baby you’ll feel like you’ve been given a gift you’ll never forget.
This is a big, big country. A country you THINK is big, but it’s even BIGGER than you THINK it is. It’s absolutely beautiful, and worth all the annoying, perplexing, and frustrating stuff it takes to allow you to see it.
Our second month starts tomorrow, and the good news is, we’re one month smarter than we were when we started. How lucky we are to be doing this!
After our indecently hasty first-week charge through the center of the USA, our pace has (deliberately) slowed in weeks two and three. Instead of 1,289 miles in 7 days, we covered “just” 691 in 14 days; i.e. half the distance in twice the time. That’s still probably more than most dedicated RVers will travel in that time, but a better realization of what RV travel is all about.
We gave ourselves a day in Gaylord, three days in northern Michigan at Mackinaw City, seven in the Upper Peninsula in Munising for the superb Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, one day in Crystal Falls, and then another seven as we crossed over into Minnesota at Duluth and pitched camp in Saginaw, just to the north-west.
That’s where we are right now, prior to our next major move – west through Minnesota and into the “undiscovered country” of North Dakota, Fargo, Bismarck and all. This will be entirely new territory for both of us, and we can’t wait to discover new adventures…
PS: The map shows it would take 11hr 33min (by car, non-stop) to cover the route that took us 2 weeks!
Veness Travel Media 