Bits and pieces

In an effort to a) update more frequently and b) include some of the random anecdotes I’ve been meaning to post and since we now in a motel with 1) internet and 2) electricity here’s a random post of some thoughts and sketches from the road.

When I visited the Badlands with my family as a 14-ish year old I remember being especially struck by their stark beauty. In my memory they were incredibly colorful and engaging and felt paradoxically both familiar and exotic. We arrived a few days ago at sunset after a long drive from Minnesota and watched the sky turn pink behind the crazy spires and mesas of the Wall. The stars that night were beautiful, and we had some wine and lay on a blanket, trying to identify constellations. I found my forest-loving self a bit adrift the next day as we walked a trail through hot, scorched country, but as Becky reminded me it would be poor form for a soon-to-be resident of Seattle to complain about the excess sunshine! Driving through and out of the park we stopped at some hills that were bright yellow and oranges – remnants of jungles! – and saw buffalo in the grasslands and it rounded out a beautiful visit.

We spent an amazing night in the Black Hills in a campground that was a great find: on a lake in an evergreen grove, a really beautiful setting. We burned the guitar that Becky replaced and it was a spectacular send-off for a well-loved instrument. Pictures and maybe a narrative from Becky once we get the photos from the camera.

Rushmore is strange. A wonderful example of public art and a commemoration of great leaders, sure, but a bizarre crowd-control scene of blue-rinse hairstyles and cameras. Worth going to, glad I saw it. Check that one off the list.

On the way from Rushmore we stopped in a tiny little town hoping to find a place to cook lunch. We parked in a patch of grass behind the bar, which was also the restaurant, beside the post office and school, and next to the train tracks. That was the town. All of it. We saw a loooong coal train pass, listened to a dog bark at us, ate our lunch, and then wondered if we could stop inside the bar for a quick rest stop. As soon as we saw the crowd we realized it might be more trouble than it was worth; I have never seen so many cowboy hats (the stiff kind that are half works of art) and jeans and, well, Western Attitude than I did outside that bar. Not put-on Western Attitude, but genuine folks being residents of a rural Wyoming town. We decided to find another place to stop; not that we wouldn’t have loved the experience, but I’m not sure they would have known what to do with us.

We’re currently sitting a wood-paneled room in a motel that looks like a set for a 70s TV movie. Pink walls outside and a blue roof, blinking arrow sign, the whole nine yards. In our defense, we were looking for a place that had heating (not and was under $100 near Yellowstone, and this had good ratings online. It’s not a bad deal; we had reasonable pizza in a nearby store for dinner, we’ve got a kitchenette in which we cooked for the next few days and we’ll have a lovely drive up into the mountains tomorrow.