Day 5

After leaving Michelle and her kids last night, we drove west for another two and a half hours and marveled at the fact that we could still detect light in the Nebraska night sky at 10:00pm. The traffic was minimal, the kids were tolerant, so we drove on. Eventually we came to a KOA in Grand Island, Nebraska, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why they named it Grand Island; it is neither grand, nor is it an island. The campground would do, so we pulled in, and started to unwind for the night. Nebraska has already made the transformation to digital tv, so there were no stations available by way of our antennae, so I popped a movie in the DVD player and the boys relaxed. The campground is so quiet, and all we can hear is the low, dull roar of nearby Interstate 80. After looking at a map, I begin to comprehend the magnitude of the drive we will have the next day to Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota. It is very far from where we currently camped for the evening and riding in the truck is not as much fun as it was on Saturday. We are very tired, so we all call it a night and my book is calling me.


Today is Day 5 of our trip and I rise early to do laundry because it has super accumulated. I grab my dirty clothes, towels, and sheets, my laptop, and off I go to the laundry. I love talking to people whom I do not know, so I am looking forward to running into some fellow nomads and finding out where they have been and how they are connected to Pennsylvania. So far on this trip, I have received two free cappuccinos because I am from Pennsylvania. The first was in Iowa when I was teasing the clerk at a gas station because she possessed such a “southern” accent in Iowa. She explained that she was from Missouri (which she pronounced Mi-sur-a) and wondered how I detected her southern twang. I laughed because it was so obviously apparent, and so did her fellow workers. She asked where I was from and I told her and she asked if I was ever in Williamsport. I told her certainly and she bought me my hot cappuccino. Yesterday in Nebraska, I had trouble with a cappuccino machine and the store clerk came to help me. He asked where I was from because I had a peculiar accent. I, again, explained where in Pennsylvania. He asked if I ever get to Altoona, and when I said no, he told me that his wife was from Altoona but she had passed away last summer. “I love Pennsylvania,” he sang, and told me to take my coffee for free. Ben cannot believe it, but my friend, Sheila, would. She teased me about this sort of thing all the time. I have digressed. When I enter the Laundromat, there is an elderly man there trying to figure things out. I tell him where we are from and where we are going and he immediately tells me how to get to Rapid City, SD as quickly as we can. His wife is gone and he sold off all his property, bought a class A RV and drives around visiting his children and his 95 year old father who still drives (I secretly hope we don’t run into him on the road). He tells me he is on his way to Arizona, but explains that he sold equipment to farmers and has driven all over the country. “Now,” he said, “If I don’t like the look of a place, I gather up my things and move on.” After he gives directions to Ben about the best way to Rushmore, he stumbles and almost falls. “Keep your feet under you, old man,” he says to himself. I tell him to take care, and he, in words that were more like a warning than advice says, “Enjoy those boys. They will grow and leave. Love them.” I tell him I sure will and he leaves with his towels and his coffee.



After gathering my things and returning to our RV, we follow our routine of breaking down and cleaning up, and we head down the road toward gas, a Walmart, and South Dakota. Today will be a very long day.
The Nebraskan terrain is nothing if it is not monotonous. I believe the overcast sky adds to this effect. Mile after mile is nothing but farmland and watering apparatuses. I ask Ben how the farmers move those giant, airplane-like structures, and he tells me he has been wondering about that himself. Route 2 in Nebraska, which will take us north through Broken Bow, another Star Trek connection to a terrestrial town, where we will eventually come to 83 which will take us to Valentine, and eventually South Dakota, runs parallel with train tracks, and the Northern Burlington Santa Fe railroad company is working on replacing railroad ties. We ride along a train that goes on for miles, and Ethan snaps a pic with his disposable camera. My friend Linda Kelly surprised my boys with gift bags for the trip filled with their favorite snacks, games for the car, and disposable cameras. What a wonderful surprise for them. They loved rifling through the bags to see all that she had given them. I thought Indiana was flat! It has nothing on the fields and plains of Nebraska. On this route 2 we are traveling, it is as if we are alone in the world. From time to time, we see another car, but we go for miles without seeing one. Many of the side roads are not paved, and farmers and equipment dominate my surroundings.
Even though I thought that I would notice stark differences between home and many of the states we have travelled through up to this point, it is Nebraska that offers the most different landscape to date. If you have never been to a place, you often have an image of it based on stereotypes that are portrayed in movies and novels, so you may think of fog and rain when you imagine England or snow and mountains when you think of Canada. I think of corn when I think of Nebraska, but no such stereotypes are in my vision this afternoon. On Route 2 between Broken Bow and Valentine, Nebraska is comprised of lumpy, dunes of green and yellow grass as far as the eye can see. For a moment, imagine the duney mounds of a golf course, but remove the lush green grass from your mind’s eye. From time to time the Country Club known as Nebraska produces sand traps for us to see and water holes with walls surrounding them that are the color and texture of the inside of a Three Musketeers candy bar (can you tell it has been 2 years since I have eaten chocolate?) These dune-like hills are spotted with different types of cattle that appear to have miles to roam. We have spotted black ones, chocolate brown ones, and white ones. Occasionally, we see some horses, but they are few and far between. As I write this, we are approximately 80 miles from South Dakota, and no matter what, I am going to beg Ben for a stop so we can stretch and get something to eat. The boys have been so good today, but Bennie told me he is not a fan of Nebraska. I can only imagine how long this trip seems to them. When I was young like them, everything took so long and lasted so long. Summer stretched out for at least 6 months, Christmas only seemed to come around every leap year, and waiting for your dad to get home to punish you because your mom called him at work to tell him about your latest transgression was equivalent to waterboarding. When I turn around to look at them, they are either reading, watching movies, or sleeping. The ride is long and tedious, but I keep promising them the reward of Mount Rushmore.
I guess I finally dozed off because when I am stirred from my sleep, Ben is pumping gas in Valentine, Nebraska. The woman inside tells us we are 9 miles from South Dakota. Praise God! I can barely stand the temperature of a windy 53 degrees in Northern Nebraska, and I realize my Bermuda Shorts were a mistake (they are a mistake for other reasons as wellJ) I grab a cup of coffee, the boys spy mood rings and I give in. I don’t need a ring to detect Ethan’s mood! As we venture along 83, I see an Indian reservation Casino called Rosebud and I miss the photo op of the South Dakota welcome sign. I have been taking pics of each sign as we enter, so I ask Ben to turn the RV around. He gives me that look (wives, you know the look) and he quietly does so! The highway is deserted so I ask the boys if they want to cross it and take a pic in front of the South Dakota Welcome sign. They run with me (well, they run…I don’t remember how to run) and I snap some pics. Bennie then starts running back and forth between Nebraska and South Dakota, yelling, “I am in Nebraska and now I am in South Dakota.” Ethan stands in Nebraska and yells to Bennie, who is standing in South Dakota, “My state is better than yours.” I hope they will remember this forever.
South Dakota is immediately different. It is hillier and greener than Nebraska and we are able to catch the momentum of driving down hills which should help with our gas mileage, which, by the way, is a staggering 9.7 mpg! I feel like all we do is stop for gas. Ben told me I could pick the campground for this evening, so I thought we should stick it out and go right to Hill City, SD which is just a few miles from Rushmore. This way, we will wake up and be where we need to be to make the most of the two days we plan to spend in South Dakota taking in Mt.Rushmore, Crazy Horse Monument, and Deadwood. I pick the Hill City KOA with cable, wifi, two heated pools, hot tubs, mini golf, water slides. I am hoping to get some relaxation in over the next two days. We plan on arriving to our campground around 8:12 pm which is Mountain Time. We will be crossing into Mountain time in an hour or so. You should see the view from the top of hills in South Dakota. As far as my eye can see, where the plains meet the foothills of the Rockies, we see the random pattern of heaved up geological formations. A sign denotes that we will be crossing the White River, and we are happily surprised that it is WHITE like a light French Vanilla cappuccino, froth and all. Some of the radio stations in South Dakota broadcast diet and nutrition tips for pregnant women all day long! The other station we can tune in is Native American music.
South Dakota is beautiful and different from Nebraska, and after hours of driving, we think we see the Badlands ahead. Ben and I start discussing the Badlands with Bennie and Ethan, and, frankly, from a distance, I am really not impressed. What’s so BAD about the Badlands I keep ruminating. We stop, take a restroom break in our own RV, grab some sustenance, cheese sticks and Sun Chips, and we drive again. Slowly, I realize as the Badlands draw closer, that we are in for an awesome eyeful. We approach Badlands National Park, which we did not intend to visit on our trip, and we decide that we JUST HAVE TO GO. When will we ever get to South Dakota again? This will make our arrival to Mount Rushmore very late, which will involve a late, dark set up, but WE HAVE TO GO! We pay the 15.00 to enter, and, friends, we are utterly and overwhelmingly amazed by the sandcastle like structure the loom in front of us. Imagine, if you will, brown sandcastles painted with orange stripes. Our first stop is a scenic overlook that allows us an overhead view of a valley of castles that are eroding before our eyes. In fact, we are walking on the very sand that has eroded from the grainy pyramids. The soles of our shoes are completely covered in the cement-like muck, and we venture out to the boardwalk lookout to overlook the Badlands North Unit. After we take some pics and marvel at the view, the boys put the South Dakota decal on our RV, and we decide to take the 40 mile ride through the Badlands. Our first view of the Badlands turned out to be NOTHING. What awaited us around the corner were Badland Giants that were so close to us we could climb on them. Bennie is awestruck and is snapping pictures left and right. He wants to take a piece of them home with him, and Ben explains that they are not really rocks, but sand which is the remainder of the Inland Ocean floor. We continue driving and commenting on the distinctly unreal, dreadful Earthly architecture that surrounds us. The road curves in and out of the structures and up and down with them. In between, we see groups of cattle, grazing on the little bit of grass in the national park and notice that as we venture away from the Badlands, the grass slowly returns and covers the Earth. Ben promises that if I loved the Badlands, which I did, I am going to be astonished by the Grand Canyon.
We still have two hours of driving ahead of us and we are the only vehicle on old route 44 which cuts out of the Badlands and heads toward the Black Hills of South Dakota. We drive, drive, drive and know that our destination, Mount Rushmore and our campground in Hill City, at the bottom of Mount Rushmore awaits us. How we wish we were there already.
After a few more hours of driving, we begin to slowly and painstakingly ascend Mount Rushmore in the dark fog and rain. Our ears pop and release and stab us as we climb and climb and climb. The boys are looking for the 4 presidents, but we never see them tonight because the road is behind the mountain. We climb to the top, see the visitor center we will visit tomorrow and finally find out campground at the bottom of the long and winding mountainous road.