The night spent out on the Wyoming/South Dakota border was a wild one. We pulled over into a large "proto-rest area." It was like a luxury shoulder on the highway. Not large enough to be a full out rest stop, but big enough to be safely off of the highway. The roar of passing automobiles seemed like an oncoming hit each and everytime. Luckily for me, Taylor was in the driver's seat, so the threat of being clipped, however unlikely, weighed much heavier on that sucka-chump.
We woke up around 6am after a restless night of sort-of-sleep. Out we headed into the bowels of South Dakota. The first town we came across was the rough and rowdy biker hang out of Sturgis.
I was enthralled by the romantic ideas I'm sure all of us have about Sturgis. Simply stepping foot in that town would riddle one with a bout of syphallis. Biker wenches parade through the streets in droves, performing premiscuous acts and all sorts of disgusting activities. My mind was set to toss aside any preconceptions of morality and dive head-long into the pit of depravity that is Sturgis, South Dakota. A festering cesspit settled into the American Heartland. All the gloves were coming off. Sturgis was to turn Taylor and I into men.
Sturgis was gorgeously manicured. Something of a small town american city. We stopped at a local cafe for coffee. The gas station coffee had begun to rot our guts, and we needed something with a bit more of a tender touch. The couple in the cafe were a bit strange, huddling around our table to keep awkward conversation at a maximum, but they were nice folks. We were told to mark our home on their travel map of the world before we enjoyed a light breakfast. Taylor had fried potatoes, eggs, and pancakes. I enjoyed a breakfast sandwhich on ciabatta. It was delightful.
And, that's how we left Sturgis. Without being knifed by a dirty biker. Without having anonymous and/or ambiguous sex. Without drinking copious amounts of hard liquor. Without doing anything really, except for eating that light breakfast.
The remaining portion of the morning was spent driving through the Black Hills. The Black Hills themselves are gorgeous. If you've never been, then its well worth it. Nice driving in a very middle of nowhere state. That aside, I'll talk about the giant crappy statues they've carved out of these mountains.
We started at Crazy Horse. A few years back (if you want a history lesson don't read this blog) some South Dakotans decided that their state had nothing going for it. Everyone was tired to see the four men of Mount Rushmore, and most people didn't even know what those dead old farts had ever done. So in an attempt to be super liberal and progressive (as South Dakota is known to be) it blew up a mountain into some sort of likeness of the long-dead Indian, Crazy Horse. I guess they learned from the tragedy of Rushmore, that one should not have their mountain statue facing the road because it detracts from business. People might not pay to look at the poorly constructed mammoth sculpture, and opt to simply drive by slowly.
The horse-mounted parking lot attendants (wearing little stars to make themselves appear to be wild-west "sherriffs") directed the car into a spot of grass and told us to walk for three miles to see the big man in the mountain. We treked closer before becoming disenchanted with the entire idea. Looking up at the cliff side that peers over the sculpture, we could see people lined up looking down at Crazy Horse as if they were sets of dominoes. It was the tourist trap of all tourist traps, and they told me I would have to hike three miles to get into that clump of travelers. It all became way too overwhelming. We booked it out of there.
On the way out, one of the attendants mentioned our short visit. I made up an exaggerated excuse to not seem like such a lazy bastard. I told her we needed to make it across the state and had no idea how long the hike was. This is when mother nature sucka-chumped us. The attendant's horse threw its head back and laughed loudly at us. If you've never seen a horse laugh, then you might not understand. A horse can open its mouth in a most offensive sort of way. Its lower jaw line waggles to and fro, and the noise that comes from its face is horrible. A neigh proceeds to burst out of the creature. Like some piercing chortle, the horse laugh works in the most condescending fashion of any creatures' actions. This horse straight up laughed at us... Straight up. We were betrayed by a horse and its instincts, and all we could do was drive away in shame. I would never blame any man that might find himself in a fight with a horse. We must all hold on to our honor.
The next logical step was to drive past Mount Rushmore and hope it faced the highway. It does. Taylor and I became those non-paying tourists. We ended up going through the gates, but since they cost $10 we asked if we could just exit. They let us drive through (with the one exception of not stopping at any time). Taylor drove slowly as I snapped pictures of the old men in the mountain. The last laugh was ours. Teddy, Lincoln, Washington, and TJ got sucka-chumped.
We peeled on out and headed to Badlands National Park.
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