20090708 Shooting the Bull and Enjoying South Dakota Hospitality
Monday morning after the 4th of July at a rest stop just south of Sioux City, Iowa, we discovered the spare tire mounting bracket on our trailer had broken. The likely cause was the additional weight and torque created by a bike rack with two bikes that hangs from the spare.
Thanks to cell phones and cell modems we were able to get phone numbers for welding shops just a few miles away in Sioux City.
It seems all of those folks were on a long weekend, so we googled "welding Sioux Falls South Dakota" to check for shops 90 miles north in that city. Ed at Quality Welding was working and available for the repair. After stowing the bikes and the spare inside the van and trailer we were on our way.
Ed took us in as soon as we arrived and within 1/2 hour our bracket had not only been repaired but reinforced.
After a bit of cooling time the spare and bikes went back on and we were on our way.
Three cheers for Ed and Quality Welding!
Right across the street from Quality Welding we found Falls Park, the very reason for the name of the town.
What a nice spot for lunch,
and we never would have left the interstate to see it had we not had a mechanical problem.
Though we have been westbound from Maryland almost a week, and we had a
grand time visiting Bob in Louisville,
and enjoyed some nice scenery, up to yesterday we had traveled
the interstates.
At that time the serendipitous vacation we envisioned
began where I-90 crosses the Missouri River in South Dakota.
On an eastside bluff overlooking the Missouri River stands the Lewis &
Clark visitor center,
with displays dedicated to the very location
where the expedition members dried their clothing after a wet spell.
We arrived there on a fine dry early evening, day before yesterday.
It
was hot enough outside that the cattle along the highway stood in the
shade of the billboards.
We were a bit upset that the visitor center
kept such short hours, having closed at 4:30. Still, the visitor
center parking lot offered one shady spot, at the curb. This would be a fine location
for preparing supper, and it was unoccupied. Had someone already taken the shade we would have continued west on I-90 for another hour or so.
After dinner we got to thinking about a place to stay the night. On
light poles around the parking lot and on the visitor center door were
signs warning the public that camping was strictly prohibited and that
stays were limited to three hours. You've seen these kinds of signs,
though not usually worded so strongly,at rest areas around the country.
We usually ignore them, figuring they are only enforced when people
appear to be living there. Because of their directness, and the
presence of a South Dakota Highway Patrol station next door to the
visitor center, we decided to heed these signs and backtrack a mile
east to a gas station for the night.
Next morning while perusing the road atlas, Ann and I made an executive
decison. We had enough time before our British Columbia appointment to
take an adventure day.
We returned to the Lewis & Clark VC for some
information. Hazel, a local, gave us the heads up and a tree limb's
worth of literature.
We would make our way north from the interstate,
staying as close to the Missouri River as roads would allow, to Pierre
[locally pronounced Peer]. From there we would head generally southwest back
to I-90 along Bad River Road. According to our atlas, Bad River Road
is paved. Hazel assures us it is gravel, but a good road.
First stop traveling north was the dam at the Big Bend of the Missouri
River. We crossed over it from the northeast side to the southwest
side of the river.
Once across, the highway rises a few hundred feet to the rolling
prairie.
A deserted scenic overlook there yielded a fine view of the
river valley, Sharpe Lake created by the dam, and the lakeside Sioux
Tribe town of Lower Brule. As we lunched in comfy chairs--you know the
ones, the foldable fabric ones with cupholders for 12 ounce cans--Ann
spotted a lone white pelican soaring above.
After a few minutes a pickup pulling a boat pulled in behind us to make
a cell call. We didn't see it but heard one half of a conversation.
Then the caller, who identified himself as Wendell, approached us and
asked us, "Are you from around here?" Let's see, we have a van with
Maryland plates, a California plate on the trailer, and we are sitting
in South Dakota. The answer to that rhetorical query would be...?
Wendell, in his 70s and too tanned for good health, wanted to share a
bit about the place with us. He was an interpreter! Not a paid
interpreter but an interpreter by nature.
According to Wendell the white pelicans nest on a nearby shore of
Sharpe Lake. He said a herd of 50 buffalo [I know, I know, they are
American bison, but everyone around here calls them buffalo] is nearby
but not in view today. The local casino in Lower Brule provides the
Indians [I know, I know, Native Americans, but the facilities here all
use the word Indian] a good income. The Sioux here have the authority
to control the water depth in Sharpe Lake, while the depth of the other
dam-created lakes along the Missouri is controlled by the government.
Wendell says that authority stems from an oversight on the part of the
Bureau of Reclamation many years before.
An ancestral burial ground lay beside the river. The Bureau assured
the Sioux that the remains would be relocated to higher ground before
the dam inundated the area. Well, the Bureau never got around to that
and Wendell tells us that fishermen were bringing up bones from the
shallows when water levels were low. To protect their ancestors, the
Sioux keep the water level in the lake high, regardless of water
demands upstream or downstream. Unverfied but fascinating stuff.
The balance of the drive to Pierre was scenic but unremarkable. Bad
River Road was another story. Several stories, in fact.
Hazel was right. Bad River Road is gravel, generally smooth, and
follows the land contours rather than cutting through them.
Bad River
does the hill cutting and its valley supports cottonwoods, willows,
and
a single set of railroad tracks.
What wonderful vistas! Rolling hills stretched to the horizon,
covered with the greens of grasses, both native and planted, yellows of
clover flowers, and whites of morning glorys. After four or five miles
the ranch houses are few and far between and the meadowlarks far
outnumber the people. As we drove redwing blackbirds flew here and
there, a prairie chicken flushed from the tall grass at the road
shoulder,
and a flock of ten wild turkies hurried along in front of us.
At one point we eased by a herd of thirty or so yearling cattle right
beside and in the road.
At another a couple of pronghorn antelope
grazed a hundred yards from the road.
It had been a wet spring, so everything was still pretty green. We are told that at other times it can be quite dry.
We had planned to drive straight through on Bad River Road and visit
Badlands National Park that afternoon. We never made it to the
Badlands. Ann and I both knew these good lands would be our resting
point for the night.
Near a locale known as Went, which seemed to be gone as we noticed only
a few abandoned buildings, three hopper-type railroad cars lay on their
sides beside the tracks. A gentleman in a pickup truck, there to clean
up some of the mess, was kind enough to tell us the derailment occurred
on July 4 and included 4 other cars that have since been uprighted and
removed. No one was hurt.
This gentleman, whose name we failed to get, also told us that much of
the land in this area, about 175,000 acres we found out later, is owned
by media giant Ted Turner. He raises buffalo [I know!!] and hunts on
the land we're told.
After four or five dozen miles and a few turns, the increasing number
of dwellings told us we were nearing I-90. Too bad!
So, we stopped on
the less-than-level road shoulder,
enjoyed the sunset, had dinner, and
stayed the night. Nary a vehicle passed all night.
Next morning a couple of vehicles passed. We could not see them as our
leaky windows are covered with tarp and tape. The second one passed,
stopped, backed up, and sat beside us. We greeted a couple of
sunburned, greasy, smiling fellows sitting in a mud-spattered, no,
mud-cloaked 4x4 pickup who just wanted to make sure we were OK.
"We just love your countryside and decided to stay the night!" we
replied.
"I love it too," one said, "I guess that is why I'm still here. My
kids are all grown and gone away."
A third vehicle, a red Ford Ranger with two fiercely barking dogs in
the bed, passed by without stopping.
A few minutes later a tractor
towing a hay-baling machine rolled up and stopped.
"I came by this morning with my wife and we wondered about you. She
was taking me to pick up the tractor. She passed by you again on her
way back to the house but did not stop because one of our dogs can be a
bit nasty," said Chuck, a 60s-70s rancher who has lived in these parts
most of his life.
So it turns out that Chuck and his wife were the first vehicle by us, and that Chuck's wife was the third. In the end, all of the parties who passed us
as we sat on the shoulder eventually stopped to check on our welfare.
We chatted with Chuck about the hay baler and the giant rolls of hay we
had seen since Missouri. Then from out of the blue, "Would you like to
come over to the house? It's about three miles away."
Chuck was willing to invite to his home people he just met on the side
of the road, people who looked different and may have held very different views from his
own. [I have long hair. I was wearing a tie-died
t-shirt and flip-flops. Ann and I admitted to him, he being a cattle
rancher, that we do not eat meat!]
Ann and I spent a wonderful hour and a half with Chuck, his delightful wife Eleanor, and their friend
Jared. We shared mutual curiosity about the lifestyles of our new
acquaintances. Chuck and Eleanor shared about family and ranching, and
we shared a bit about family and rangering.
So many times people go on vacation to different parts of the country
and the world and insulate themselves from the true life of the area.
They stay in areas specifically designed for travelers, often seeing
but facades, physical and human. Ann and I felt privileged to shoot
the bull and enjoy some South Dakota hospitality with some real people,
and real wonderful people.
We would have missed all of it, the lovely countryside, the birds, the
friendly open people, had the one shady spot at the Lewis & Clark
Visitor Center already been taken. Such is serendipity.
This 12th day of September finds Ann and I near the Hells Canyon Dam along the Snake River on the Oregon/Idaho border. 
Well, not really the Snake River. The dam has created a 20+ mile snake of a reservoir. 
Downstream of the dam the river returns. Anyway, cliffs rise on either side more than 4000’. 
From our campsite I can literally take a single giant step and be in the water. We are parked on a pad built as part of the dam construction over 40 years ago. Surely 100 vehicles could park here, though they would be crowded. From the looks of things, MANY vehicles are parked here at a busier time. 
