20090708 Shooting the Bull and Enjoying South Dakota Hospitality

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.