Journey: Murdo, SD - Bozeman, Montana
Notable Cities: Rapid City, Aladdin
Total Miles Driven: 22864.3
Kate Gosslin Hair Count: 15
Like the day before, today had no set destination or time. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to stop for the night, but it all depended on whether I went to Yellowstone or not. If I did, I was looking at at least an eleven hour day, and that’s without actually stopping in the park, and just driving through. I did have my first stop in mind, and that was Mount Rushmore. Of course I got distracted along the way, firstly by an old 1880s Town, which I decided not to go in to. However, I was amused by the 1950s train diner attached to the entranceway. From one decade to the next.
The second distraction was a sign marked “Scenic Outlook Ahead.” Scenic, being the optimum word here. Apparently by scenic, whoever posted the sign meant a view of absolute desolation for as far as the eye can see. Another let down. This part of the country was really not living up to my expectations. I was excited by the prospects of the World’s Largest Frying Pan, pick up trucks made up of entirely wood, and diners in the shape of giant animals. Instead I got horizons, and nothing else.
Just when I was ready to give up on the entirety of the middle of America, I saw a sign for The Badlands. I had heard of The Badlands, but honestly, when I heard it I thought Wild West, tumbleweed, gun-totin’ outlaws, and Injins. Boy was I far off. Tumbleweed? No. Painted rocks in jagged formations reaching to the sky? Why, yes. That’s exactly what that was. Paying $15 to go into The Badlands seemed like a waste at first, but when I took that first turn and was presented with geological splendour I felt as though $15 was never better spent. At one of the scenic stops along the way, I met three French boys travelling across America on holiday. I think we were drawn to one another because of our lack of fanny packs, Southern drawls, and Hawaiian shirts. Small talk was made, and ways were parted as I continued on my mission to find Mount Rushmore.
A few miles out from Rapid City I received a phone call from one of my closest friends from high school. She now lives in Utah with her husband, but was coming up to Idaho for a long weekend. Her sister’s fiancée owns a resort just outside Yellowstone and she invited me to stay along my way. Seemed perfect, and we planned to meet the next night. My new plans meant I wouldn’t have to rush Yellowstone and could explore it fully the next day. Content with my plans I arranged to stay in Bozeman, Montana that night giving me ample time to see Mount Rushmore and anything else I may encounter.
The little town leading up to Mount Rushmore was nauseatingly cheesy. Decorated like an old Western town, but clearly modern, tourists popped in and out of shops carrying the same cheap souvenirs. I would normally find something like this endearing, but my bitterness and cynicism was at a high that day, and all I wanted to do was berate everyone on their worthless purchases. Of course it’s not my concern who buys a Four Presidents snow globe, but for some reason the sights merely filled me with irritation. I was grateful to find that though slow to drive through, the town was short and I was put into a steep incline, cutting the curves of a sharp mountain, until there it was: Theodore Roosevelt’s pensive furrowed brow, majestically carved into the side of a mountain. Yes, yes, he is surrounded by the Other Three. Unable to pay the $10 parking as they don’t take card, and I only had Canadian money left over from that monstrosity, I found a pull off with a suitable view. Dare I say some patriotism filled my heart? It’s been years, so I’m not completely certain if it was that or light-headedness from the altitude. I followed the road until I reached the infamous profile view of the Original G Dubs. I attempted to rally up some of the other tourists to re-enact the climax scene from Ritchie Rich (see 1:05), but no one was having it. Defeated, I left Mount Rushmore and headed north towards Bozeman.
For whatever reason, I was under the impression that there was no speed limits in Montana, and at my first speed limit sign, I became very disappointed. Not only is there a speed limit, but it is strictly enforced, as I found out via the kindly young Montana State Trooper who pulled me over for going 90 in a 75. I guess I live in a world where it’s expected you go 10-15mph over the speed limit on the highway. Que sera. The officer was actually incredibly courteous and kind, telling me that deer out number humans, and they’re not “little ones like you have back East,” but can grow to 300 pounds. Crimety. I did not go more than 5mph over the limit for the rest of my journey.
Tuckered out from near twelve hours of driving, I fell asleep almost seconds after laying down, and for the first time in months I remembered what I dreamt. I was home in London, and I was completely content.
