Across South Dakota in a Day-Wow!

Yesterday, we visited the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota. It was first built in 1892, and is now used as a convention center. You can read more about the Corn Palace on the Essay, "Welcome to the World's Only Corn Palace: It's Amaizing!" Leaving there, we head west on I90, and the terrain becomes more stretched out. The farms are further apart. the hills more rolling, and the cattle tinier as we view them against hills that dwarf cars, billboards, and towns. Our first destination is Wall, South Dakota, which emerged from obscurity when it was on the Today Show in 1998. Wall Drugs, which is now a block square and has sundries, a cafe, a souvenier shop, and a Black Gold jewelry shop, dominates the town. There is bus parking. It is teeming with tourists. It is icky. There is no other word. We stop briefly to buy post cards, and while Ethan stays in the car with Jim and whines because he can't meet the twin Weimeriners who lounge in front of Wall Drugs with their owners. A postcard stop is plenty. There are gem shops, jewelry shops, facsimiles of old west saloons, western wear shops, and, unhappily, way too many Winnebagos, but then one is too many.

The morning is cool and breezy, but the Badlands, where we are headed, is destined for 101 degree heat today. Passing Chamberlain, the approach to the Missouri River is spectacular. Beyond the roiling river and arched iron bridges is a suggestion of the Badlands to come: stark hills, no visible vegetation in sight. The land flattens again, then begins to heave into slowly rising hills.

The Badlands is lunar in appearance. We drive a loop full of hairpin turns and braking tourists, flatlanders like ourselves. I understand why Lewis and Clark, in their 1805 journal, wrote that the land was fit for nothing. Except, of course, spectacular vistas.

Further west, we approach the Black Hills. We visit Rushmore, ateem with tourists and not dog friendly: Ethan may not leave the parking lot, and to my eye, he's a lot better behaved than some of the tourists, but lacking a credit card and thumbs, he's hardly able to contribute to the economy by buying souveniers. We take our pictures and leave, unwilling to contribute to an economy that does not welcome dogs.

The Black Hills are beautiful, and we drive a loop in Custer National Park that is alive with bison herds, small mountain goats, donkeys, and wild turkeys. There are some fools that stop on the road willy-nilly, despite the warnings not to do so -- Bison are apparently not sociable, and I respect that: They're big and scruffy looking and may be angry that their ancestors have been so exploited.

Then, leaving Custer National Park, the most amazing thing happens. I see a sign for "Outlaw Ranch." Now, this is an experience that has been erased from my memory til this moment. Outlaw Ranch was a Lutheran Ranch that my sister Debbie and I attended for at least a couple of summers in middle school. We drive to the ranch, introduce ourselves to the office manager, and get our picture taken. Only two of the A-frames that Debbie and I stayed in are still intact; the mess hall has burned down and been replaced; I remember the barn and the chapel. No matter that it has changed: to dredge it from memory upon sight is truly miraculous.

Tonight we are esconced in the Bavarian Inn outside Custer, South Dakota. They offer small guest rooms and a Bavarian restaurant featuring things like Weinerschnitzel, Sauerbraten, and Jagerschnitzel. The difference between Weinerschnitzel and Jagerschnitzel, according to the in-room menu, seems to be the mushroom gravy the Jagerschnitzel is covered with. After my experience last night in Mitchell with mashed potatoes covered with a glossy, canned brown gravy that resembles nothing so much as a do-it-yourself temporary hair color, say "Chestnut Brown," and tastes like brown-dyed brine, I'm suspicious, but determined to be a good sport. We have acknowledged, Jim and I, how spoiled we are food-wise, given as how Jim is an accomplished chef and we have access to great ingredients.