SD Wednesday July 13 Morning

Waking up to another morning of rain with low visibility, we decided to remain in Rapid City until the Journey Museum opened at 9:00. We were the first ones inside, but a tour bus soon followed us. Great orientation video in the auditorium gave us perspective for the museum and its exhibits. Buzzing through the timelines, we paused for whatever interested us most and observed many kid stations for hands-on interaction. Very popular museum for all ages! Trinkets and treasures in the gift shop grabbed our attention but not our money.

Rain stopped but thickly overcast skies lingered. We drove toward Custer State Park hoping to find wildlife willing to be wet. On Iron Mountain Scenic Drive, we took most pullouts, especially those with Mount Rushmore in the distance. After one tunnel, I looked back and took a stunning photo of Rushmore visible through the tunnel; later I saw a postcard having that identical view, so my shot was not all that original.

At the park entrance and other spots, signs warned that buffaloes are extremely dangerous, so we kept that in mind. Wildlife Loop Road through the park lived up to its name. Bison were near and far and crossed our road at several spots. Our total sightings numbered over 300, some very close to our car, even within touch range, but we didn't. My camera stayed busy. A few not-so-wild donkeys approached our car expecting, actually demanding, snacks. I rolled down my window to take photos, and while looking through the camera, failed to realize how close one had come. I hurriedly started rolling it shut, almost catching the donkey's lip. Close call for both of us! The rest of the trip I had a streak of his saliva on the window to remind me. We stopped at a prairie dog village and watched those pesky rodents entertain travelers who left their cars to throw peanuts, sunflower seeds, etc.

In one of my brochures, I noticed a feature named Badger Hole, home of Charles Badger Clark, South Dakota's First Poet Laureate. Screech! Turn right on the next gravel road. There stood the cabin he built for himself near a lake, no running water, no electricity, ever. Stepping inside, I felt like one of his many visitors and almost smelled the flapjacks he passed to deer through his kitchen window. Books in place, typewriter on table, boots lined up along a bedroom wall, photos everywhere, the man's spirit and craft permeated the entire structure. Maybe he was just away enjoying a walk around the lake. As we drove on, I kept thinking of Virginia Woolf's contention that every woman needs "a room of one's own."

Our journey continued up the Needles Highway, through more tunnels (not my imagination that they kept getting narrower), past Cathedral Spires, Needle's Eye, and Little Devil's Tower. We pulled out at most opportunities, sometimes hiked, sometimes took photos. At Sylvan Lake we saw huge rock counterparts to Neal's jumping rock at the main swimming hole. Swimmers of all ages respected the sign forbidding jumping and diving and braved what we determined to be very cold water. A walking path circled the lake, popular with us and other tourists. We stopped at the store for a couple of souvenir items and spied a drink cooler with beer, especially Corona. Without much hesitation, we bought a six-pack to have on hand in case of a thirst emergency, one now guaranteed to happen.