At the onset of this trip, I didn't really have much of a plan as to how I would access the internet. I was hoping to luckily find access whenever I needed it. I planned to keep notes, record thoughts into my recorder, and coupled with the photos, review my days and write out my findings. So when I started driving through states like Iowa and saw signs for "Rest Area - Free Wi-fi" I was pleasantly surprised and excited to take a break from driving to enjoy a coffee and some time reflecting on what I'd seen and done thus far. A stationary place with air conditioning where I could regroup my thoughts and process the recent days past.
Upon pulling into my first (greatly anticipated) wi-fi equipped rest area, I found it to be the following: a muggy 10' x 20' room with one wooden bench. This would be fine (not ideal, but fine), however the restrooms bookend this one-bench room. And said restrooms have no doors. So where I write from now is a small and uncomfortable wooden bench in a sweltering, bug-infested septic tank with (shoddy) connection to the internet. I'll move onward so that I can move back into the fresh air of my car.
My next destination was Mt. Rushmore and I had to make it before sunset. Now before visiting South Dakota, I had never before been pulled over before. Therefore, when I was summoned to the side of the road in Keystone, South Dakota, I became quite uneasy. First step: panic. Second step: mentally review movie scenes in which protagonist gets pulled over and determine the best course of action. (This list includes films like Terminator 2, Wayne's World 2's reference to Terminator 2, Super Troopers, Dumb and Dumber, Fargo, etc.) And maybe it's a product of my neuroses, but suddenly I feel like a criminal. Am I trafficking drugs? Are there bodies in my trunk? Am I a fugitive from the law? Gladly I realize that none of these have yes answers. Still, I panic.
But what happened was nothing like television has taught me. (And I can't say I agree in the least with N.W.A.) Maybe I got lucky or maybe that's how they do it in South Dakota, but these were the nicest police officers I could have ever imagined. Here's the process:
1) Lights behind me start flashing. I say a bunch of bad words to myself out loud and pull over.
2) Remove bandana or other articles of decor that may make me look deserving of a ticket.
3) Cop (Officer Kinney in one case, Officer ____ in another) comes to window to tell me I was speeding/running red light/not using signals/etc while I desperately search for license and registration
4) Cop invites me to get out of my car and join him in his.
5) Cop proceeds to make small talk with me ("What do you for a living in Massachusetts? How long have you lived out there? What's been your favorite part of the trip so far?") while filling out his little report.
6) I act like a nervous wreck while doing my best to sound like an upstanding citizen
7) Drug dog in the backseat freaks out any time I try and answer a question
8) I ask if the drug dog is barking because of me. Officer casually responds that he just doesn't like people, all the while still filling out his form. I do math in my head as to how much I think the ticket will be for.
9) He lets me off with a warning. I consider asking him for a picture for my blog and then decide against it.
10) I drive 5 mph under the speed limit for the next hour or so until I can be sure he's not still following me.
As I waited outside the entrance to Mt. Rushmore, I met a pack of bikers who took a break from the Sturgis Bike Rally to come see these four faces etched into the mountainside. I join in on their conversation as two of the older fellas are complaining about the fact that their disable veterans card no longer gets them free access to this national monument.
As we all stood there running our mouths, a third party shows up from Alberta, Canada with an accent that would put Terrence and Philip to shame.
Talking very enthusiastically about his 1980's Suzuki motorcycle, his broken speedometer and the mental math he does to guess his speed based on RPMs, I interrupted him for a photo, explaining that I was traveling and documenting everything. That's when the oldest of the group (it would be a shame if his name wasn't Poppa Bear) spoke up and said, "You want a picture of something good. Come take a look at this."
And so I took a picutre, having no idea what I was supposed to be impressed by. And I admitted that. That's when I got this story:
"We build these bikes custom in our garage back home. We've built six and our seventh will be finished in the fall. But this one here was my daddy's favorite. And when he was around, he said 'When I die, I want to ride this bike forever.' So when he passed away last year, we cremated him and the doctors gave me this steel rod from his leg. So now he's always riding with me on his favorite bike. We didn't clean it or anything. They took it right out of him and there it is."
The pack of us waited an hour for a Mt. Rushmore lightshow that never happened before going our separate ways. I stopped through Sturgis just long enough to be pulled over again, only to repeat the same experience from three hours prior. (Pull over. "Sir that light you ran was most certainly red." "Yes it was. You are absolutely right.") Get out of my car and into Officer ______'s car. Polite and awkward small talk. Paperwork. Nervousness. Warning. Catch and release.
Tired and a little on edge, I searched for my next Wal-Mart a good night of rest.
Other photos from the day:
Upon first setting foot in South Dakota, billboards started pushing me to visit Wall Drug Store. So I did.
Like so many other components of this trip, Wall Drug store is an experience that has no substitute in story, picture, or video. And I can not help but wonder how it has survived as long as it has. It is a:
-Weird wonderland of old photos and knicknacks (postcards, patches, pocketknives, bumper stickers, bells, whistles (literally)
-Collection of cowboy statues and mannequins (I'm noticing a strange fascination with synthetic cowboys in this state)
-Manufacturer and distributer of jackalopes, a mythical creature that is more or less a jackrabbit with antelope antlers.
A long and busy day makes nights in the Highlander a little easier.
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