Give me a home where the buffalo roam and the sky is not cloudy all day……..

July 28 – 29, 2006

An hour and a half drive took us from Interior by the Badlands to Hermosa near the Black Hills, where we were to perch for a couple of nights at another Passport America campground, the Heartland RV Park. We drove past the grassland fire that we thought was under control yesterday and were shocked to see the hillsides scorched where the blaze had run rampant blackening miles of previously golden grasses. The fire had laid a veil of hazy smoke over the entire area lending it a depressing quality. The smoke seemed to magnify the suns rays and increase the heat and the wind that blew was not a cooling breeze but a furnace hot blast.

What an amazingly diverse area this is - from the parched Badlands to the lush Black Hills, from flat prairie to high rocky spires. There are National Parks, State Parks, and a myriad of privately run tourist attractions. Leaving Hermosa, with the idea of visiting Mount Rushmore, we took the scenic route across ‘Iron Mountain Highway’ at the edge of Custer State Park. It curled precariously, the land changing as we progressed through beautiful forests and lush meadows, rocky pinnacles and sandy prairie. We met so much wildlife – mule deer, white tailed deer, pronghorn antelope, wild turkeys and all so unconcerned about us interloping in their territory. A herd of wild burros that they call the ‘begging burros’ spread all across the road and would not move as I inched the car by, shooing them out the window. Fernie eventually got out and gave a few of them a shove. They looked at him blankly and continued at the same pace.

There are three beautifully designed and carved wooden spiral bridges called the ‘Pigtail Bridges’ nearing the end of Iron Mountain Highway and several single-lane granite tunnels that frame the Mount Rushmore presidential rock carvings in the distance. The first unexpected sight of the Mt Rushmore faces through the tunnels made us gasp in awe. As we crawled out onto the main road, we were shocked to see the hundreds of vehicles converging on the Mount Rushmore memorial site after it had been so quiet on our curvy little road. They charged $8 per vehicle parking fee but there was no charge to walk the site, view the monument, visit the museum or browse the visitors’ center and they didn’t accept the National Parks annual pass. The heads are massive – sixty feet high – but they appeared quite modest in size from our viewpoint below. As we left the site and drove behind the mountain, we caught sight of the George Washington head in profile - magnificent! Not too far down the road, there’s another massive rock carving in progress – the Crazy Horse Memorial. They charged $10 a person to go into the site – a money grab! We could see it partially from down below so passed on it.


Instead, we travelled a bit further on through the touristy town of Custer to the ‘Jewel Cave National Monument’. We travelled down 270 feet (in an elevator) to a temperature of 49 degrees. What a shock to the body, just leaving 107 degrees. A magnificent huge cave system where only 3 percent of the tunnels have been explored, it’s one of the largest caves in the world. We passed on the ‘Spelunking Tour’ where you crawl through slots only 8 to 10 inches high. I would have got stuck for sure and Fernie would have totally freaked out (he’s quite claustrophobic in an elevator).

Five or six hours had passed and we had to rush back to Caesar. He stretched and yawned as we opened the door, obviously just waking from a long sleep. It was a very comfortable temperature inside the motorhome and we were pleased the AC worked so well. Outside though, the temperature kept blazing highs until well after the sun went down and then it was so lovely that we stretched out in our lounge chairs under the stars.



A slow start to the day is the best part of staying longer than one day in a place. We rose early to enjoy the cool morning, having our tea and coffee outside. Our campsite was right at the end of the site away from all the other Rvers and even though there were no trees around, we enjoyed the wide open view of the grasslands.

Custer State Park is on the eastern edge of the Black Hills not far from our campground and we meandered around the Wildlife Loop Road keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of movement.


And there was a lot! Pronghorn antelope, white-tail and mule deer in profusion. They wouldn’t move as cars approached even if they were standing at the side of the road. They would just look at us with their big black eyes and carry on munching.




It’s obvious they have never felt threatened. We drove very slowly being really careful while rounding bends because you never knew what animal might be in the middle of the road.





A huge bison herd inhabits the park and as it is rutting season, there’s lots of posturing going on. And rolling in the dust seems to be one of their favourite pastimes.




It is a managed herd which means they round them up every October, inoculate them and brand them with a ‘S’ for State and a single number denoting the year they were born.






They only keep them in the park for ten years and auction them off after that maintaining the herd at about 1,500, which is the maximum, the park will sustain. The part that shocked me is that they sell licenses to the rich to trophy hunt the bulls. I really wish blood-sport didn’t have to come into it.








South of Custer Park lies Wind Cave National Park – full of grasslands and prairie where our favourites, those wonderful little prairie dogs reside.



Their burrows were so close to the road and the young litters of pups hadn’t been taught road sense and frolicked on the pavement.

Fernie had to get out to shoo them off and even then they were unperturbed and didn’t really want to move.

We noticed quite a bit of road kill in the area and wondered why the other prairie dog town’s inhabitants were more afraid of people and careful than the ones in this area. Fernie said he’d love to have prairie dogs at home in his back yard, chattering and scampering around.

We didn’t bother visiting the Wind Cave as we felt it would probably be redundant after the Jewel Cave. It was also getting late in the afternoon and time to go home and pick up Caesar, drive back up to the hills in Custer Park, find a shady haven and spend a few hours relaxing in the cooler temperatures. Aggravatingly, the black flies wouldn’t let us rest so we took another drive through the Needles Highway, which is a curvy and narrow park road with hairpin bends and more roughly hewn granite tunnels. The ‘Needles’ are spectacular granite spires and formations that rise high above the dark pine covered hills. Caesar quietly enjoyed watching the wildlife along the way, not sure what kind of animals he was viewing. It was another thrilling drive and the sun was setting as we descended to the park exit.




On our way back, we drove through Keystone, a town riddled with tourist atrocities, theme hotels, glitz and Wild West décor. The main street had been taken over by bikers headed for the Sturgis Bike Rally next week and the bars were beginning to howl. Instead of howling with them, we elected to go back to Maggie where we put our chairs out under the stars and chatted about our wonderful day. As we lay there, the most magnificent shooting star that I’d ever seen shot across the sky.

All Day I Roamed the Barren Waste Without a Taste of Water – Cool, Clear Water!

July 27, 2006

With the dire predictions of temperatures over 100 F, we pulled out early - 7:30am. The terrain changed – flat as far as the eye could see and dry and brittle fields of harvested crops leaving behind white stubble in the dust.

We crossed the Missouri River at Pierre, the capital of South Dakota. The land was etched into corrugated hills much like the Alberta Badlands in the Drumheller area. Now 10am and it was getting HOT. The sun was dazzling and the air was rippling in the heat. The land was in its natural state, not cultivated – yellow grasslands over rolling hills, with cattle grazing close to the occasional waterholes. It was cracked into deep jagged gullies as if an earthquake fault line had cut the parched soil.

We left the side roads and travelled Interstate 90 for the last few miles to the Badlands. Huge billboards scarred the golden vista of grasslands advertising everything you could think of. One in particular caught my eye and made me shudder at the bloodthirsty message.

“Save Our Wildlife - Wear Fur
Hunting and Fishing Keep Populations in Balance”

I don’t need to comment further on that.

We chose The Badlands Resort and RV Park from the Passport America directory but wondered if we’d made a mistake as we left the highway to travel along a barren and dusty washboard gravel road. Our nerves were jarred as Maggie shuddered with every ripple but we were relieved when we crested a hill to see a treed area below – our campground. It was only 11am as we’d gained an hour crossing into Mountain Time and we settled in quickly cranking the AC up to maximum to cool us all down. We had two big trees for shade in the south and we faced east so Maggie would stay cool enough for Caesar to snooze the day away as we braved the Badlands National Park.

While the temperature’s high, the humidity’s low and so I didn’t feel it was that hot. I unhooked the car and busied myself setting up, not realizing how hot it really was. But I started feeling woozy and wove drunkenly back towards the motorhome, starting to collapse as I reached the door. I sank to my knees and clambered up the steps about to faint. I staved it off however lying down with a cold cloth on my brow. Fernie had a woozy episode shortly after…….then we realized how stupid we were. We had nothing to drink at all that morning since we got up. We were totally dehydrated! And they say that in this heat, you should drink twice as much as your thirst demands. Well, we learnt our lesson.

The Badlands rock formations of striated silver, pink and green shimmer in the blazing sun. Rounded mounds and jagged spires, a lunar landscape of dry and barren limestone made the early French prospectors call it “Les Mauvaise Terre” (please excuse me if I got the French expression a bit incorrect). At one point, we rounded a corner to a brilliant golden panorama, the colour as deep and rich as a gold bar – the rocks and grasses combined to make this dazzling display.


But there was life in and around the Badlands. Thousands or maybe millions of prairie dogs inhabited certain surrounding areas; they’d sit on their hefty haunches beside their burrows, little arms hanging and watch the road, scampering into their warrens while chattering warnings, if we got too close.


They were so ‘cute’ – we spent an hour or so watching them frolic.





On the grasslands, the Bison roamed and grazed freely – wild and unthreatened. The huge bulls lumbered along with thunderous steps, hauling their huge bodies clumsily. As they plodded, they’d stop to scratch their massive, moulting backs on any available tree trunk (which there weren’t too many of) or fence posts. Even though they are widely referred to as buffalo, they are really American Bison. French explorers in the mid 1800’s (those French guys were everywhere) referred to them as ‘les boeufs’ just as they called cattle and oxen and the word morphed into buffalo.

The bison and the prolific prairie dog have a relationship of sorts – the bison keep the grass short so the prairie dogs can build their burrows and I don’t know what the little critters do in return. I guess it’s a bit one-sided.

South of the Badlands, on the rim of a high plateau the grasslands were burning leaving a thick smoke over the plains. Fire trucks and water tankers seemed to have it in hand. Further north beside Interstate 90 near Piedmont, fires were out of control and an evacuation order was in place. They closed I90 while they fought the blaze apparently causing chaos. We were glad we were in no hurry to get through that way.

It reached 107 degrees today, which broke a record and horror of horrors, they’re forecasting 113 degrees for Sunday.

.....For Amber Waves of Grain

July 24 – 26, 2006

Northern Iowa became more prairie-like and less picturesque as it ran into Minnesota. However, the temperature was up again so we stopped at Myre Big Island State Park in the southern end of Minnesota and it was a lovely setting. Our very private campsite was right on a lake with lots of shady trees and grass.

Minneapolis-St. Paul was our target. It was too hot to boondock – I’m so getting tired of this extreme heat -it makes everything so difficult. We stayed at the Mystic Lake Casino, just on the outskirts of town, which had an RV resort alongside. It was pricey though - $30, which I thought totally exorbitant, especially since we were all crammed in so close together. Mystic Lake is the largest native casino in the USA and it’s very glitzy but has no live poker, which upset Fernie.

The Mall of America was only 25 minutes away from the campground so we drove in to while away the afternoon in the cool. I’m not sure if it’s larger than West Edmonton Mall or the same size or smaller but it’s the same idea – a huge shopping centre surrounding a huge area of roller coasters and other rides – dozens of restaurants, an aquarium and so on and so forth. If we were forty years younger, I’m sure we would be more excited but we found it a bit ‘ho-hum’. We had a Japanese lunch but otherwise spent no money there - just the opposite, we made money. There was a booth for the Mystic Lake Casino and we approached the counter not telling them we were already staying there and asked if they had any discounts. The clerk must have taken a shine to us – she wrote up two $10 certificates. We expected it would be slot play but the cashier at the casino gave us $20 cash. I mentally deducted the $20 from the $30 we paid for the campsite and felt much better that we got it for $10.

Other than the Mall of America, Minnesota is also famous for the Mayo Clinic in Rochester (and I always thought it was in Rochester, New York) and the source of the Mississippi River in Itasca State Park in the north of the state. You can actually walk across the river there. There’s a chain of outdoor stores called Cabela’s Outfitters. We stopped at one in Minneapolis and found it massive and fascinating. I avoided the hunting department but enjoyed browsing around the rest of it.


Damn! It’s hot again and the forecast is calling for even higher temperatures. We headed for the Dakotas – having had enough of the Midwest and its humidity. On the border of South Dakota on the North Dakota side, is another native casino “The Dakota Magic”. It had full hookup RV sites for $10.50 – definitely worth it. Fernie went in to sign up for Texas Holdem Poker but no one else wanted to play. He was disappointed.

The heat so oppressive when we got there, dissipated within a couple of hours as the wind came up and thunderstorms threatened. Warnings on TV alerted ‘Extremely dangerous storms – if you are in or on the water, get out (how could they see the TV news in the water?); stay inside your home or vehicle’. The storms made a circle around us but it was beautiful watching the lightning in the northern sky.

There’s a beauty in the farmland of the Dakota prairie – the bales of hay scattered across the harvested amber fields, vast fields of golden sunflowers, mauve alfalfa crops, blue and white flaxseed and soybeans and golden wheat bending with the breezes. Laura Ingalls Wilder who wrote Little House on the Prairie lived and based her books on her homestead in DeSmet, South Dakota, a tiny sleepy farming town that bills itself as “Little Town on the Prairie”.

We rounded a corner on a portion of winding road and had to slam on our brakes as a graceful deer pranced across right in front of us and soared into the cornfields.
A little further on, a large ring-tailed pheasant scampered across the road in front of us seemingly unable to take flight.

We ended up in the town of Huron staying at the S. Dakota State Fair campground where there were over 1,200 sites and probably only five rigs there. The sign said it was $15/night but we couldn’t find anyone to pay so we chose a shady site, hooked up and settled in expecting someone to come and collect – but no one did. We had ten acres to ourselves and a huge chestnut tree for shade and it was all free – that delighted my parsimonious little heart.

We’re losing the ambition to explore into all the nooks and crannies. It’s partly because of the heat and partly because we’ve been on the road for so long. We need to put down roots for a week or so but the heat keeps driving us on. The news tonight forecasts even higher temperatures – over 100 degrees F for the next five days.

"Cornfields of billowy gold - in Iowa"

July 21 – 23, 2006
We were in no hurry to move on the next morning because it was such a pleasant location at the Isle of Capri, so we tarried as if we were at home. I watched Good Morning America and The View (my guilty favourite) while Fernie played some online poker. By his muttering, I don’t think it was a profitable morning. I cleaned out some cupboards and drawers while Fernie shone the windows. It sounds mundane but we enjoyed it.

For some reason, gas dropped 20 cents a gallon when we crossed from Illinois into Iowa to $2.899. I’m glad we waited to fill. We had a great first impression of Iowa. The fog had disappeared, the temperature had dropped (in line with the gasoline) 20 degrees and we found the countryside so very pretty. Rolling hills with farmhouses on the hilltops, emerald lawns, white picket fences, cattle grazing where the land was not cultivated, wildflowers in a profusion of blue, white and yellow, rolled hay bales and undulating corn rows with copses of trees breaking the monotony.

Fernie was such an enchanting companion after a successful night at the tables, that as navigator, I steered us to another casino – The Meskwaki near Tama/Toledo, Iowa, a beautiful venue with a new wing opening the following week. It was well off the beaten path, surrounded by cornfields. Tama and Toledo are tiny farming towns and it would be a couple of hours drive to the nearest city.

A good poker room enticed Fernie over for a few hours that evening. He came back grinning and when I asked “How much did you win”, he answered “I didn’t – I lost but they had a great dinner for the poker players; scalloped potatoes and bratwurst!”. I guess that’s a typical gambler’s attitude – optimistic and taking losses in stride. I make a bad gambler because I don’t take much pleasure from winning and cry if I lose.

The casino was promoting their new expansion and to garner the attention of the locals, they were ‘throwing a party’ all day on Saturday. Who are we to say no to such an invitation, so we stayed an extra day. In the morning while Fernie was playing poker, Caesar and I wandered over to the customized classic car show and craft show held in the ‘back 40’ surrounded by cornfields in true Iowa fashion.

I chatted to the ‘ladies’ at the craft tables while browsing through the homemade goods. One woman, her face etched in deep lines across her weathered cheeks, told me she’d just got a Westie two months ago. As she scratched Caesar’s ears and made a fuss of him, she said “Gaby’s drivin’ me nuts” alluding to her five month old pup. “He’n the cats – I got five of em – runnin’ all the time”. She lived on a farm, had cattle as well and when she wasn’t working the farm, she sewed and quilted. I bought four quilted mats from her – only $1 each. “You can use em for hot pots and dishes or as place mats” she said. I fingered a small quilted cotton pouch with a flap wondering what it was. “Them’s for baked po-taters” she trilled, eager to explain how they worked. “You wash your taters – don’t prick ‘em – wrap ‘em in paper towels and put ‘em in the bag – then just microwave ‘em like you always do and prick ‘em when they’re done”. I just had to buy one. “Where you from?” she asked. She wasn’t too sure where Vancouver was but “ I bin to Canada – three times – Saskatchewan” she said proudly. “Folks are real nice there”.

A little further on, I found a pile of little homemade sun visors for dogs and tried one on Caesar. He didn’t seem to mind and I thought it would keep the sun out of his eyes even if his dignity were compromised. The two ‘ladies’ at the booth were extremely garrulous and we chitchatted for a long time about dogs, seafood (lobster and crab were the subject of their choice), Iowa and the heat. “I just hate it! I stay inside with the air conditioner” one exclaimed with the other nodding agreement. “It’s real nice here in the fall – don’t snow until December” she continued, as she fanned herself.

The sun hat was obviously a fashion statement because as I wandered around browsing at the classic cars, everyone stopped to admire Caesar. “Oh, he’s soooooooo cute!” I heard a dozen times and the people, men as well as women, would engage me in lengthy conversation. I must say – Iowa folks are real friendly!”

Fernie won back most of his prior night’s losses so is almost back to even overall now. He only played for a few hours and was ready for a break. The weather was beautiful, not too hot, just perfect. We spent the afternoon almost comatose beneath a spreading chestnut tree in the Toledo Town Park. Crickets buzzed and hummed like electricity sailing down transmission lines. In stereo sound, the strident buzzing emanated first from one tree, then another and another, then to the one above shading us then circulate again, cease and start up the reverie again half an hour later. Not too far away, an owl ‘twit-twooed’ periodically and one flew past us very low and alighted in a tree.

That evening, the casino party continued. Behind the casino, there was an outdoor theatre and they were putting on a ‘free’ show – The Coasters, The Platters and The Drifters. Free - that’s just up my alley. We hauled our folding chairs over and settled down in the midst of the Iowans feeling as if we’d assimilated into the Iowa farm community. There were a fair amount of grey heads around, probably 75% were over 50 years old. Three women settled down next to us. “Can we sit by you?” one of them asked as she unfolded her chair and continued to chatter on about how she broke her foot in Acapulco and had to have surgery there and she didn’t have health insurance and it cost her $6,000 and she was a nurse and she thought they did a real good job on her. I held myself back from telling her she was STUPID and smiled and showed concern. “You’re not from ‘round here, are you?” she said. When I told her I was from Vancouver, she didn’t have any idea where it was. “I never was much good at geography” she apologized. “I’ve never been to Canada” she said.

We had seen these three groups perform at the Orpheum in Vancouver a few years back. I had won the tickets in a radio station contest. It included a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel and dinner.

It was enjoyable to be in the environment, in the fresh air and under the stars as the sun set but I can’t say there was anything spectacular about the performances. The singing left a lot to be desired but they called for a lot of audience involvement, which made it fun. The locals lapped it up, dancing in the aisles, swinging their arms, yelling out, clapping wildly and singing along. That was the most entertaining part.

The groups are certainly not the original singers, except maybe the Drifters who are an older group of men. I don’t think the Platters are even the same performers we saw in Vancouver about six years ago. I wonder how they get to use the name. They all peddled their CD’s after the show was over. I found it quite pathetic how they promoted the sale of them.



The night ended with a magnificent fireworks show, which we really enjoyed – lots of oohs and aahs! It had been a thoroughly enjoyable day.