Mt Rushmore–take 2

When I made the decision to retire, two things happened. Almost everyone I know asked me what I was going to do next and then about half of everyone I know gave me their advice or opinion. The first and only thing I really had planned was a road trip and a writing retreat to Lead, South Dakota.

I took a solo road trip to Mt. Rushmore more than thirty years ago. I didn’t have a cell phone or GPS then. I just had a general idea and followed the road signs, or stopped and asked for directions at filling stations. I think I had a gas card, and just enough cash for a little food. Back in the day, I didn’t really travel with a destination in mind, the goal was to drive and blast my mixed tapes. I probably didn’t set out to get to Mt. Rushmore, but that’s where the road took me that particular day.

I remember pulling up to the monument. It was winter, maybe even the same time of year as this trip, and it was late afternoon and just starting to snow. There were maybe two other cars in the parking lot and to get to the view was a short walk along a dirt path. I remember hugging myself with my arms because I didn’t have a jacket and the snowy wind was biting. I stopped when the carving came into view and gasped. I didn’t expect to be impressed because I’d seen the president heads on TV, in magazines, in movies my whole life, but in real life, the sculptures carved in stone are massive and impressive. I do remember feeling a bit sad though, because the stone mountainside didn’t need a monument to be impressive. I got back in my car and somehow got lost in Custer National Park. I was a bit frantic because I was on a dirt road and the snow was picking up and it was starting to get dark. I came around a bend in the road and slid to a stop. A giant bull bison stood right in my path, his breath all steamy. We just stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, then he ambled off the road and I went on my way, but kind of shaken. It felt magical, maybe even spiritual. I remember thinking, “Whoa, did that just happen?” I slowed down, and turned off my music. I realized in that moment that my solo adventures really were more reckless than wise and maybe almost colliding with an animal that could destroy my car and maybe me was some sort of message from the universe.

I have never been back to South Dakota, but I have felt drawn there over the years. I dream of the Badlands sometimes. In the dreams, it is always winter and the cliffs give me shelter and answers. Sometimes the bison returns, locking eyes with me, leading me to the right road, so I guess it makes sense, that returning to South Dakota is my first destination on my new journey.

On this trip, I entered South Dakota from the south, not the west and this time I took the backroads and not the interstate. There is not a lot to look at, but at the same time so much, that it’s hard not to stop and photograph everything–the clouds that look like mountains, the single, old-fashioned wind mills, the gray, almost fallen down barns, the rez dogs running along the side of the roads, an old Pontiac Firebird held up by bricks, towns that are empty. My imagination was busy writing the hopes and dreams and stories that were left behind on this incredibly, vast landscape.

Everytime I stopped, my GPS would interrupt my music to tell me to proceed to the route. It’s annoying. I turned it off.

I stopped at Carhenge in Alliance, Nebraska, and watched a paint pony running with the wind, and hiked a bit in the Badlands which really can’t be described, only taken in with reverence. I felt free and alive and in love with my life.

Just like on my first trip, I arrived at Mt Rushmore early in the evening. Place memory is strong and it was a very different place. There was an immense parking garage and big buildings with bookstores and cafes and gift shops and the dirt path was paved and the Presidents were lit up, so even in the fading light they were visible. They were still striking and impressive, but I felt sad again. Sad that it wasn’t the same as the first visit. I missed feeling like I was finding a hidden treasure on a hiking trail. I did walk through the museum and read the history and learned facts that I didn’t know, and I had a nice chat with a ranger who also remembered the park from thirty years ago. She gave me a map and circled things that I might want to see. I liked the paper map with her handwritten notes. It was like having a bit of nostalgia in my pocket.

I thought about hanging out at the monument until it got dark and taking some photos with a black sky, but there aren’t a lot of tourists in January and my brain started writing a Mt Rushmore version of Dateline.

I didn’t get lost on my way down from the monument this time. I didn’t meet a bison either, but I did remember the girl I was on my first trip. I used to think she was half crazy and needed to be someone else, better, but I realized today that girl was brave, kind of bad ass really. I just didn’t believe bad ass was a thing thirty something years ago. She made me realize my path forward is about imagination and freedom and being brave enough to embrace the unknown. Maybe it’s always been about that, but I just took the long way around. Being on the right road now was worth everything it took to get here.