Hilary and Theresa's Road to Nowhere: The Badlands Are Treating Us Good

We ain't in California anymore! We got our first taste of culture shock in Jackson, Wyoming, where people who actually looked like Wild Bill Hickock roamed the streets. I guess I thought "cowboy" was just a motif. But they had real, live cowboys there. They wore cowboy boots and cowboy hats. They wore those kerchiefs like in the movies. And they had the cowboy drawls. Alongside the real cowboys, however, were a very wealthy and sophisticated set, many, transplants from California, including the likes of Harrison Ford and other Hollywood stars. So Jackson Hole, as the area around the town of Jackson was called, was hardly considered Wyoming to most Wyomingites. Yet it was very clear to us that we were in the Midwest. There were the "God Bless America" bumper stickers. And there was the fascination with hunting, the national past-time in the Midwest. We saw antlers everywhere we went. And not just on the dead animals nailed to the walls of every establishment in town. They were also in places you wouldn't expect them. Like the arches we walked through to get into the town square - made entirely of elk antlers. Oh, and "camouflage" is the new black this fall. Yep, we ain't in California anymore.

We used Jackson Hole as a base from which we continued to explore the Grand Tetons, hereinafter "the most beautiful place on the planet." With no foothills to obstruct the view, the Tetons rose dramatically from Jackson Hole valley and the distinctive jagged peaks reflected into the lakes below and could be seen from everywhere in the valley. Lodge pole pine forests surrounded the willow flats and wetlands - home to the moose we were determined to find. Wild-life sightings require patience and perseverance and once again, we had to work hard for our adventure. We finally hit the moose mother-lode when we followed a tip that took us to the small neighboring town of Wilson, where the girls at the Bagel shop gave us another tip that directed us to Trail Creek

The girls told us that the bull was often seen hanging around the lake, but we'd have to hike to get there. Damn. Another test. Were we real enthusiasts or just posers? We got out of the car and started walking. We saw several females and a young male moose on our way up the trail. But it wasn't until an hour and a half later when we reached the lake that we saw the bull. There he was, in all his cartoonish and majestic glory. Seven feet at his shoulders, and with antlers that were about 5 feet across, he probably weighed 1500 lbs. Awesome. We watched him until he wandered back into the woods and then we high fived each other. Now we could leave for Rapid City.

We hoped to make it to Rapid City before midnight. We cried "uncle" at 1:30 am, when we had only made it as far as Gillette, Wyoming. But we were on our way to the Badlands, and we found it prescient when we turned on the TV and Bruce Springsteen was on a new HBO special talking about making "Darkness on the Edge of Town." The Boss was talking about "Badlands" as we were on the doorstep of the Badlands. The forces of the Universe were telling us that we were exactly where we were supposed to be.

That was it for highlights from Gillette, an arm-pit of a city that supposedly produces "clean coal" (fewer BTUs.) You wouldn't know that by the thin film of coal dust that seemed to cover everything. It was hard to believe that the most beautiful place on the planet was only a few hours away. Wyomingites later told us that Gillette had no business being a part of Wyoming. So stay away from Gillette. Unless, that is, you are still a smoker. Then you might want to consider Gillette for your next vacation. Everyone is still allowed to smoke in Gillette. And they do - in restaurants, in laundromats, even in the bank! We, cough, cough, left as soon as possible.

Our friends in Rapid City always seemed to apologize for living there. They had no reason to. The Badlands! Mount Rushmore! The Black Hills! What more could you ask for? Of course it can be 40 below in the winter and my friend Loren told me that her nostrils froze together last winter. Ouch. And I must say, with the exception of the aforementioned wonders, the area was PFF ("pretty fucking flat".) Even Rapid City looked like a big lit up pancake in the dark. They don't call them the Great Plains for nothing.

The Black Hills are literally an island in the Plains. The name stems from their dark appearance on the horizon that comes from the pine trees blanketing the range. These hills are the sacred grounds of the Lakota Indians, who to this day are still trying to reclaim their land. Needles Highway runs through the hills where we saw postcard lakes and crazy rock castles, many that we were able to walk and drive through. Bighorn sheep wandered onto the roads and four very prominent presidents were carved into the side of one of the mountains. Lincoln was my favorite. No surprise I guess; Lincoln was also the favorite of Gutzoc Borglum, the architect of Rushmore.

The Badlands were an even bigger treat. I had no idea of what to expect. I'd never seen a picture of the Badlands and I didn't even know that it was one of our National Parks. Honestly, I really just wanted Hilary to take pictures of me standing next to things saying "Badlands" because I love Springsteen and I think "Badlands" is one of the greatest songs ever written. I was totally blown away when I actually saw them. They are like pink and yellow striped sand castles dripping into something that looks like the grand canyon. The bison and the prairie dogs and the bighorn sheep were fun to watch. But the the rocks were the real stars at this National Park. That's right, they were rockstars! We stayed until sunset when the colors on the landscape just jumped out at us. The brochure told us the colors were "other-worldly." I agreed. It was like being on another, very cool planet.

We stayed in Rapid City long enough to don our fake beards and watch the Giants BEAT THE PHILLIES in Game 1 of the NLCS. We then said goodbye to our gracious hosts, William and Loren and Oliver, and headed off to Minnesota for Game 2 (I don't want to talk about it.) But not before stopping at Cabela's to look for a spotting scope. You might want to run in the opposite direction is you ever happen upon a Cabela's. We were clearly the only people in Cabela's interested in looking at animals. Everyone else wanted to do other things to them. It wasn't just the hunting mania that creeped me out - the hundreds of stuffed buffalo (not just the heads, the entire buffaloes were stuffed) and the gazillian rifles. What scared me most were the enormous safes that they sold. I'm not exactly sure why, but I think it had to do with my vision of the entire Midwest hoarding their guns and their gold while planning for Armageddon (or a second Obama term, which ever came first.) It was time to go to Chicago.