Massive and Monumental from Mt. Rushmore to Devil's Tower to Short Ribs

Rapid City to Billings

(By Tom)

On Thursday we left Rapid City, SD heading for Billings, MT, a distance of 374 miles. Despite an early start, we did not arrive until midnight thanks to distractions along the way. I suppose classifying Mount Rushmore as a distraction dishonors the memory of its sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, but a fact’s a fact. We got up close, but the most impressive view (shown here) was from a trail in the Custer National Forest several miles away.

We were so impressed that we neglected to pay attention to our gas gauge and found ourselves deep in the forest with the “Mileage Remaining” gauge falling from 30 to 24 to 18. But after much agonizing and self-recrimination, we arrived at a general store with a single gas pump, filled up and were on our way to Devil’s Tower with lighter hearts. We were acutely aware, of course, that our appreciation for both of these imposing landmarks was shaped in no small part by Hollywood. Who can look at Lincoln’s noble profile on Mount Rushmore without inserting Cary Grant dangling from his eyebrow? 

Anyone who can see the Devil’s Tower without expecting a Close Encounter qualifies as a true intellectual. Bliss was arriving at the Tower in October. We didn't have it to ourselves, but we could hear the aspen leaves rustling in the breeze and hear the distant cries of the birds that circled the top of the tower.

As the sun set, we turned towards Billings, via Gillette, WY, a busy town living off oil, coal, power generation, and endless trains carrying coal and petroleum to the population centers of the two coasts. At night, the scene was straight out of Fellini. Coal is so plentiful here that at least one power plant we passed was located next to a coal pit – with the fuel  fed directly to the generators as it came out of the ground.

By the time we reached downtown Gillette, night had fallen and we still had 245 miles to cover. Undaunted we stopped for dinner, snubbing  the generic franchises clustered next to the Interstate and heading downtown, where a single glance at the warm lights and happy diners at The Chop House suggested it was the best restaurant in town. Here Kate ordered borscht, which will astonish anyone who knows her horror of beets, and loved it so much, she requested the recipe. My braised beef ribs would have sufficed at dinner for six people at our dinner table in Pennington – here it was all for me.

Dinner ended about 8:30 and we still had all that distance to cover before arriving in Billings. But Stephen King came to the rescue. I don’t know what it is like to read, but 11/23/63, his newly published tale of a time traveler’s attempt to foil the Kennedy assassination, is gripping as a recorded book. It kept me awake and alert enough to skirt the deer dashing across I-90 as midnight approached. We made it! You’ll hear about our climb into the high peaks of the Bear Tooth Range in tomorrow’s installment.

South Dakota: The Badlands: Who Knew How Good They Would Be?

 At breakfast, in Chamberlain, on the Missouri River, we met a hale and hearty octogenarian who'd grown up on a farm in northwestern South Dakota. (To complete my round of the compass points, I should add that she has spent her adult life in the East.) When she heard our praise of the part of the state we'd seen and our  plans to cross the rest of her native state that day, she asked whether we'd ever seen South Dakota west of the Missouri. "It's an entirely different place, she said, and so it was, we found, and spectacularly so.

 What a setting for a picnic!

Dry, rolling hills, dotted with black Angus, then the apparition of some rosy land mass in the distance, as we drove our 2,000th mile and entered Mountain Time. That mass was the first hint of the Badlands, where strati of vermilion stone are interlaid with yellow, gray, brown, in cliffs, bluffs and spires that one friend has compared to the domes and spires of Angkor Wat.

We loved the surprising encounters with Badland critters. The first prairie dogs we saw were lined up along the road like sentries, perched on their behinds. A solitary bison --- then a whole throng ---   curly horned sheep and herds of pronghorn antelopes.

Onward to Rapid City! After checking in, we promptly abandoned our latest residence in Big Box Nowhere'sville to head downtown to Le Bistro, a delightful Bistro restaurant, where we enjoyed a most fabulous dinner and Tom inspected the map of French cheeses.

Up the Missouri, on the Lewis and Clark Trail

The facade of the Corn Palace, in Mitchell, South Dakota, is entirely made from corn --- corn husks, corn kernels and corn silk. Every  year the facade is remade, with a new theme. And it is seasonally correct. 

Yesterday's itinerary took us southwest across Iowa --- not straight west from Dubuque --- because we wanted to see Omaha, where Lewis and Clark's Corps of  Discovery spent a month or more in the summer of 1804. Their campsite lay across the Missouri from Council Bluffs, which, in 1804, had already served as a traditional gathering point for tribal leaders. Omaha, however, would see no serious settlement for another 80 years. Here the Corps hunted, fished, and waited while Clark drew up maps, and Lewis built relations with local tribal chiefs, gaining intelligence about the river and the tribes to the north, and scoring important diplomatic points that would serve him well (warning: plot spoiler!) all the way to the Pacific and back.

This morning, we hot-footed it out of what seemed to be very-drab Council Bluffs --- not a tribal chief in sight --- to have breakfast in Omaha and do some Lewis-and-Clarking before launching our own journey up the Missouri. A friend had advised us not to miss La Buvette, a French bistro in Omaha's Old Market, but its  doors didn't open till 11 a.m., so for breakfast, we settled for muffins and coffee at Wheatfields, benefiting from the outdoor seating to keep Miss Dora in our company.

At the Overland Trading Company in the Old Market, Kate acquired her first "trip present," a cozy, bright blue cardigan that promised to be a true friend in the weeks ahead. 

After a few false starts, such as ending up in a city park featuring a  placid walking trail and a bayou of the Missouri, we found the actual visitor center at the Lewis and Clark National Historic Site Headquarters, a mile or so upriver from Omaha. Though Dora weren't welcome inside, one of us could happily visit the museum/library/gift shop while our excluded pet kept the other amused outside with a leash-led tour via meandering paths, of rock garden plantings of prairie flora: grasses, small trees, and flowers. Soaring over the gardens is a breathtaking footbridge that spans the river. If the sun in non-shaded areas hadn't been so fierce, and the steps up to the bridge had been less imposing, and the timing of the first museum-goer's return had been better known, we might have scaled the the stairs and crossed the river. 

We'd built up an appetite by window (and real) shopping in the Old Market and steeping ourselves in L&C lore. But now it was time to head back to the Old Market, to the very French La Buvette for a very French lunch. Surrounded by couples out for lunch, girls playing chess, and even the occasional tourist, we pinched ourselves as a reminder that we really were in Omaha.  

The drive north -- back on the Iowa side of the river --  into South Dakota, was lovely: all farm fields, hay bales, grazing cattle, and those huge grain elevators, the cathedrals of the plains, feeding hungry clusters of giant silos at every farm and rail stop.

Sioux Falls is a modern city but how can the very name not get your traveling feet itching for more? And, there, at the swoop of the falls, right next to the Interstate, you pass the huge burial mound and memorial honoring the first and only crew member of the Corps of Discovery to succumb during the entire voyage, a victim of appendicitis, it's believed.

By late afternoon, we were on the outskirts of Mitchell, South Dakota, not our destination for the day, but definitely a Lorelei, seducing us with regularly placed billboards promoting a visit to the historic city and the Corn Palace. What could this be? And, wait: why were we so hungry -- again? Nothing to be done but to follow those signs, skipping the Arby's and their ilk, and head into "Historic Mitchell" to find this Corn Palace of which the bilboard angels spoke. 

The Corn Palace, as you'll see, is not hard to find. We parked in its shadow, marveled at its incredibleness and held out against the urge to become paying visitors. Instead we took our own little tour of  Main Street and promptly returned to a restaurant next to the Palace, a sports bar called the Scoreboard, with outdoor dining and a warm welcome for dogs. The meal was wonderful, and our server/barmaid totally delightful. Location dictated a steak dinner, and, reverting to restaurant critic mode here:  the sirloin ($9.99) was lean, medium rare, as requested, and juicy -- without a doubt the best steak ever eaten. The fries were top notch, as was the beer. Thank you, mid-West profond: we feel very welcome here. 

   

Family, Piggly, Wapsi, and Salty Hog Pie

We enjoyed a relaxing morning, hanging out with Francie and Bob, Parker and Beau, while plans to go to the gym, somehow fell by the wayside. We pulled up stakes and headed west, across the Mississippi, but only after laying in tasty picnic supplies from the Piggly Wiggly in Galena.

We pulled off the road in Anamosa, Iowa, and had our lunch by the clear, winding Wapsipinikon ("Wapsi") River, all set about with limestone bluffs, while Dora indulged her water crazies with leaps off and back up eight-foot river banks and much swimming and retrieving-of-sticks.

We have been astounded by the quiet beauty of the rolling landscapes along our route, from Pennsylvania, a beautiful two miles or so of West Virginia, then Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and now Iowa, with more to come! With leaves just starting to change, the tapestry is green, with bright yellows interspersed, clumps of dark green around the farmhouses, and vast expanses of umber fields.

Where "every aspect pleases, and only man is vile," --- yes, the strip of Anywhere, USA box stores and fast food franchises along the strip where we're staying in Council Bluffs is pretty vile. It's hard to conjure an image of the leaders of the local Indian nations sitting down here to resolve anything. Had they but known what the next wave of settlers would bring!

We grabbed a late-night dinner at an all-day breakfast place --- one of a chain, we learned --- of Village Inns, with interiors designed to look like the 50s never ended. Dinner was fine, though and the people were friendly and thoughtful. I will end with a photo of a special we did not have.

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Springfield to Galena, with stops in Kickapoo and Fulton

Sunday: it's still pretty brisk out, but we picked up fancy coffees and muffins and headed around the corner to the Old State House where a bench in the brilliant sun provided a perfect breakfast spot. Mystery: an almost-entire quarter pound of butter on the walkway next to the bench. We'll never know.

This pizzeria advertises not only Extremely Fast Delivery but also Free Smells. Do many people ask to smell the pizza? And do other pizzerias charge for this service?

A last look at the old cars, and  ---- then we were off to the next adventure.As the terrain began to rise, we stopped at the Kickapoo Creek Winery for a delightful lunch and a glass of their excellent Traminette --- a revisit as I'd been there with Francie on my last visit, in 2010. 

Our second "way stop," was Fulton, Illinois, on the Mississippi, where you couldn't miss the huge windmill atop the levee. This called for some investigation! We learned that just a few years ago, this small river town --- 60 percent of the residents are of Dutch ancestry --- had won the won the windmill, in a contest staged by its original owner, in the Netherlands. They hope never to become an island again, when the Mississippi is a'risin' and are producing four kinds of flour at the mill. A beautiful sight. The foot path along the top of the levee was also an invitation to take a speedy one-mile walk to the end and back, while an exhilarated Dora, freed from leash and car-harness, probably put in four times that much.

Great to arrive at Francie and Bob's in beautiful Galena, spend an evening with family and enjoy homemade food!

Dora contemplated taking her first swim of the trip in Francie's amazing  fish pond.

Buck Creek Farm to Lincoln's Springfield & Route 66

Rooster reveille at Buck Creek Farm!

Since we'd arrived in the rain and darkness, it was a joy to lift the shade this morning and behold a clear morning and a pasture full of dogs, cats, and farm animals: a Belgian horse, almost-black Arabian mare, a pony, a Sicilian donkey, several sheep and goats, and a few dozen chickens, slaloming around darting among the legs of all of the above. Dora joined them shortly, after recovering from her shock  at the size of the horses. Pretty soon, she was practicing her amazing outfielder skills around the field, oblivious to them. Her Frisbee even bounced off the Belgian's back leg, which he flicked at her as she streaked by, unfazed.

After a trencherman's farm breakfast and another hour chatting with owners Kyle and Mary we set forth, across the rest of Indiana, to Lincoln's Springfield. Reaching our hotel was a challenge as about ten blocks of the downtown area had been blocked off for the Route 66 Car Show.

 Once we'd breached that hurdle, we settled in and headed straight to the two-block-long dirt street where the Lincolns lived for decades, learned about the surprisingly diverse neighborhood, that included lawyers, widow-landladies and an escaped slave, who became a drayman --- a handy profession for a man who became very active in the underground railroad.

Some of the cars in the Route 66 Car Show on display were far from antiques, like the Chevy in which Tom took the road test for his drivers' exam a few years ago, say ---1959

We ogled old cars for the next few hours. They included great old Ford  sedans and coupes, a variety of Studebakers  as well as my favorite: farm trucks from the 30s, the kind our role models, Ma and Pa Joad, took on their madcap adventure.

Later, we parked Miss Dora in the car and enjoyed dinner at Maldaner's a classic old downtown restaurant, where the delicate pate and delicious quail stuffed with sausage deserved many stars. The salty, dry, "veal sirloin" earned a negative review and went home with us --- to Dora's delight.

Pittsburgh (Thornburg), Dayton with Dick Reynolds, and Indianapolis.

Friday's plans to take a look at downtown Pittsburgh were foiled when a hostage situation caused that part of the city to be shut down. We were glad to learn later that the hostage taker was persuaded to surrender, in part by the 756 (or so) Facebook messages he received: "Hey, dude! This isn't yo,(sic)," for example. Pithy. Direct.

Instead, we used the morning to find Thornburg, the part of Pittsburgh where my mother grew up. We hit the jackpot, with her school, now a community center and day care center, got a full tour from Ingrid, the staff coordinator, spotted a photo in the library of students from my mother's era. got an interesting little history of the area from a custodian, and then found Mother's house, just down the street.

Lovely drive across the gently hilly part of Ohio -- and about 2 inches of W. Va., to Dayton, where we met Dick Reynolds, former dean of the medical school (RWJMS), whom I'd written about last year. Joined by his daughter Karen, we had a good dinner ---- late lunch for us --- at 6 p.m., back to his apartment for some more schmoozing and cappuccino choc. chip ice cream, then hit the interstate.As forewarned by our hosts for the night at Buck Creek Farm, we drove through monster rains, but pulled in by 9, to a warm welcome and settled into our sweet suite, the entire back, upstairs of the farmhouse, beautifully restored.

Pittsburgh

On a beautiful drive over the Appalachians, yesterday.we followed.the route my ancestors.took from Philadelphia. to Pittsburgh.in covered. wagons. . Dinner by the Monongahela with Dora at Bar Louie, where the servers were dressed for "Jersey. Shore. Night." So many Snookies! .

Let's go!

‎"We're going' to California, ain't we? All right then let's go to California." Today's the day! 

Mad Cap Map

I have created a rough version of our itinerary:  Madcap Map. What do you think? These are not the only stops, by the way! I had to limit the number of points (as in A, B, C, etc.) or Google Maps refused to let me come home!  Stranded in Little Rock? Well, yes, President Clinton gave a superb speech and all, but we thought we'd come home anyway.

Ready to roll

And one of us seems ready to roll.

Ten days to lift off!