After driving
through three states of GMO corn and soybeans, made even more toxic by the
ever-present crop dusting airplanes, we were relieved to enter the Pine Ridge
Indian Reservation, our gateway to the Black Hills of South Dakota. We
boon-docked several nights, first at Burke Lake, a pond built by the Civilian
Conservation Corps, and then near Hot Springs at lovely Cold Brook, a lake and
campground built by the Army Corps of Engineers. Liz was the only human swimmer
in the lake at about 8pm.
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Lakota and Catholic Chapel |
Pine Ridge
Reservation continues to be one of the most poverty-struck areas of America,
but bold statements of cultural pride flourish among the graffiti tags. An area
chamber of commerce has attempted to insert some vitality into the economy, and
if other travelers are headed that way, we suggest picking up their
publication. We stopped at the Red Cloud Heritage Center located in the
building of an 1888 school founded by Jesuits and Franciscan nuns and now part
of Red Cloud Indian School. Enthusiastic young alumni (one currently attending
Stanford, the other the University of New Mexico) showed off the campus and
chapel and gave us a history of the school. In the 1970’s the school ceased
being a boarding school and began incorporating Lakota language and culture
into the curriculum. Their development director told us his team raises $13
million dollars a year to support 600 kindergarten-high school students each
year. There is no tuition and the school is proud of their 90% graduation rate.
In the past few years there have been 58 Gates Millennial Scholars among the
graduates (of which there are 35 on average annually.) All students take Lakota
language and culture classes, and there is a sweat lodge on campus. A few
exchange students reside with families on the reservation.
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Natural entrance to Wind Cave, a sacred place |
From there
we threaded our way up past Hot Springs, South Dakota to Wind Cave National Park. This
intriguing site includes one of the longest caves in the world and was the
first cave designated as a US National Park. The visitors’ center was full of
families and young adults nervously awaiting their tour of the cave. Having not
quite recovered from our underground encounter with the Cumberland Mine in Nova
Scotia we decided to limit our visit to the exhibits above ground and a walk up
to the original natural entrance to the cave. We enjoyed the bison, prong horn
antelope and extensive prairie dog populations in the park and happily
proceeded on to the adjacent Custer State Park.
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Every small town was lined with bikes |
By that time
we were aware that there were an extraordinary number of motorcyclists in the
road with us. We had seen quite a number in Hot Springs, but we thought they
were there in conjunction with an effort to save the local VA hospital (a
parade had happened earlier in the day and the bikers were all parked outside
the Legion Hall). Then it slowly dawned on us: they are going to Sturgis. We
knew about Sturgis because niece Sue was headed to the motorcycle rally at
Sturgis (despite her mother’s concerns.) Sturgis is a tiny Black Hills town of
650 people that for the past 74 years has invited motorcycles to come visit in
the first few weeks of August. In the old days there were lots of rough and
tumble interactions, but now the state stations about 1,200 law enforcement
officers in the area. Any interpersonal violence tends to be between rival
groups known to one another (locals call this “culling the herd”.) Nowadays the concert, bike competition and
hospitality venues report an excess of 400,000 attendees over a three week
period and the local economy claims $800 million dollars in revenue associated
with the rally. To fill their time between concerts, barbeques and sleeping off
indulgences, attendees ride their bikes in the nearby hills.
So there
were many bikers with us on the drive around the Custer State Park Wildlife Loop
and only the youngest animals and oldest tourists seemed bothered by the noise.
At one point we were engulfed by a herd of about 200 bison determined to cross the
road, weaving through parked cars and rumbling bikes. Some of the riders looked more perturbed than
the animals. Others, like us, shut off their engines and enjoyed the show for
the next 40 or so minutes.
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Famous faces |
Our final
stop in the Black Hills was a visit to Mt Rushmore. Somehow both of us have
managed to avoid this shrine of American democracy and it was
actually some progressive friends that persuaded us to stop. The defacement of
a beautiful mountain and association of the primary artist with the Ku Klux
Klan in Georgia had always made it seem unattractive. But it is truly spectacular
and a very interesting site rich in American history. We enjoyed the movie
about the workmen and design of the statues and the information about how it
was funded. The scene was suitably
surreal due to the huge numbers of motorcyclists sporting colorful garb and
body parts, but there were also a lot of families from all over the world. The parking was easy and the venue was beautiful and well designed to handle the millions of
people who come through.
We skirted
Sturgis, and were lucky to find room in a campground near Deadwood where the
bikers roared out at 5:30 am. We roared
out a few hours later, headed to Wyoming.
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