It is astonishing how one event can wield the power to belittle one's strongest sentiments.
The excellent adventure is, among other things and perhaps underscoring them, a culmination of the concatenated results of great efforts of introspection and self-development. It is the nascent direction of articulating these results to both expand upon them and create an invitation for others to explore themselves and, if the invitation succeeds, wrestle constructively with their own experiences and ultimately solidify a more foundational sense of meaning.
Inadequacy and self-doubt crept in this morning - the great stifling forces of progress, and cancers to resoluteness. The passing of my grandmother cast a shadow over all the aforementioned intentions of the trip. My greatest efforts to date suddenly reek of vanity and perfunctoriness. Such triviality! Who do I think I was? What unmitigated pomp! What righteous ostentation! How could I be so shallow? Such thoughts were complicated by the unavoidable protrusion of the remnants of my former intentions, which gave the current emotional force a certain impotence - a pathetic passion run amok - which made me pity myself. I loathe self-pity.
At breakfast, a group of women arrived and occupied the two tables nearest us. I recognized several of them as part of the congregation assembled last night in one of the hotel conference rooms. My initial thought, after piecing the group together with the assortment of out-of-state license plates in the hotel parking lot, was Oh, a family reunion... how nice. One of the ladies received a phone call at the breakfast table from her brother, phoning her from afar. This group had indeed reunited, but not for its own sake. They were there for a funeral. The spirits did not seem particularly somber; there appeared an air of relief among them. The woman on the phone relayed to her brother that one of her daughters, living far from home, was unable to make it, and apparently stricken with guilt: "I told her, 'sweetie, when you're two-thousand miles away, these things happen. It's okay.'" I felt the pit in my stomach ascend to my throat. Snake had returned to the room to tackle tonight's accommodations (we had learned fast that it saves money to book in advance), as well as call a motorcycle shop in proximity to our next destination about a new rear tire. I stayed in the breakfast room, and played the wallflower to this woman's conversation for awhile longer. It brought a sense of comfort. We all have to go at life ourselves, but there is solace in assuring that we're never wholly alone in our sentiments.
The forecast for the Badlands: 80s and sunny. Less than a week ago, we were watching the frost melt off our tents in the hills of Ontario. Going south, although it meant a reroute that erased Glacier, our first big destination, from the map, was the right choice. Sacrifices are imperative for greater gains.
We fueled up and hopped back on 14W - a single-lane highway with no dividing medium. I started the day opting for no facemask or bandana, welcoming the sobering whip of prairie wind in my face. I embraced the opportunity to be slapped around. The opportunity came quick. We barreled through the worst winds to date, worse even than the winds sweeping off of Superior.
Miles and miles of prairie. 360 degrees of flatness, periodically interrupted by dappled clusters of trees. Pungent wafts of cow dung grazed our noses on and off. I had to tuck myself behind the windshield with every passing big rig to avoid my sunglasses shooting off my face. We spent nearly as much time at a 70 degree angle than we did totally upright. Today was 230 mi - the shortest stint to date, second only to our deluge interruption around Niagra. But it was a good day for a smaller stint; little stood in the way to assuage the prairie wind from beating our asses up. To make the best of the situation, I screamed "HII!" any time I caught the gaze of a cow; partly anticipating a response, but mostly for cheap entertainment.
I was seated on the bike after our first gas stop - emptying my thoughts into my little pocket notebook to clear room for new ones instead of of falling victim to preoccupation with the retention of key thoughts, thus obscuring others and missing what I should be taking in - when a trucker strolled right up. A tall cowboy hat, boots, the whole getup, accompanied by his trucker coterie. "How's the heat work on that thing?" he jested with a smile. A pretty weak joke, but I appreciated his attempt at extending himself for conversation. "Heat works just fine," I returned, "but little shelter from the wind. It's wild here on the prairie... coming from Boston." "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
He wasn't kidding there. The winds picked up steadily as we carried on, calming briefly only when we briefly slowed to 35 mph through small towns that 14 wound through, and for a slightly longer period around Pierre as the contours shaped into rolling hills. We pulled over at one point after I pulled up to Snake and yelled "SUNFLOWERS!!" Miles and miles of sunflower fields, just past their prime but beautiful nonetheless. We snapped some pictures, had a brief repose over the sight, then it was back on the bikes, and back to being slapped around, the brutal gusts returning shortly thereafter.
For the next hundred miles en route to the Badlands, 14 was lined with modestly sized tacky billboards for a place called Wall Drug. Snake mentioned at a rest stop that this Wall Drug business was nothing special, essentially a tourist trap (he had been to the Badlands before, although not on a motorcycle - a totally different experience). Yet with all the signs, one could easily assume otherwise. They were about every quarter of a mile, each different than its predecessor: "89 miles - Wall Drug", "Wallways in season! - Wall Drug", "It's cool - Wall Drug", "Ice cream! - Wall Drug", "Hot coffee! - Wall Drug", "Breakfast rolls - Wall Drug", "Wall Drug or Bust", "Ahead soon! - Wall Drug", "Historic Pictures - Wall Drug", "Cowboy up! - Wall Drug", "30 minutes! - Wall Drug". And so on. Each accompanied by a silly little picture. Every quarter of a mile. For over a hundred miles. Our motel was in Wall (aka Wall Drug); we decided against camping, as the motel was $20 more, and guaranteed not waking up freezing, or sweating profusely as soon as the sun rose with no shade. As we neared Wall (Drug), the temperature had climbed into the 80s, and not a cloud in the sky.
We pulled into a gas station about 40 min away, and were greeted by the sweetest German Shepherd ever. I love most animals, but have a special affinity for Shepherds - two stood guard by my stroller and crib as an infant. They are the guardian spirits in the symbolism of my subconscious. We dropped a layer, and both went bandana style (avoiding sun- and windburns). I tried unsuccessfully to drip water into my pup pal's mouth. A trucker came over and reiterated that we were "a loong way from home." He concurred with our decision not to camp in the Badlands. "I wouldn't ever camp in the Badlands. There's... nothing there." There was trepidation in his voice; a slight fear protruded from behind his ice blue eyes.
Approaching our destination, we passed through the lowest-populated town yet - Cottonwood, SD. Population: 12. We arrived at Wall (Drug) and were greeted by "the 80 ft Dinosaur of Wall Drug!", a large green brontosaurus statue reminiscent of Peewee's Big Adventure. The hype was for naught. As we were about to enter our room, Snake pointed out the gargantuan wasp on the inside of the window. After opening said window, and some unsuccessful coercion attempts to guide the wasp out, I stood on the outside of the glass and gave a few taps to try and startle him out. No luck. tapped a little harder. No luck. I gave a bang on the glass, and the window shattered, scattering glass shards on the sill and ground. I took a moment of astonishment and questioned my strength before informing the young kid at the front desk, who, for whatever reason, apologized to me, and promptly moved us to a different room. Maybe it was the disruption of my equilibrium from the wind's thrashing in one ear, maybe it was the signs, maybe it was the 80 ft dinosaur, but Wall Drug was already driving me mad. We hadn't been here longer than 10 minutes.
I took a few to snap out of it, jot down some notes, and make myself the usual snack - almond butter and jelly, this round with locally made organic jelly from a woman in northern MN that I picked up at a rest stop. It was delicious. We dropped more layers, and were Badlands-bound. The way Snake had explained his previous experience: "you're just cruising through the prairie, and then BAM! There's this." Precisely.
37 million years ago, as it is said, volcanic activity deposited ash in the watershed of what is now western-central South Dakota. Aquatic erosion deposited the ash, which became clay, which hardened into rock. The result: miles upon miles of castle-esque hills, canyons, and rock formations, some with various hues of red and pink, the rest neutral earthtones. It was magnificent.
The trucker was mistaken - there is much in the Badlands. Even here, life thrives. Our first wildlife encounter: mountain sheep/rams, sitting peacefully atop a rock formation with several-hundred foot drops steps away in each direction. It brought to mind one of my favorite poems of Rilke, "Exposed on the Cliffs of the Heart." They were the poem's breathing embodiment. We cruised on, winding through the formations at perfect cruising speed on the smoothly paved path. I felt transported to another time, some prehistoric period. Our steel horses were anachronistic in this state, but it was of little consequence. Nature had done it again - I was in complete awe. The intractable questions returned: How is all of this what it is? From what has it come into being? What IS existence? I knew I would never fully answer them - I couldn't, no one could - and I was content with that. After days across the prairie, this cruise bolstered our spirits and then some. Purpose returned, the heart was affirmed, and doubt was extinguished. We were back on track, adhering to our individual and collective intentions. Today I had lived. Voa would be proud.
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