Going across the length of South Dakota, one could easily get the impression there is a void, aching to be filled, either by hydraulic fracturing, as in its northern neighbour, or by patented corn, as in Nebraska, to the south.  In the midst of this seeming void, near the hamlet of Belvidere, I looked heavenward, and was answered by these:

After a satisfying meal at JR’s Cafe, just off I-90, I drove on to Mitchell, best known as the hometown of the late Senator George McGovern.  I got a good night’s sleep and spent the first part of the morning looking around Mitchell’s downtown.  Here, one finds the Corn Palace, a favourite of families with school-age children.

You can see, it’s impressive and kitschy at the same time.  Also impressive, at least to me, is the left-over steam pipe from an old school building, on the south edge of downtown.

While I enjoyed a nice lunch at Grandma Max’s, in Sioux Falls, and enjoyed the banter of the truck drivers as they flirted with a pretty waitress, I did not have time to explore South Dakota’s largest city.  My destination on Monday, July 22 was Pipestone National Monument.  So, I drove over that way, via a back road that took me through Garretson, SD, and scenes like this;

Something tells me that the farms, and their steadfast, hardworking adherents, will be back.  The good people of the soil have always ebbed and flowed like prairie grass.

Next:  Pipestone National Monument, MN

The first time I visited the Black Hills, with Penny, in 1984, we avoided Custer, SD, because we were both so disgusted about Little Big Horn.

I went there this time, because it had plenty of motel vacancies and I needed a shower.  The next day, July 21, I enjoyed breakfast at Baker’s Bakery, the food being far more imaginative than the establishment’s name.  A bustling, and engaging young man named Seth was my server, and applied himself very well to making his guests feel at home.  The chorizo  omelet was a sheer delight.

After breakfast, I walked around Custer.  Here are some things I noticed.  Below, is Custer County Courthouse.

Next, one of the first settler’s homes in town.

Local rocks are well-displayed at this shop, which was closed that Sunday morning.

Custer’s downtown was just starting to stir.

The town’s very own hill was clearly marked.

Buckhorn Mountain was not marked, but rose prominently, to the northeast, nonetheless.

Custer, the town, is a lovely, welcoming place- a far cry  from its namesake, the General.

On Saturday, July 20, I took an evening respite from the wild and wonderful, and joined the masses at Gutzon Borglum’s  epic memorial to our nation:  Mount Rushmore.

Each state has its flag and a granite slab, set in its honour, along the Grand Concourse.

The mountain, before the monument was carved, looked something like this.

Now, there are vantage points, from which to focus on one ,or several of the presidents.

I had a simple supper in Mount Rushmore’s dining hall, then took a brief hike under the sculptures.  After that, the Great Black Hills lodging hunt yielded me a room in Custer.

The next morning, after a delectable breakfast and brief walk around Custer (see next post), I spent an hour or so at Crazy Horse Monument, the memorial to the great Oglala Lakota chief, started by Korczak Ziolkowski, in 1948.  As you will note, it is far from finished.  The family, and the foundation now guiding its work, continue to carve, blast and fine-tune this magnificent edifice.                                                                                                                                            

I took some time to look around the Visitor Center, and to walk around the garden grounds, before setting off for Black Elk Peak’s southern slopes. (see post on Saturday).

Driving away, I got one last look at Chief Crazy Horse.

Next:  A Morning in Custer, SD

I drove into South Dakota, around noon on Saturday, July 20.  Stopping in the town of Belle Fourche (“bel foosh”), I found the Information Center closed, and moved on, past Spearfish, to South Dakota’s rendition of a town too tough to die:  Deadwood.  There was certainly lots of life there, that sunny afternoon.  A shootout re-enactment was going on, uptown, and children were being given the chance to be “sheriff’s posse”.

As always happens in Deadwood, the situation was resolved with a meeting of the minds.  Please note, I heard no cussing that day. Al Swearingen must still be away on other business. Main Street was a bit quiet, beyond that point.  No matter; I was concerned with getting to Main Street Espresso, and Wifi.   Along the way, I spotted the site where Wild Bill Hickok was shot, in 1876.  Sheriff Bullock’s hotel is also still prominent.

After a refreshing frappe and some time catching up with my world, I said farewell to Deadwood, and headed on towards the heart of the Black Hills, past Pactola Reservoir.    

The fisherfolk were out in abundance that day, but I kept my camera lens off them, so they could concentrate on the important stuff.

Next:  Heart of the Black Hills, Part 1:  Black Elk Peak’s North Slope

It was a kind, and delightful, suggestion made by the KOA counter lady, that sent me north, through Hulett and Aladdin, rather than east through Sundance, as I had originally planned.  These are solid little towns, with tough, but friendly people, and good stories to tell, as communities.

Hulett has a couple of fun little cafes and a kickass shop- Rogues Gallery.  It brings in Native American art from as far afield as the Arizona reservations, and has plenty of local stuff as well.  Just outside town, one sees the rolled bales of hay that are common to the upper High Plains.

Then, we come to Rogues Gallery.

I had to buy SOMETHING here, so I got a little ceramic bear.

After bantering with the shop clerk for a while, about Indian art and cowboy culture, I had to choose between the two restaurants nearby.

I chose Hitchin’ Post, as that’s where my car was parked.  I wasn’t disappointed.  The teen waiter seemed a bit befuddled, but he got the order right, and there was enough lunchtime camaraderie that I felt I had grown up here.

Once lunch, and the tall tales, were finished, I headed out through the Bear Lodge Mountains.  These would be a worthy destination, in and of themselves.

A few miles or so later, the genie presented me with- Aladdin, the village.

The Aladdin Store is ready for anyone.

I’ve seen a similar sign, in Tombstone, AZ, aimed at politicians.  I was welcomed, as is, given a free cup of coffee and purchased a jar of pickled okra.  I understand, from my friend in Oklahoma, that the contents of the jar were quite tasty!

Outside Aladdin, a mile or so, east, lies Aladdin Tipple Historic Park.  I will show that, next.