South Dakota National Grasslands: In Which the Author Weathers the Storm


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July 30th 2009
Published: July 30th 2009
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Day 2: Fort Pierre National Grasslands, 20 miles south of Ft. Pierre, South Dakota

As previously mentioned, Sophie (le dog) and I had, in just 24 hours gone from the city of big shoulders to the middle of South Dakota. I had made a good dinner, consisting of Zataran’s cheddar rice, dried Trader Joe lentils, and peanuts, drizzled with hot sauce. Excellent, and really allowed me to think seriously about lying down on a grassy bed. I had repacked the truck twice, taking a general inventory and bringing some needed items closer to the back. I now had enough room to work of the back tailgate.
One item about the west is how quickly the weather can changed. The hot sun and dry conditions produces quick weather—I’ve seen a 30 degree change in temperature. During the second restacking of the bins, crouching in the secluded back cab, I spent no more than 6 minutes. When I emerged, the sky had gone from very sunny to dark, ominous clouds. I quickly filled the truck back and made my final book bag choices before heading off to the tent. As soon as Sophie and I hit the interior, the rain spilled open with an intense downpour (the kind we only see 4 times a year in Chicago). The rain fly was on, of course, and properly adjusted, but the drops were so intense that a drop would hit with a loud “thud,” then would introduce itself to the tent’s floor after having dissolved at great speed into a 100 misty missiles, perfectly choreographed like the Aqua Blue Angels.
I knew to not unpack the sleeping bag until the time I want to go to sleep, so nothing important got too terribly wet, but water pooled around the tent’s door. My clothes were wet as well (and had been drying), so I just sat naked as long rolling thunder made its prescience. The wind and rain were blowing with such voracity that I took to extending both arms outward, one supporting the front door and one the side. I was sitting in the “lightening position,” both feet flat on the ground, knees pulled up (I think that I had picked that tidbit up from Maxim magazine, of all places. I gave Sophie some water, letting her drink from my Naline (sp.?) bottle, so I could drink any more myself, lest
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Sturgis rally nearby
her tongue came in contact with one of the many huge piles of cow dung.
I’m sat through a number of thunderstorms and I’m never frightened—I used to have the same feelings on airplanes pre 9-11. I’ve been awoken by, and slept through many. Sophie is just as calm in fact, it was somewhat relaxing, particularly after the 30 minute storm. Having only slept 2-3 hours in the past 36, I nodded off, never waking once during the night. The grass was sooo soothing and comfortable. It’s that real soft grass; I was walking around barefoot with no fear of sticks or that certain type of Ninja grass that stabs the feet.
In the morning, I finished off last night’s dinner (I have to problem with leaving food out—there’s no meat or cheese, etc. I’ve been doing it for years and have never gotten sick. I also don’t refrigerate parmesan cheese, regular cheddar cheese, etc. and have never had a problem). The coffee, made by an ingenious metal device that sits on the burner and brews a solid 8 ounces in minutes, is warm and tasty. The sun is out and baking already and the ground is totally
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Jackelope
dry, even after at least inch last night. The tent and my damp clothes dry in minutes. I’m already packed and ready to go (in general, I find it usually take at least an hour to make coffee and break camp). I say good bye to my first experience in the National grasslands, leaving behind the variety of birds and herds of cows off in the distance.

A quick jaunt down route 83 brings me back down to 90, and I head west towards the world famous Wall drug. The landscape is hillier now, with rolling brown and green grasses. Clumps of tree growth usually encapsulate a homestead, creek, or cow watering hole. With smooth roads and little construction, I go 80 listening to Mike Nesmith belt out Monkee tunes.
Wall Drug is a tourist trap with a need and purpose. A variety of specialty shops, the leather store, the small bookstore, the historical photograph hall, the souvenir shop, café, etc. It would be impossible for one not to stop at this place. I picked up batteries (I hadn’t yet found my “bog o’ batteries), some camping supplies (small flashlight, though in general I don’t use them. In National Forests, there somewhat of a necessity, as the terrain can be tricky), a dirty laundry bag, a small pocket knife (which, even at $2.99, I was saddened when one of the faux ivory western-scene-stamped side pieces fell off), and a $4.00 ice cream cone.
A short drive south took me to the entrance of Badlands National Park, where I purchased a yearly pass for $80. I like supporting the federal government in this way, as the National Park system is true one of America’s great treasures. Thank you Teddy Roosevelt!

As camping is a constant process of movement and decision-making, I like to reflect on my experiences and think of what I did well (and celebrate it) and what I could have improved on. Here is the list, produced Sunday night after the rainstorm:

Did Well:
Pleasant and relaxing day
Sophie had what Jennifer and I term a “good dog day”
Stayed on command
Good off-leash
Good in car
Rearranged materials and bins
Dinner was excellent (all camping food tastes extra, extra good to me—even the blandest meals)
Found nice space to camp in
Missouri river swim
Fit bike better in back of truck, freeing up a lot of room.
Good water management (10 gallons, in 2 5-gallon jugs)

Improve:
Tent is wet
Battery situation
Electricity issues (hard to get/keep computer charged)
Left ear plugs for Mp3 player in car—it’s full and I want to delete to capture some sounds of the trip

Thanks for the nice comments…

Dave and Sophie




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