Batteries recharged after a good night in Rapid City, we proceeded on our journey. First stop: Mt. Rushmore. We drove into the Black Hills National Forest in the southwest corner of South Dakota and immediately saw a big difference from the rest of the state. The elevation rose around us, green forests replaced brown farmlands, and we saw beautiful scenery in all directions. The majestic heads of Washington, Jefferson, TR, and Lincoln peeked through the trees as we approached the park.
The next step was to park the car. The parking system involved pulling into a gateway, taking a ticket, and later paying at a kiosk. Not as easy as you might think. Kathleen, who was driving, is a wonderful woman, but . . . and there’s no easy way to say this . . . she has short arms. She drove up to the gateway and reached for the ticket. As has previously happened at every parking garage or drive-through ATM that we’ve ever been to, she suddenly realized that she could not reach the ticket. She put the car in park, opened the door, and reached through the window again. Still no good. She clicked open the seat belt. In the process, she must have hit another latch next to her seat, and that’s when the fun began. The back of her seat suddenly dropped flat behind her, and she went into panic mode. The door was still open, her seatbelt was unlatched, her arm was out the window clutching the ticket, and the seat was down flat. I was reminded of Lincoln’s phrase when one of his generals was attacked while his army was crossing a river: “He’s like an ox that’s jumped halfway over a fence.” Then the warning system of the car kicked in. Annoying signals began sounding periodically, adding to the pressure she was feeling. The line was beginning to form behind us, and an official-sounding voice yelled, “Please pull forward.” So Kathleen, always a rule follower, did as she was told. She put the car into gear and tried to pull forward with the door open and the seat belt tangled around her neck. At the same time, she was trying to fix the seat while sitting in an awkward upright position. We inched forward and the warning signals became more insistent, beeping more frequently, urgently reminding her that the door was open and her seat belt was not attached. The voice of the park ranger also grew louder, “Ma’am! Please pull forward!” During this entire fiasco, I was no help, because I was laughing so hard. We finally cleared the gate, pulled to the side, and set everything back to the normal position. The beeping stopped and angry drivers accelerated past us. Crisis averted.
Once in the park, we walked in until we had a clear, unobstructed view of the monument. It truly is magnificent, and you can’t help but marvel at the vision, the artistry, and labor that went into the project. We looked at it again from a slightly different vantage point, but then . . . we were pretty much done. I mean, I’m glad we saw it. We can check it off of the list of things to do in our lives, but you can only look at four enormous heads for so long. Back in the car, we enjoyed the scenery as we wound through the National Forest. The Black Hills are much prettier than the Badlands, and the weather had turned sunny and warm. By the time we reached Deadwood, at 11:30 in the morning, it was about 75 degrees. We were too early to check in, so we decided to drive up to Mount Moriah Cemetery, about a mile from Main Street—that’s a mile straight up.
Deadwood is situated in a narrow little valley between two ridges of mountains, with Mount Moriah located at the high point above the town. Our original plan was to walk to the famous graveyard, but I am glad we opted to drive. Otherwise, I would have had to dig another hole up there and drop Kathleen in it. She does not do well on hills. I was picturing a “Boot Hill” type of graveyard, with wooden tombstones and barely legible names, but the cemetery is neat and well-organized in concentric ovals of marble headstones. The centerpiece, figuratively and literally, is the grave of Wild Bill Hickok, Deadwood’s most famous dead person. In 1876, he was shot in the back while playing poker at the #10 Saloon in town. A large, bronze bust now adorns his gravesite. Right next to Bill’s marker, lies the grave of Martha Canary, better known as “Calamity Jane.” She was a rough-hewn woman who performed jobs normally reserved for men in the West, such as driving mule teams. She also fostered an unrequited love for Hickok and requested that she be buried next to him. Her last wish was granted. Both of their graves are festooned with coins, stones, and small bottles of whiskey left by tourists and other well-wishers.
The town itself is a charming little place that extends over a three- or four-block main street in the shadow of looming mountains. For those who watched the show, we stayed at the Mineral Palace Hotel, built on the site of Al Swearingen’s Gem Theater. The term “theater” was used loosely, as, at the time it was actually a saloon, gambling hall, and brothel. It is now a modern hotel housed in a building that is over a century old. The desk clerk who waited on us was apparently part of the original staff, as she seemed also to date from the 1800s. When we checked in, the old woman said, “Let me see if your room is ready.” Instead of calling housekeeping, she scurried down the hall (at least as fast as a woman who was 112 years old can “scurry”) to check for herself.
While we waited, we looked around the lobby and saw that it extended in a labyrinthine manner down the entire street. Like many of the extant businesses in Deadwood, the hotel has expanded horizontally over the years, and now occupies an entire block of one and two-story places. The walls have been knocked out between them, and you can wander from one to the other without stepping onto the street.
I said, “Kathleen, Darling, what are those machines with bright lights and noisy sounds?”
“I’m not sure, Dearest; perhaps we should investigate.”
“Well, Pumpkin, I’m not certain, but those machines and the tables covered in green felt appear to be some sort of games of chance.”
“They do, Sweetums; do you think we should try our luck?”
“Yes, Sugarlips,” I said solemnly. “I believe that Wild Bill would have wanted it that way.”
(By the way, that’s exactly how we talk to each other.)
We spent the rest of the day roaming up and down the street in glorious weather, stopping in at one casino or another. Seth Bullock’s Hotel is still there on the sight of his original hardware store, and there are two saloons that claim to be the spot where Hickok was murdered. We explored everything. Drinks were complimentary as long as you were gambling, so we drank for free the rest of the day and had a wonderful time. It wasn’t crowded, the people were friendly and pleasant, and none of the prices were exorbitant, as is unusual for tourist locations.
We had dinner in the Gem Restaurant, where all of the dishes were named for characters from the TV show. Here is a link to the breakfast menu, if you want to see it: https://www.sirved.com/restaurant/deadwood-south_dakota-usa/gem-steakhouse-and-saloon/448710/menus/2847457 I actually won $300, so it was a lucrative day as well.
The next day, we drove back, but stopped in an Iowa motel, just across the border from Minnesota. To reach our hotel, we had to pass another casino, so we stopped in. Amazingly, I won another $300. By the time we got back to Ben’s house, we were tired, but happy that we had made such a memorable trip.