After spending three days to make a two day drive, Nathalie and I finally arrived in Spearfish, South Dakota. It was my first time out on the old American frontier and it was both oddly liberating and insightfully humbling at the same time. The adventure continues after the jump.
After an arduous drive across the American heartland, Nathalie and I arrived on the eastern edge of the western United States. We had arrived in the Black Hills; home to mount Rushmore and practically the first signs of the great American steppe giving way to the heart-stirringly beautiful topography that defines the occidental half of the United States.
During the five days that we spent here, I was able to experience yet another side of America that I had only previously read about in books or seen portrayed on screen. In a sense, there are some truths behind the stereotypes (there almost always is). But like with all preconceptions, reality often dilutes them down to an antiquated frame, used only to aide the pursuit of discovery.
Here's what we learned:
After an arduous drive across the American heartland, Nathalie and I arrived on the eastern edge of the western United States. We had arrived in the Black Hills; home to mount Rushmore and practically the first signs of the great American steppe giving way to the heart-stirringly beautiful topography that defines the occidental half of the United States.
During the five days that we spent here, I was able to experience yet another side of America that I had only previously read about in books or seen portrayed on screen. In a sense, there are some truths behind the stereotypes (there almost always is). But like with all preconceptions, reality often dilutes them down to an antiquated frame, used only to aide the pursuit of discovery.
Here's what we learned:
Seeing Real Cowboys and Native Americans is Oddly Weird For Someone Who Grew Up In Nashville
To outsiders, Nashville carries this mythical reputation about being the epicenter of country/western culture. While it's certainly true that Nashville is the undisputed country music capital, the majority of the population is fairly suburbanized. Growing up in the suburbs of Music City, USA, I didn't know a single person who wore cowboy boots or lived on a bone fide farm. We were all fairly regular kids.
We'd always get a chuckle when tourists looking at country music stars' homes would look at us through the tour bus windows with profound confusion as to why we kids weren't wearing ten gallon hats and cowboy boots. In the end, I came to the conclusion that this image was a bit of a farce; a mere marketing gimmick to sell records. As it would turn out, it's alive and well, just one time zone over.
South Dakota is a rugged place. Home to ranchers, farmers and the descendants of gold rushers, there was no mistaking the distinctly Western attitude that defined the Back Hills. Wherever we were at, be it in downtown Spearfish, the relatively urban Rapid City or anywhere in between, it was completely normal to see men in cowboy hats and rocking boots made for ranchers.
In this part of the country, the vehicle of choice is the pick up truck and unlike back on the eastern side of the Mississippi, people had good reason to drive one; they're tough and like the land, can stand up to the brutal beatings that winters there mete out.
Paradoxically, when I told people I was coming from Nashville, they looked at me with a form of respect; as if they really appreciated the town and the people who lived there. This flew in face of my experiences on the east coast where Nashville has (somewhat wrongly) carried a reputation as a redneck backwater. And even though this attitude is quickly changing as Tennessee's capital city has become one THE places to be in the United States, it was the first time I've seen such uniform appreciation for the town I grew up in.
Speaking of the volunteer state, there aren't really any large native American communities left in this part of the US. This was mostly due to the brutal actions of the first Tennessean to be elected as President of the United States, Andrew Jackson.
Through the mass deportation program called 'the trail of tears,' the native American communities that had spent millennia in the region were forced to march out of the ancestral homelands and resettle west of the Mississippi river. And even though this action happened in 1839 and only largely effected the Cherokees, it still created a situation where as a kid, I never saw native Americans in my day to day life.
South Dakota is different. Far from the US kicking the native inhabitants out and making them, they simply took their land and settled on top of a pre-existing nation. While on the map, it officially says South Dakota, the territory has been superimposed on the former Sioux nation. Without getting into the tumultuous history between the US and the Lakota People, the Sioux Indians are still very much a part of life in the Black Hills.
Seeing Sioux walking around the streets of Rapid City, it sent my mind adrift with the history of the land I was on. I've always been fascinated by history and anthropology. To see how a previous culture has been forced to integrate into their usurpers cities opened light onto yet another side of my home country I had yet to experience but am now curious to learn more about this largely forgotten part of our history.
We'd always get a chuckle when tourists looking at country music stars' homes would look at us through the tour bus windows with profound confusion as to why we kids weren't wearing ten gallon hats and cowboy boots. In the end, I came to the conclusion that this image was a bit of a farce; a mere marketing gimmick to sell records. As it would turn out, it's alive and well, just one time zone over.
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| Mount Rushmore, located in the heart of the Black Hills |
In this part of the country, the vehicle of choice is the pick up truck and unlike back on the eastern side of the Mississippi, people had good reason to drive one; they're tough and like the land, can stand up to the brutal beatings that winters there mete out.
Paradoxically, when I told people I was coming from Nashville, they looked at me with a form of respect; as if they really appreciated the town and the people who lived there. This flew in face of my experiences on the east coast where Nashville has (somewhat wrongly) carried a reputation as a redneck backwater. And even though this attitude is quickly changing as Tennessee's capital city has become one THE places to be in the United States, it was the first time I've seen such uniform appreciation for the town I grew up in.
Speaking of the volunteer state, there aren't really any large native American communities left in this part of the US. This was mostly due to the brutal actions of the first Tennessean to be elected as President of the United States, Andrew Jackson.
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| "Hunkayapi" or "Tying on the Eagle Plume" statue of a Lakota woman and girl in Rapid City, SD. |
South Dakota is different. Far from the US kicking the native inhabitants out and making them, they simply took their land and settled on top of a pre-existing nation. While on the map, it officially says South Dakota, the territory has been superimposed on the former Sioux nation. Without getting into the tumultuous history between the US and the Lakota People, the Sioux Indians are still very much a part of life in the Black Hills.
Seeing Sioux walking around the streets of Rapid City, it sent my mind adrift with the history of the land I was on. I've always been fascinated by history and anthropology. To see how a previous culture has been forced to integrate into their usurpers cities opened light onto yet another side of my home country I had yet to experience but am now curious to learn more about this largely forgotten part of our history.
Deadwood: Casinos, Whiskey and Tourists From Nebraska
There are three main attractions in western South Dakota that draw visitors: the beauty of the Black Hills capped off with iconic Mount Rushmore; the town of Sturgis and it's famous motorcycle rally; and Deadwood.
Headquarters of the famous Black Hills gold rush of 1876, the town quickly sprang up to support the influx of miners, drifters and other half-insane vagrants intent on staking their claim to instant richness (or at least to get shit-hammered trying). Like with almost every gold rush, the town went through a cycle of astronomical growth before coming back down to earth once the supply of miners on the market thinned out.
But unlike other boom towns, Deadwood weathered the bust cycle and is still alive and kicking to this day. During the gold rush, the city was largely known for it's lawlessness, open gambling, copious drinking and ample brothels. Other than the aforementioned prostitution, not much has changed.
We spent new year's eve in downtown Deadwood (but not before eating some amazing Prime Rib cut from locally raised beef; that was a treat within itself). While the brothels that partially defined the city have been either eliminated or pushed underground, the drinking and gambling still remain and are a strong part of the town's makeup. As such, our evening was spent casino/bar hopping, people watching and drinking fine bourbon.
Among the people factor was a strong presence of tourists coming from all over the western corners of the Midwest. Again, I haven't really spent any time out in this part of the country, and it was neat listening to people speak with different accents and with of subjects not normally heard in more populated parts of the country.
In general, I got the impression that there was this 'no BS' attitude that seemed to waft in the air creating a self-policing culture keeping folks in line....or maybe that was simply just the whiskey talking.
After having a night cap at the bar where Wild Bill Hickok met his maker, we called it a night and made our way home.
Eastern Wyoming and Feeling the Frontier
After spending five days in the Black Hills, it was time to move on and take the relatively short six hour drive down to Denver. The road down took us over the South Dakota/Wyoming border and south through the eastern edges of America's least populous state. Our friends in Spearfish told us to get ready for a whole lot of nothing and "one of the most desolate drives" we've ever done. Nathalie and I brushed it off, thinking that we'd already experienced solitude driving across South Dakota. How wrong we were.
30 minutes into our drive and only a handful of miles across the border, we turned off the interstate. Our route was taking us via state roads to shortcut us through the back country and shave two hours off of the journey time.
Remote probably doesn't do this part of the country justice. Regularly going 15 minutes without seeing another car (much less another person), we soon started to understand what our friends were talking about. Here at the end of the prairie, about the only signs of civilization were the fences keeping in the cattle herds and the road in front of us.
It was during this drive that the gravity of the hardships that frontiersmen endured to settle this lost land really hit me. We had traversed the rolling farmlands of the Midwest and were quickly entering an area so vast yet so remote that few people ever bothered to stick around. We hadn't traversed into the Rockies yet but this part of Wyoming was already different than its neighbors to the east. Instead, we had entered Big Sky country where the earth only meets the capacious azure above at the far horizon beyond.
During the drive, Nathalie and I began to wonder about life out in the frontier. In between the time we were on the interstate, we only saw two stop lights. At the midway point, the town of Lusk, the regional oasis of civilization, held claim to the only gas station on our way (we topped up; a general rule of thumb is never have less than a half-talk of gas in your car just in case you have an emergency). Where do the children go to school we wondered? Where and how do people do their grocery shopping? Does Amazon Prime deliver this far out?
Five hours after we started our drive, we entered into Colorado and the base of the Rockies. Cruising down I-25, we weren't used to actual civilization anymore. By the time we hit Denver, we run into legitimate traffic and while we've definitely spent our fair share of time in gridlock, it took a couple of minutes to get used to seeing people once again.
In the end, our journey to Denver took us some 36 hours of driving and covered over 1,700 miles/2,750 kilometers of roads. I've never been a huge fan of road trips and have instead opted for the airplane. This one though, crossing eight states, two time zones and a major geographical region of North America, has forced me to reconsider my position. I'm looking forward to the next time I get to hit the open road.
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| One of Deadwood's many, many casinos |
But unlike other boom towns, Deadwood weathered the bust cycle and is still alive and kicking to this day. During the gold rush, the city was largely known for it's lawlessness, open gambling, copious drinking and ample brothels. Other than the aforementioned prostitution, not much has changed.
We spent new year's eve in downtown Deadwood (but not before eating some amazing Prime Rib cut from locally raised beef; that was a treat within itself). While the brothels that partially defined the city have been either eliminated or pushed underground, the drinking and gambling still remain and are a strong part of the town's makeup. As such, our evening was spent casino/bar hopping, people watching and drinking fine bourbon.
 |
| New Year's Eve at one of the many bars in Deadwood (apologies for the grainy picture) |
In general, I got the impression that there was this 'no BS' attitude that seemed to waft in the air creating a self-policing culture keeping folks in line....or maybe that was simply just the whiskey talking.
After having a night cap at the bar where Wild Bill Hickok met his maker, we called it a night and made our way home.
Eastern Wyoming and Feeling the Frontier
After spending five days in the Black Hills, it was time to move on and take the relatively short six hour drive down to Denver. The road down took us over the South Dakota/Wyoming border and south through the eastern edges of America's least populous state. Our friends in Spearfish told us to get ready for a whole lot of nothing and "one of the most desolate drives" we've ever done. Nathalie and I brushed it off, thinking that we'd already experienced solitude driving across South Dakota. How wrong we were.
 |
| Wyoming, the fence, and the road |
Remote probably doesn't do this part of the country justice. Regularly going 15 minutes without seeing another car (much less another person), we soon started to understand what our friends were talking about. Here at the end of the prairie, about the only signs of civilization were the fences keeping in the cattle herds and the road in front of us.
It was during this drive that the gravity of the hardships that frontiersmen endured to settle this lost land really hit me. We had traversed the rolling farmlands of the Midwest and were quickly entering an area so vast yet so remote that few people ever bothered to stick around. We hadn't traversed into the Rockies yet but this part of Wyoming was already different than its neighbors to the east. Instead, we had entered Big Sky country where the earth only meets the capacious azure above at the far horizon beyond.
During the drive, Nathalie and I began to wonder about life out in the frontier. In between the time we were on the interstate, we only saw two stop lights. At the midway point, the town of Lusk, the regional oasis of civilization, held claim to the only gas station on our way (we topped up; a general rule of thumb is never have less than a half-talk of gas in your car just in case you have an emergency). Where do the children go to school we wondered? Where and how do people do their grocery shopping? Does Amazon Prime deliver this far out?
Five hours after we started our drive, we entered into Colorado and the base of the Rockies. Cruising down I-25, we weren't used to actual civilization anymore. By the time we hit Denver, we run into legitimate traffic and while we've definitely spent our fair share of time in gridlock, it took a couple of minutes to get used to seeing people once again.
In the end, our journey to Denver took us some 36 hours of driving and covered over 1,700 miles/2,750 kilometers of roads. I've never been a huge fan of road trips and have instead opted for the airplane. This one though, crossing eight states, two time zones and a major geographical region of North America, has forced me to reconsider my position. I'm looking forward to the next time I get to hit the open road.
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