this whole trip, I've been too busy to write. It seems I'm always a bit behind schedule, and pressing on to the next stop. As I was driving today, I realized that I've done a lot of thinking while driving inmy life, and maybe I should start carrying a tape recorder so I can jot down some of those thoughts.

Up until today, the trip has been pretty uneventful. driving, and seeing about what I expected to see. The stops in Wisconsin, and Minnesota, were pretty much like rural northern Michigan. When I got to South Dakota, things began to change. The prarie has a character and life of its own. My overnight near Albert Lea, MN wasn't so differrent - a mostly treeless state park, with the typical neighbors, and some not-so-typical. A group of Motorcyclists travelling together camped next door. Instead of the rowdyness I expected, they were fairly quiet - no music playing, and they were in bed before me. In the morning, they were organized about fixing their breakfast, breaking camp, and moving out. Obviously, a group that travels together often.

As I proceeded west, I got off the interstate for a while. I visited the McCone sod house memorial. This turned out to be a modern re-creation of a sod house, not an original. It was still informative - the original sod houses barely lasted five years or so. I saw two houses, a simple semi-dugout, and a more finished one with wood floors and planking under the roof, plastered interior walls, also with some factory manufactured furniture as well. Still, it gave me a sense of what life must have been like - trying to start up a farm while basically camping in a makeshift shelter. the hard winters on the plains must have been real tough. Especially since there were no trees - so no wood for construcion, and none of the easy fuel for the stove we take for granted today.

I also stopped in Downers Grove, and walked through the Laura Ingalls Wilder museum, but quickly. I was already behind schedule, and I had to get back to the freeway.

I picked up a hitchhiker. He appeared to be spanish, and he carried the tools of a carpenter with him. As the conversation was welcome and informative, I drove well past my intended stop in Pierre, and on to Rapid City and Sturgis. Oh, did I telll you that we encountered more and more Motorcycles on the interstate? It seems that I'm in South Dakota at the same time as every Harley Davidson rider in the country is converging on the black hills for the annual Sturgis rally. It's now past dinnertime, I've been on the road 14 hours, it's raining, and I don't feel like trying to find a campsite among 100,000 bikers here to party. Finding a motel room wasn't going to be easy, either, so I pulled in to the first place that had a vacancy sign, only to fiind out that they are fleecing the bikers to the tune of $200/night! The girl at the desk takes pity on me, and gives me a bargain at $114, since I wasn't inteent on trashing the place. Oh, well, it's a warm bed for the night. The place was called the President's View, but I had to ask, and even then it took a telephoto lens to make out the sculptures on Mt Rushmore from the front entrance of the motel.

In the morning, I took a leisurely stroll down the main street of Keystone, had some breakfast at a beautiful red-garter saloon, and headed out to see the sights.

Mount Rushmore was a typical national monument. Even though it was raining, the crowds were there to see it. Even the bikers. Despite the image of being anti-social, they were very much the typical tourists - they just wore more leather than most. Also on the site, was the sculptor's studio, which contained a working model of the sculpture as it was intended to be completed. For some reason, the work was stopped after the heads were completed, and no work was done on the bodies and hands. A new addition this year is the 'walk of the presidents', which allows one to climb up to the base of the rubble pile below the sculptures. This affords one some unusual views, and an idea of the magnitude of the sculpture.

Crazy horse mountain was what really impressed me. Fifty years in the making, and nowhere near complete, I just heard about it a year or so ago. Refusing public funding, a group is taking on the mountain, and creating the largest sculpture ever attempted. It was begun in 1948 at the request of a native american group, sculptor Korczyk (sp?) developed a plan and began blasting away the parts of the mountain that were not crazy horse. He died several years ago, leaving behind a model and eight volumes of instructions, which his wife and volunteers are following to complete the work. After fifty years of work, only the face has been completed. This was unveiled at the anniversary celebration in July of '98. Some minimal work has been done to begin defining the arm, and a tunnel has been dug through the mountain under the arm. To give a magnitude to this project, the tunnel in its current state is 50 feet tall. The entire Mt Rushmore sculpture of four heads would fit on Crazy Horse's forehead! I dawdled there for several hours, checking out the various exhibits.

When I finally left the mountain, it was almost 2PM, and I hadn't travelled but 20 miles from my starting point. I began heading southwest on the back roads, making my way down towards Salt Lake City. I was in and out of rain showers, and at one point I was treated to a beautiful rainbow.

On towards the evening, I came to the best gem of a road I've found so far. This GPS navigator has made it possible to confidently travel the back roads, and today it found a doozy! State route 994 gave way to a county road, and soon the pavement diaappeared. As the road narrowed to a sand two-track, the country opened up into some of the most gorgeous landscape I've ever seen. I ended up slowing to less than five miles per hour, as I negotiated ruts, rocks, and the slow-to give way Black Angus cattle. The road crossed numerous fence lines with cattle-trap bars, too many babbling brooks to count, and at several points, I met deer. First, a herd of a dozen or so mule deer, then later in the woods, a single whitetail.

After the miles of open range, the road was now surrounded by forest, and I soon realized that I had traversed from open range into another national forest. About 7PM, I encountered a little 8-unit rustic campsite, and found it totally unoccupied. I picked out a spot, and got my tent set up just as a sprinkle of rain began to fall. It took a bit of doing to get a fire started, and I finally was able to broil my steak and have some dinner.

I'm anticipating an uncomfortable night, since my sleeping bag got a bit wet in the trunk from a leaky water jug. I'll make the best of it and Im sure I'll welcome the warmth of the car heater in the morning....