Into the Badlands

We awoke in the back of the van in Humboldt, South Dakota somewhere around 8 in the morning. We had pulled in there around 1:30 a.m. the night before and it was not what we’d expected. The spot had good reviews on freecampsites.net, our go-to website, and yet when we pulled up the directions were slightly off and the town park we planned on sleeping in was tiny and had no parking other than a muddy pull off across the street from a few small houses. At such a late hour and after having driven seven hours, we didn’t really have any other choice than to trust the reviews.

Gabby was pretty nervous but she passed out before I did, leaving me to my own jittery thoughts. I wasn’t so much afraid for my safety but for some small town South Dakota police officer to pull up to an unfamiliar fish van in the middle of the night and decide to give us the boot. We had nowhere to go. Every little creak and crack I heard outside was the precursor to the knock on the window. Eventually, after jolting out of a few strange dreams, I found my way to a rather peaceful sleep. Considering the circumstances, at least.

At least the morning view was rather beautiful:

Amber waves of grain…

After a quick breakfast of cereal and awkwardly procured coffee…

….we hopped back in Fishtank and got the hell out of Humboldt, setting our sights on the first big landmark of our trip: Badlands National Park.

Which means more god-awful pictures from the road:

The ride there was a sunny cruise through the golden prairie. It was so wide and flat and grassy that it was difficult to imagine we were anywhere near the Badlands we’d seen in our research; the towering alien formations looming over desert landscapes. Eventually, though, we came upon a sign that led us off of I-90 and into a strange new world. One with prairie dog farms.

After that wonderful little detour, it was time to see what we came for:

The pictures may be pretty awe-inspiring but it really has nothing on the real thing. This place gave us our first jaw-dropping moments.

After a good long while of staring out at the horizon, we found our way to the campsite, where we struggled to pitch an incredibly simple tent, perhaps because we ourselves are incredibly simple. Once that was done we went over to the Cedar Pass Lodge where I had an apparently famous Indian Taco.

Famous or not, this baby had the goods.

That night we drank a few beers and did crossword puzzles in our tent. It was cold and the ground was hard, but those things seem to matter less when you’re on a great adventure. I kept peeking my head out of the tent to see if the massive clouds would clear up a bit for me to see the fabled Badlands Milky Way, but alas, no such luck. I think I could have easily harped on that fact and gotten rather depressed about missing my chance, but I decided that such an attitude has no place on such a trip. Because what are you gonna do? and Ain’t that just the way? I mean, C’est la vie. Que sera sera. Such is life. What will be will be. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. That’s reality. That’s the way it goes. Oh well, Shit happens.

 The following morning we lay in the tent as cold rain poured down. Fortunately (and miraculously) we fastened the rain fly properly and we remained nice and dry until it subsided and a tremendous South Dakota sun came shining to let us know it was time for the Badlands Scenic Loop.

 We began our way down long and winding roads, through the strange and fascinating buttes and pinnacles. The place is really incredible. It’s ancient and filled with fossils of all sorts, including some from 74 million-year-old ocean creatures, meaning the places you’re seeing in these pictures were once deep beneath a prehistoric ocean. Just, flabbergasting stuff. Prior to my research for this trip I hadn’t heard much of it. That’s a shame. I suppose South Dakota is rather out of the way for most travelers, but anyone who hasn’t been through this ancient phenomenon is missing something powerful.

Historically, the Badlands are known for being absolutely treacherous to traverse. The Lakota Indian Tribes named it “mako sica” or “land bad” because of its arid, merciless climate, and unforgiving terrain. Homesteaders in the early 20th century attempted to make new lives among the buttes but were driven out during the terrible Dust Bowl events in the 1930s. We found no such trouble in our travels.

Gabby and I pulled off at one particularly scenic spot along the way to take some pictures…

…when we returned to the car, my life changed.  

I picked up my phone and noticed it had gotten service while we were outside. A number of text messages had come through. The first one I read was from my mom. She wrote to tell me that my grandfather had passed away.

I can’t say it was unexpected. He was 93 and struggling with pneumonia. I had visited him in a rehabilitation center near my house a few times in the past weeks as he attempted to get over it. I even came the day before I left for the trip at the behest of my mother, who feared I wouldn’t get a chance to see him again if I didn’t. I’m glad I listened for once.

The feeling of being out on this wild, frivolous trip while my family experienced this great loss was a mix of grief and guilt and actual nausea. How could I continue on with this thing and miss my grandfather’s funeral? I didn’t think I could, but we’d saved and planned for months and months and dreamed for years and years. I asked my mom what I should do and she reassured me that my only choice was to continue on, to honor him somehow out here, and to visit his grave when I returned. To this, I cried.

I wasn’t really able to concede to the idea until my aunt Kathy, my godmom, reached out to me too and assured me that my grandfather, we called him Grampie, would want me to travel, explore, and enjoy my life, and that they would take care of my mom. So, I guess this trip has taken on a new meaning. One great adventure to honor the end of another.

 My grandfather’s name was George Moore. He was a quiet and gentle man who loved to garden and watch soccer. He was my sister Allie’s biggest fan. He was a lifeguard when he met my Nana and he served in the Navy in World War II.  He wasn’t easy to know, but he helped when he could and never said or did a thing to hurt anyone, not that I ever saw. We swam in his pool every summer and opened gifts in his living room every Christmas. He watched me when I was sick and couldn’t go to school, took me to doctor’s appointments when my parents couldn’t, and drove me to class when I missed the bus. He was there for my other grandfather when he was hospitalized and in Heaven’s waiting room. He was a good, kind man and we will all miss him dearly.

And of course, I wish I knew him better, but c’est la vie, I guess, such is life.