SOUTH DAKOTA
It was to be one hundred three degrees hot the next day. I wondered if they carried on with ball practice everyday since it seemed Nebraskans had no other pastimes except hunting and fishing. Up north in South Dakota it would be ten to fifteen degrees cooler. When the sun finally hit us we moved out. Our route went north for a short way, crossed a bridge into Iowa onto an interstate highway and there we traveled along until reaching Sioux City. Exiting the city we were now in South Dakota. My plan was to stay at one of six state parks around Lewis and Clark Lake, a reservoir on the Missouri River. We first checked out a city park in Vermillion which had a few sketchy looking folks homesteading there. Not liking it we continued on to Yankton and the reservoir lake.
I pulled into the first campground. It looked promising. It had sixty-seven sites and maybe twenty were occupied, plus there were lots of trees for shade. A sign greeted us at the empty kiosk booth: RESEVATIONS REQUIRED. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A RESERVATION CALL THIS NUMBER OR GO ONLINE TO THIS SITE. I am hot, tired, hungry and just wanted my cup of tea. I didn’t need the frustration of trying to understand an online government reservation system. There was no one of authority to talk with. I decided to not even bother with the other five South Dakota parks nearby. It would be nice if South Dakota extorted nonresidents a higher fee as Nebraska did. I would have had the pleasure of skirting that since I have South Dakota plates on the motor home. Anyway, instead we drove down to the Army Corps of Engineers campground near the dam to see what we would be up against there. I pulled in and the same story−reservations required, call this number or go online. At least here though was a human to talk to in the booth. The nice lady understood my frustration. She explained that’s just how they do things anymore. She does tell me everything is reserved out at her campground (seventy-seven sites) as the weekend is approaching. “But go over to Nebraska Tailwaters as they have more shade. You may be able to get a spot there.”
“How do I get there? Do I have to go back around through Iowa?”
She smiles, “No just drive over the dam.”
Straight ahead we crossed over along the top of the dam.
At Nebraska Tailwaters (forty-two sites) the camp host was right there at the entrance. Shane stood from his camp chair outside of his small trailer where he had a large fan blowing directly on him. Shane was a most helpful young man. He said there were some open spots and helped guide me through the online reservation site I had brought up on my iPad. I could now see on the map which spots were available. Thank you Shane. I drove on down the line of campsites that paralleled the lake shoreline. All the camp spots were angle in parking door hand to door handle with your neighbor. People would be right outside my window or door talking all the time. Music was playing, some had televisions blaring outside. One of the few available spots had four frat boys outside drinking and whooping it up. On the other side was an unseen dog barking incessantly. I thought I can’t do this. I’ll be miserable packed in like this. I camp to be in and with Nature, to get away from people and their contraptions. This was not camping. As I drove out I passed by a long row of vacant tent sites all in thick cool shade. I stopped near Shane. He stood from his chair. “Would I be able to stay at a tent site? I just can’t do the other. Too many people packed in too close.” He nodded his head in understanding.
“Sure. It is only two dollars cheaper and you will not have electricity but it is a lot better than a Walmart parking lot.”
I thanked Shane profusely but had to add I have probably stayed at around a hundred Walmart parking lots over the many years of my travels and never once had a bad experience where I absolutely had to leave. He seemed surprised to hear this.
I looped back down, picked a spot on the end, spent way too much time trying to secure the site online to pay for it but was finally was successful. If I was going to do this state and federal camping more in the future I was going to have to educate myself in how to work this online reservation system. The fact is reserving a site somewhere in advance is making a commitment to be at a certain place at a certain time. This strips away my freedom of travel. I am a wanderer. I never know where I am going nor when I will be wherever. I doubt I will ever bother to learn the system. These government agencies need to set aside a set amount of sites for the first come first serve campers like in the old days of camping. Oh but wait, that would be in a perfect world John. This is now, deal with it.
That evening just before dark as I lay in bed reading park ranger Jacob stopped by. He wanted to talk with me. I got up and put on my pants and shirt. He just wanted to check and see if I had paid as he thought it unusual for an RV to be down there in the tent section. In a lengthily explanation I regaled him all I had gone through for the day (by now he probably was sorry he stopped) and how Shane the camp host helped me out and said this was okay. I thought it odd he had no way of knowing I had paid for spot thirty-four. After a bit of going back and forth I finally learned they the rangers once had a way to check but had given their tablets to the camp hosts for them to keep track of things. Now they had no resource. Typical government bureaucratic thinking. So why didn’t Jacob just check with Shane instead of disturbing me? At any rate we understood each other, had a nice visit and as I had no receipt tag to display in my window like in the old days of sensible camping he said he would go down and check with Shane to verify my payment. Okay, now think about that for a moment.
The next morning in no great hurry to leave since only one tenter showed up I walked on down the line of “campers” to the restrooms and take a shower getting my money’s worth for staying. With my old person’s discount I had to only pay seven dollars to camp in tent city but I was going to get all the benefits for those seven dollars.
We pulled out and Claire straightaway sent us the opposite way that I thought; we didn’t get to drive back across the dam into South Dakota. I stopped and double checked what she was up to then decided to go with it. I had been trying to follow the Missouri River as close as possible all this time. I had a scenic route in mind from my paper maps that would follow the river bank for a long distance. Ah but when we arrived at the turnoff for Highway 52, the scenic route was closed with a detour sign. Foiled again. So I settled in for an hour’s drive through largely nothing but southern South Dakota farmlands dotted with a small town here and there. One of those small towns was Burke, population six hundred give or take. Burke had a city park where travelers could stay complete with water, electricity and showers. I backed into one spot that provided the most shade and plugged in. The refrigerator would now run off of electricity and save me propane.
From all appearances it looked as if the park received little use although it was a nice simple affair with a fancy children’s playground area. The restrooms were dated but acceptable. I walked into the men’s facility. Two large black birds were in there, I assume picking at the bugs stuck in spider webs on the wall. They freaked trying to get out as I was coming in. I had stepped into a scene of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
You were to pay ten dollars for your stay. Fill out the form then leave it with your money in the envelope provided and drop into the mail slot between the ladies and men’s restrooms. “A police officer will be by to verify payment.” Barney Fife never showed up. We enjoyed such a nice quiet afternoon and night that the next day, Saturday I decided to stay a second night.
I had gone in to use the shower and was horrified to see only one incoming water line to the push button control valve. Holy smokes! This is going to be one cold shower. I can do it. I pushed the button and within five seconds out flowed perfectly tempered water, nice and warm. This was the first time I had ever come upon a set-up like this where there was no control for cold and hot. There must have been a water heater inside the building set at the ideal temperature. Wide and spacious this was one of the best shower facilities I had ever used, birds, bugs and spider webs aside.
A couple of travelers from Pennsylvania, Jeff and Aggie stopped for lunch but otherwise no one else ever came by except off and on a few folks to use the park for a short time. The weather forecasted some high winds on the day we planned to leave. That morning, our third day, the winds arrived. I thought it best to not take The Little House on the Highway out into it. So I paid for a third night and was happy to do so. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be “stuck” waiting out weather. Meanwhile, tropical storm Claudette had rolled through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, following the path we had been on leaving behind a trail of death and destruction from wind and flooding. I now could only be grateful for that horrible humidity as it had saved us from a lot of misery and anguish.
We left Burke City Park wondering what ever happened to Barney for he never showed up once. Our next stay was down the country road for an hour to White River City Park. Although the two towns, Burke and White River, were essentially the same size their two parks varied greatly. White River had ten slots nestled in among low hanging trees so anything bigger than us would not fit in. If you were towing a trailer you couldn’t camp with any ease for each spot was nose in and not all that deep. There was only one picnic table. There was one water faucet centrally located. It looked as if it had only recently been installed. There was no electricity, no restroom with running water, so naturally no showers−just two pit toilets. And for all that it cost nothing to stay.
Our destination the next day was Rapid City, or rather Box Elder just outside of the large metropolis. Box Elder is where my “home address” and mail service is with America’s Mailbox. I needed to see what the issue was with the registration renewals not showing up for the RV and Honda which were due this month, June. I punched in the coordinates. Claire guided me northward to pick up Interstate 90 twenty miles away. Just outside White River park campground was a road construction flag lady. I could see a string of cars going up the road in the far distance. We had just missed the pilot car. The skinny crooked-teeth flag girl said it would be a twenty minute or so wait. Oh well, I am in no hurry. I have my kindle to read.
“Where are you going?” she asked. I told her.
“Why not take Highway 44 just out of town back there? It is a nice scenic drive and takes you through some Badlands-like area. Then you can catch 73 up to Kadoka and the interstate.”
I grabbed the map. Damn, that is the way I had wanted to go anyway. Geez, I seriously need to start remembering to check out on what Claire is doing to me before we take off. I thanked the girl, turned around and continued on my predetermined route out of White River, a lovely scenic route too as flag girl promised.
I could see the America’s Mailbox complex in the distance packed with RV’s before pulling off the Interstate. Oh this doesn’t look good. It turned out they were all camped there. I stepped inside the air conditioned office (it was to be ninety-six degrees this day); no one was inside except the two young women at the counter. Okay, this is good. I showed her my registration cards from last year and explained I emailed twice about this year’s cards and would get a reply “You have no mail.” She took my cards and disappeared in back somewhere. Soon she returned with the renewal notices in hand.
“Oh good. Any idea when it arrived?” She said no but explained it was in the registration department and not the mail department. I’ve never had trouble in the past about them checking on this but it all boiled down to if I didn’t use the proper terminology in my request they look in mail thinking my new tags are in there. I need to say to check registration or something; I never was really clear on it. After all, the card comes addressed to me at their business so why not keep it in the mail department instead of a “registration” department. I guess in the future I need to call instead of emailing so I can go back and forth with them about what I am looking for.
Since I was in Rapid City I thought about getting a South Dakota driver’s license. I’ve been driving around with a California license. The process involves showing proof of residency which amounts to a one night stay such as at a motel and a receipt of having done so. One can actually camp at their place for a night and get the needed receipt to show at the licensing place. I asked if my cards with the address would be good enough. She wasn’t sure. She took pity upon me and printed out a receipt as if I had stayed the night. Thank you Jasmine.
So that went well, much better that I had hoped for. I would go over the their department of motor vehicles and pay for my tags in person rather having America’s Mailbox doing it and then sending my tags to some post office down the road. After all, what else did I have to do that I cannot stand in line at the DMV on a Wednesday? Jasmine had printed out directions on how to find the building on Kansas Street. She also gave me directions for where the driver’s license place was, over on the other side of town. Why not have both in the same building like in California? On the way over I wondered how it would be for parking downtown driving a small house. Well out in front of the DMV office were a lot of empty angled parking spots, with no meters. Well this is going really well. Be back in a bit Beans.
I walked in and was immediately confused (of course) as to which line to get in. The one I finally figured out which was correct had only one woman in front of me. The other line was backed up with a couple dozen people. I can’t be this lucky but I was. Everyone else was getting titles or whatever. Just to pay a renewal like I was, there was only one person, that woman. Of course that woman had a problem; an issue about selling and then buying back her car which had been abandoned or stolen. I never got the gist of it all but it required bringing over a supervisor while the long drawn out debate continued. She eventually gave up after about fifteen minutes of bickering and stormed out extremely pissed off. I stepped up to the counter. Victoria was none the worse for wear and pleasant. She was happy to help me after that woman. I paid (in cash, no plastic accepted) got my new tags and left. Okay, things are moving on quite nicely today.
I made it over to the driver’s license place fairly easily. I didn’t see a herd of cars parked outside like I do in California. Nice. At the door a sign read: APPONTMENT REQUIRED. Uh-oh. Inside the door the pony-tailed old guy handed me a clipboard with a form to fill out. He said I’d be considered a walk-in. The waiting area had a dozen or so people. Okay, not too bad. I filled out the form (forgetting to fill in my name but I caught this later retrieving the clip board to fill that important part in) and was told to wait till they called my number C-46. The lit sign board overhead read now serving A-95. Oh gee. Well it turned out there was no pattern to the numbering system. I was called up in about fifteen minutes. The end result was I didn’t get the license. I would have had to relinquish my current California driver’s license. I didn’t know if that would cause a problem down the road some time dealing with the house I still co-owned with the ex and a host of other things like taxes and such. So that was a fail. I initially planned to go in saying I lost my California license. I had my passport and birth certificate with me in an attempt to beat the system, but decided to be honest. Just my luck if I went to renew the California license the system would see me having a South Dakota driver’s license prompting the U.S. Marshalls to hunt me down. I don’t need that complication in my life so maybe I did the right thing. By now I had had enough foolishness for one day. It was hot and I was hungry with a headache. On the way to the Walmart Hilton for the night I saw a Burger King. I secured a Whopper meal with a vanilla shake. I felt I deserved a reward for the day.
I picked up some food items in the store the next morning. We would be traveling north through the Dakotas on highways and roads dotted with only little towns. I still had a half a tank of fuel and figured it would be cutting it close trying for North Dakota on that. I filled up in Sturgis before heading off into the northern wilderness. Sturgis is famous for their big two-week long motorcycle gathering in August that goes on weeks before and weeks after the official dates. Amanda and I stayed in the area (many miles away from Sturgis) a few years back and the constant distant roar of Harleys everywhere within miles around was annoying. I visited with little eighty-three year old Edna in the Walmart parking lot that morning. After finding out she lived in Sturgis I asked how she could stand the chaos of Bike Week. She said it is awful. This year she was leaving town to stay with family along the east coast. She said it costs the city a million dollars to clean up after the event.
I had a city roadside park in the small town of Buffalo lined up for the night’s stay. Arriving there tired (only a hundred mile day) I was disappointed to find it signed off with no overnight parking or camping. The freecampsites.net app would need to be updated for this stop. Now what? The town was not even four hundred people in size. Our next possible stay was a half an hour away up by the border. I did not want to drive anymore. Where can I hide? I saw a sign pointing to POLICE. Now I have never checked in with a police department in all my years on the road but I know others have. Well I was desperate. I walked in to what may have been the municipal building for the entire county for little Buffalo didn’t need anything this large and fancy. I heard some women chatting away in one of the offices.
“Hi, I am looking for the police department.”
A tall nice looking blond woman said “Well that would be me. Let’s step over here.”
I explained to her I was a traveler passing through and I was tired and found their little roadside rest was signed off. She wasn’t aware of that thinking it must have been something new the city had done. In the end she said I could go over to the rodeo grounds and stay. “You’ll be fine there.”
“So one will come knocking on my door at night?”
“No, because it is just me and the Sheriff here and I’m leaving town today” she said with a smile. “I’ll let the sheriff know.”
I thanked her and said “My name is John, and you are?”
“Cheryl”.
“So I can just say Cheryl sent me over here and I’d be good?”
“You bet!”
Other than the flies (well it was the rodeo grounds after all) we had a great afternoon. There was a regular established row of spots complete with electrical hookups. I assumed it was for when they have their rodeos and rodeo people can camp. The little town could encourage travelers to stay there and make a few bucks for little Buffalo.
I found on one of the camping apps a Forest Service campground by the name of Picnic Springs less an hour’s drive north. I decided to check it out. At the turnoff from the highway a well graded gravel road with no washboard or potholes stretched out to the campground. This was encouraging. The road zigzagged in and up onto a massive forested sandstone plateau. Crossing a cattle guard we were now in Forest Service land and the campground. It looked nice as I looped around. Only ten campsites none of which had any campers. Each site was widely spaced apart from its neighbor. There was no water and two sets of vault toilets. Each site had an old cement and wood plank picnic table and fire ring. All of this for free. It was June 25. Maybe we can stay here on through the upcoming Fourth of July weekend mayhem? I selected a spot and let Beans out for her inspection. Two feet tall plains grass was all around. She loved romping through it. I thought about the provisions I had on board and figured we’d be good for a week. I wished I had more lettuce and salads though.
The next day I hiked back down the road off the plateau. Returning to camp I thought I ought to get Gracie down from the carrier, see if she’ll fire up as this would be a nice place to tootle around at. The battery was dead unsurprisingly since the last time I rode the Honda 90 was back in mid-March. I removed the battery, added some battery acid, hooked it up to one of the six-volt house batteries to charge it and replaced the battery in the bike. Third kick she fired up. What a great little bike.
Each morning I would walk the loop around the campground to see who was around. Some would come in stay for the night then leave all except for one. They stayed and of course just had to camp at the very next site over from us. Why?
Four days later I dug out a Nissan Instant Chicken Chow Mien dinner for an early evening meal. A couple hours later I had stomach cramps. The next day I felt horrible with crippling gut cramps. I’d lay in bed most of the day thinking back to last winter coming up with that urinary blockage ordeal and having to drive myself to the hospital (see The Pandemic Year). Maybe I should load up Gracie. I got up to do so and found the battery was again dead. I was too weak to push the bike up the ramp. I went back inside and would deal with it in the morning. Later I was able to puke a little into the fire pit. A little was all I had to show for I had no appetite and hadn’t eaten all day and the day before. In the middle of the night I finally had a bowel movement and was so happy not to be constipated. Back to bed I went somewhat relieved.
In the morning I crawled out of bed still having the cramps−they never ceased. I went through the process of charging up the Honda battery again, put it back in the bike and was elated she started up. Now I could allow the motor to pull the bike up onto the carrier. With the bike in place I shut off the engine thoroughly exhausted. I was so grateful I just stood there for the longest time holding it and myself up. Slowly (I had no other choice for I was moving very slowly) I secured the motorcycle down, covered it and put away all the gear lying out and about. We now had one more thing to do−find a different spot with some shade. The next several days would be warming up peaking out at one hundred degrees. I drove around the loop and discovered only one place had any sort of shade. I would have to move the vehicle several times during the day chasing shade. It wasn’t really a campsite in having a table or fire ring, simply a wide open grassy area down off from the camp road. I parked in the shade and crashed onto the bed thoroughly wiped-out.
I needed to eat something. Boy, I wished for some chicken soup. I had no soups. I needed to be better prepared for unexpected events such as this. I even dug out my thirty-year-shelf-life survival food containers. No chicken soup. I tried making a broth from a seasoning packet of chicken Top Ramen. It tasted okay. It was something. The next day I remembered the Lipton’s dried onion soup packets I had. I made up one of them cutting it in half. Oh that hit the spot! It along with three soda crackers lifted my spirits. Just getting up to make a cup of tea was an effort.
A couple days later with the cramps finally having settled down I felt I was getting somewhat better at least in the sense I could walk standing up straight and not hunched over. Poor Beans, she hadn’t been able to go out for a walk in four days. I decided to take her out so she could at least explore our new campsite. I was still moving real slow but she didn’t mind. She just had to want to walk along the very edge of the cliff, a vertical drop-off for hundreds of feet. Geez Beans! We were on our way back to the RV when all of a sudden her harness broke! Oh no! I didn’t have the energy to track her down in the woods. When it came loose she just stopped and stood there. I prayed she’d remain so and not scamper off playing hard-to-get like she likes to do sometimes. She stayed put. I scooped her up in my arms hugging her dearly. Oh thank you, thank you! We went back to the RV. I was exhausted both physically and emotionally thinking what could have been. I laid there in bed and tried to recuperate. A bit later I got up and was able to stitch the loop back to the harness. This would now last for a long time. I would buy a new harness for I had bought this one for Sinbad probably twenty years ago but I have not been able to find this same simple style with the easy to do and undo clasp.
I felt better as the day progressed but was generally weak with no energy or strength. I felt it was a matter of having eaten next to nothing. I needed food. I tried working on forcing myself to eat little bits at a time. The next day was now the Fourth of July and the cramps were gone. Why women would willingly put themselves through the pain of child birth is beyond me. Oh that thought passed through my mind several times over the past few days believe me. I spent the ‘holiday’ trying to reorganize preparing to leave Monday. Here I was worried about having enough food supplies for our stay here at Picnic Springs and now I had to dispose of fresh foods that were no longer fresh. Late in the day I sat outside soaked my feet and cleaned myself up generally trying to make myself feel human again. Tomorrow we would cross over into North Dakota.