WFRV

The next morning we eat breakfast early. There's a pancake tent
serving all-you-can-eat pancakes, sausage, and coffee for $2. It's a big
hit with the bikers; quiet time in the campground ends at 7am and some of
these guys are riding their noisy Harleys from their tent site to get
pancakes. We rent a car and head to Mt. Rushmore, hoping to avoid any more
motorcycles. It's not the bikers themselves but the incessant roaring that
is starting to bother us. Unfortunately bikers want to see Mt. Rushmore as
much as we do; there's a lane dedicated to motorcycles and the parking lot
is absolutely full of them. As we turn into the lot we see the monument; my
first reaction is that I thought it would be bigger. Of course perspective
is everything; we're still far away from it. The monument is well-done;
stairs lead to a walkway which passes under the fifty state flags and opens
into an observation deck. Below the observation deck is a museum where you
can learn about the carving of the sculpture. Ninety percent of the carving
was done with dynamite; the day we visit one of the original workers is
there. He was seventeen when he started working on what was his first job
helping to build the sculpture.
We take the Presidential Trail out towards the monument; from
various points you can see the heads directly above you. The entire
mountainside is covered in great chunks of granite which lay where they were
blasted so many decades ago. The likenesses are incredible given the tools
that were used to create them. Even Teddy Roosevelt's glasses look real and
that's quite a trick in granite. After the hike back to the museum we stop
for lunch and then pile back into the rental car for a trip to Deadwood, SD.
It's been recommended to us as a fun place to visit, and although it's a 45
mile drive we decide to go. Deadwood is where Wild Bill Hickock was shot in
a poker game (aces and eights was his hand); the town was one street in a
small gulch and some of it has been restored to look the way it did in the
1800's. First, however, we want to see an attraction called "Tatanka: The
Story of the Bison", one mile north of Deadwood.
Those of you who've seen Dances With Wolves may remember that Tatanka was
the Lakota word for bison. (Buffalo, we learn, are only native to Asia and
Africa, although the signs urge you to "call them what you want".) The
attraction is located at the top of a mountain and the scenery around it is
spectacular; it is surrounded by mountains and valleys and you can't see any
roads or buildings. There are tracts of pines along the sides of the
mountains; the valleys are smooth with short grasses and an occasional
shrub. Some of the mountains sport the tall granite that we saw at Mt.
Rushmore. Birds of prey hover on the strong wind currents. The setting
helps you to imagine how the Native Americans lived every day.
Inside is a small museum with a description of the bison and the many ways
in which the Lakota people used the animals (the Lakota call themselves the
Buffalo People). One of the Rosebud Ogalala tribe, Marshall Burnett, gives
a great talk on Native Americans in general and the Lakota tribes in
particular. He's very entertaining although his speech seems to be geared
more toward people who learned everything they know about Native Americans
from watching Gunsmoke. We hear that Bob Barker is Native American and that
the name Winona means first-born girl. He also tells us that the Sioux got
their name when French traders asked the tribe north of the Sioux what they
called their neighbors to the south as they were headed that way. They were
told the southern neighbors were called (and I'm sure I'm getting this
wrong) "namigdasu" but when they finally made their way south they couldn't
remember the name so they called them the Sioux. Good thing they didn't
remember the full name because it actually meant "Snake in the Grass"; the
northern and southern tribes were not friendly with each other.
After the talk we wander outside; there is a teepee encampment set up and
past that a life-sized bronze sculpture of a Native American bison hunt.
The animals are being run off a cliff, the warriors in pursuit. It's vivid
and startling, and is designed to show people how difficult and dangerous
the life of the Native American was. Kevin Costner has funded the sculpture
after his participation in a bison hunt in the movie Dances With Wolves. In
fact, it is his museum and some of the costumes from the movie are on
display inside. The speaker we heard tells us the Native American timeline
does not have BC, Before Christ, it has BC, Before Costner. The Native
Americans were horribly mistreated by the European settlers and that is a
part of our American history. Dances With Wolves was the first movie to
depict the Lakota and by extension all Native Americans for what they were,
decent people trying to make a living off the land, love each other, raise
children, and enjoy life.
After that very interesting and peaceful visit we decide to go into Deadwood
proper. As we near the main drag we see an ocean of motorcycles parked in
every possible spot. The street is choked with them and the sidewalks are
teeming with bikers. We inch along, staring out the window at so many men
in jeans and black leather, so many women in not much at all. I ask Mike if
he feels especially manly driving his Buick Le Sabre, which, when the kids
first saw it, was proclaimed the Grandpa Car. We find a parking garage and
get out; Mike wants to get a picture of the spot where Wild Bill was shot.
It is so loud that we can't hear anything. All the old-fashioned signs have
been covered over with vinyl signs announcing cheap food and booze. A
sidewalk band's lead singer is telling a joke; the words "Forget it, you
sons-of-bitches!" float over the kids' heads. They look at me and I pretend
I didn't hear it, so they inform me of what he said. I'm completely
overwhelmed by the constant jet-engine noise of the bikes, the cloud of
cigarette smoke that somehow fills the entire sidewalk, the casinos, the
bikers shouting friendly obscenities at each other, the acres of
over-exposed middle-aged flesh squeezed into deerskin bras and hot pants,
tight jeans and t-shirts. "Hey Mom," Ben says, "did you see that t-shirt?
It said 'Drugs may be the road to nowhere but at least it's the scenic
route.'" I try not to laugh. Then he says, "Did you notice we're the only
kids here?" And no, I didn't, but yes, he's right, and now I see that this
is not the place for us. Not today, not with a biker rally in town. I scan
the sidewalks and realize that if it weren't for the bikers there would
probably be only a handful of people in town. We're disappointed but there's
nothing we can do about it.
We'd seen a mini-golf place heading into town and that's where we go now; it's
a good one and the fountain drowns out the noise of the Harleys roaring up
and down the road. It seems that the point of these rallies is just to
ride, and whether they've come 1900 miles on their cycles or hauled them in
trailers behind their RVs, that's what they do. It's not a cheap hobby; the
guy from CT spent $500 getting his bike fixed; Sam overhears a woman saying
she spent $100 on riding gloves. Everything from the Leather Goods shop to
Chubby Chipmunk chocolates has a Welcome Bikers sign, and they're out in
droves, even in the antique shops. Mike says they remind him of peacocks,
and it's true - the bikes are so many different sizes, shapes, and colors,
and the bikers are all checking out each other's rides. It's an interesting
phenomenon but we've had enough, and we're glad they're all heading north to
Sturgis for a week. We're heading south to Colorado in the morning.

# posted by LDW @ 1:47 AM