The Big Muddy, Native American Scenic Byway, and Pierre

I left Platte after a quick gas-up in town. The skies were still grey when I departed at 6:30am but soon turned blue and remained that way for the rest of the morning and afternoon. There was little traffic along this route.

I continued my journey northward, along SD50, the L&C trail and the Oyate Trail, or old Lakota trail that travels more western and vears off from the river further north. I stopped briefly at the Dock 44 restaurant for coffee, walked Sadie around the marina where we spotted a turkey strutting across the road, and saw a park ranger diligently making sure everyone parking at the boat launching lot had paid their daily $4 fee. (I made sure I was parked at the restaurant, where free parking was allowed for its patrons.) Small coves were all over the riverbanks here, ideal for fisherman to get lost in their own private bay. The sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to shine over the bay.

It didn’t take me but 90 minutes to make it to I-90, and stopped at the Visitor’s center for more brochures and information on the L&C trail. There are so many exhibits along the river, it’s hard to catch them all!

My first stop was the Akta Lakota Museum on a Catholic boarding school complex in Chamberlain. I toured the exhibit, noting that there are many similarities between Lakota and Apache when it comes to spirituality. Although the Lakota colors of the Earth, red, white, black and yellow are not the same as the Apache, who use blue and green, black and white in their rituals.

“So, what tribe to do you belong” asked me the attendant. He threw me off course with that question, but soon we started a conversation about Native American practices. Roger, who looked very much Native, is from the Crow Creek reservation, the second-poorest reservation in South Dakota. We chatted between his attending to costumers.

Roger seemed to be Old School about native traditions. “Women do all the work, but men go out and hunt and wage war, and sometimes they don’t return. That is the ultimate risk they take to protect their families.” He doesn’t agree that women should smoke the pipe as that is a man’s ritual, but I reminded him that Native women have picked up many practices from the White World, and they want more rights and privileges as more rights and privileges are bestowed upon all women.

We touched upon other topics, such as the sacred hills of the Black hills and other lands that Whites had taken from the Natives. But we had to watch what we said because, as Roger noted, he was working for a Catholic boarding school that historically beat Native children for speaking their native language or for practicing their native ways. It was all in sync with forced assimilation that was demanded of Native peoples after the reservations were organized late in the 19th century.

I could have talked longer to Roger but time was against me. It was almost 10am before I continued my journey northward, and Sadie by then was no longer resting in the shade. More ring neck pheasants darted from roadside grasses, a few prairie dogs popped up and more chipmunks raced across the road.

It began to heat up here and I had the AC on for Sadie the rest of the day as we drove along the very scenic byway north along the river. The bluffs weren’t quite so dramatic but the river was wider and more natural, and as I got into the Lower Brule Indian reservation the river was more like a wildlife refuge. Again, I saw few people but children who rode their bikes with dogs running after them. I meandered along some roads that followed the river, even stopping at a natural bend in the river where, for a few minutes, Sadie and I enjoyed some solitude. The river was peaceful here, and even clean, and various water fowl flew overhead.

The hills were covered in yellow goldenrods, as the tall flowers swayed with the breeze. The land looked flat but the valleys were all below eye-level. Black cows spotted the horizon. Few trees grew here, and the further north I made it, the more the hills became eroded; the badlands were slowly taking shape.

I never did find the road to Point Defiance and stayed en route to Pierre just to see the state capital. By now we were in 902F heat and both were unbearable. The town was surprisingly small for a state capital and the treeless roads did not bode well for an early afternoon hike. I couldn’t do that to Sadie. Nor did I find the historic downtown as it wasn’t clearly marked. The main route into town was all fast-food and motels and neon lights. Gasoline was also 25 cents higher in town, back up to $2.79 and up.

My drive along the Missouri came to an end just north of the Oyahe Dam, where the river forms a wide lake and offers expansive views of the river. The goldenrods were especially fragrant here and I could have stayed longer to take in the vista, but Sadie was uncomfortable even in the shade of a picnic table.

At 1185 miles into my westward road trip, I turned around. My love affair with the /Missouri River was now over as I began my more westerly drive into the Black Hills. I’ll see the river again in Montana.

My one day hike was along Pierre’s riverbank, along the Framboise Island Nature Preserve where in colder months bald eagles perch in the dead trees. This natural area contains 11 miles of trails along the edge of the peninsula and offers great sightings for birders. A hybrid cedar-juniper tree makes this island its home. Too bad the prairie trails on the far eastern side were exposed to the sun, making me want to turn around sooner than planned. Even I was miserable.
It was still hot so I only chose a two-mile loop with Sadie, watching her for fatigue. She didn’t last long, as she pulled toward any shade she could find and wanted to rest whenever she could. Both of us were attacked with ticks here, too, as I picked off those pesky guys off both of us even as I drove, and flung them out the open window at high speed. The ticks here are quite fast and more aggressive than the ticks I fought in Indiana.

I drove back to I-90 via US83, due south of Fort Pierre. This route was faster than taking a county road across the Grasslands, as pretty as that sounded , but I-90 from the central part of the state offers the same pretty views as the back roads here, as the land flattens out to more high plains prairie.

Local radio stations had been forecasting severe storms for northern South Dakota, eastern South Dakota and northern Nebraska, but clouds around me were high cumulus. I saw dark clouds far north of me. Yet it remained hot outside with Sadie resting her head as close to the AC outlet by the passenger vent as she could.

The land became more dramatic by exit 163, as hills began to take shape to the south, the Badlands became visible, and more alkaline hilltops appeared to the south. Kitschy Billboards also began to pop up, advertising everything from “Black Hills Gold” to dinosaurs, fossils, agate and rock shops. An “authentic 1880 Town was off one exit, which looked as fake as the Pioneer Village in Iowa, but at least the donkeys on the property were lively and came up to me for photo ops.

Another quick stop in the town of Wall also turned me off. Despite cute billboards pushing for the Wall Drug store, when I drove through the town it was nothing more than one tourist shop after the other. I drove through town, never stopped to look around, and got right back on the interstate to Ellsworth AFB.

The Black Hills were now visible, as they towered along the western horizon. Rapid City is nestled in the mountains there, but storm clouds moved in and covered the view. Wyoming and Montana are behind these peaks, with more adventures in store for me.

I finally got a shower for the day, walked Sadie around a fitness trail for one more mile as the base’s alarm went off warning of severe storms coming and to seek shelter immediately. Oh great! And here I was power walking around a small fishing pond on a paved fitness trail on a base I was not familiar with.

The storm came and went. Cool wind came in, dropping the temperature from 84F to 64F within 30 minutes. After lightning a full rainbow appeared in the east as I drove to the family camp sites ($10 a day, first come first serve!) and I took time to wash the dirty clothes I had already accumulated. Here I met an army wife, Debbie, whose husband retired in 1987 and she’s been traveling with him every summer somewhere new. A teacher in Sacramento, they chose the Black Hills this year, with their 19-year-old son.

Enthusiastic about traveling and the outdoors, she is also training for her first marathon this fall. Talking to her almost made me want to start running again. She didn’t look her age, either as she exuded a youthful attitude.

I drove into town to try out the brewpub, the Firehouse Brew pub and was no disappointed. This place rocked, with a live band that sounded like Neil Young. I didn’t stay long as I promised to come back tomorrow, and instead took Sadie around town where we walked up and down Main an St Joseph’s Street, where statues of all the presidents adorned the street corners. Sadie stopped barking at them when she realized those weren’t real people we were approaching.

I’m going to be in the Black Hills for a few days and plan on finally getting some serious hiking in. Unfortunately, I got here for the weekend and camp sites will be hard to find. I’ll make do. At least I know where the camp sites are on base.

But where to go tomorrow? There is so much to do here!