Day 5: Denver to Rapid City, SD, 6 hours

Fourth of July! We hit the road early, eager to celebrate Independence Day with our founding father at Mt. Rushmore.

I drove the first shift out of Denver, and boy, was I grateful for a flat road! The Rockies were to our left, rising high into the sky, while on the right, there was only smooth, level land stretched out to the horizon. The landscapes were so contrary, it felt like two different countries, depending on which direction you looked.

The big city and big city freeway were soon behind us, and we returned to the deserted highway. Even though I’m used to big freeways, I’ve come to appreciate the divided two-lane highway, and the huge swath of green grass separating us from the oncoming traffic. Until I hit the open road, I never realized how claustrophobic it is driving so close to so many other cars, or how scary it is to be separated from another five lanes of speeding cars by only a tiny concrete divider.

We saw our next state, Wyoming, before we actually reached it—there, on the hill, a humongous buffalo silhouette visually announced the state change. One minute into Wyoming, we saw actual, real wildlife—a herd of elk running through the open plain. They were incredible, and fast!

Gimme a W for Wyoming!

Wyoming was flat, flat, flat. And empty—we drove long stretches of the highway alone, with nothing but open fields and the occasional deer to keep us company. I began to realize that maybe our country is not as crowded and overrun with people as it feels—it’s starting to remind me of Australia, which has densely populated coastal cities, but nobody in the middle. We were officially heading toward the middle of our country, and the sparse homes supported my theory. We even passed one tiny town whose sign boasted a population of four people!

The absence of roadside attractions and being together 24/7 for five days was taking a toll on our conversational skills. Mark mentioned his pulse, and Edra quizzed him on the different ways to test your pulse. She launched into an in-depth lecture of exactly how and where to do it, and because there was nothing else to do, Mark listened intently.

I listened intently, too, but for a completely different reason.

“Really?” I asked, when Edra paused for a moment. “This is what it’s come to? Discussions on how to find your pulse?” Deep, philosophical conversation this was not, but it made us all laugh.

Things didn’t get much better. We also amused ourselves with a drinking game (don’t worry, it was a kid-friendly game!). We saw a sign for the town of Chugwater, and declared that we must chug water whenever we saw the name again. There were so many signs, we ended up gulping down a bottle of water each in about 15 minutes. We finally stopped when Mark threatened to explode or drown.

Colorado had beautiful rest areas, but Wyoming took a far simpler approach. Instead of restrooms or green grass, they offered up this amenity:




The sign didn’t lie, that’s all there was—a table on the side of the road. No bathrooms or running water, just a table on the side of the road. And this was one of the nicer tables, too—subsequent tables weren't even covered for shade.

We did find one nice rest stop, though. We stopped there for lunch because, well, we hadn’t seen any other hospitable stops for hours, and didn’t know when we’d see another. We seized the opportunity.

The tables were crowded. The inhabitants had an affinity for camouflage clothing, and liked to mix up the various patterns (the ones who bothered to wear shirts).




We’d been staring at a giant storm cloud on the road ahead of us all morning. It was huge, puffy, and ominous, but it seemed far enough away that we didn’t worry about it. Just after lunch, we left Wyoming and crossed over into South Dakota, and found ourselves directly under that cloud. Which meant we also found ourselves in a rain storm, with humongous rain drops pounding the car.

Edra and Mark form the letters for the next state--an S and a D!

There was also an awesome thunderstorm that accompanied the rain. We saw bolts of lightning flash all around us, and at one point, it hit a forest just beside us, and we saw smoke emerging right afterward, probably from striking a tree.

We wound our way up into the Black Hills, which were gorgeous. The fields with massive rolls of hay gave way to thick, luscious forest land, with walls of trees and scrubby bushes filling in the spaces below. The roads were curvy and empty, and I understood why the bikers return here every year; this was a pretty, and fun, road to drive.

Suddenly, we found ourselves smack in the middle of a crazy, tourist-ridden little town. It was filled with cheesy souvenir shops and goofy themed motels. It was like someone smashed together a fake Western Disney town and one thousand gift shops, and threw in a splash of chain restaurants. It reminded me of Pigeon Forge, TN, home of Dollywood, and one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been.

The town had one thing going for it—good signage, which quickly lead us out to the Crazy Horse memorial.

The memorial was gigantic, and we spotted it in the mountain long before we reached it. The minute we pulled up the car, the rain began falling steadily, but we were not to be dissuaded. I popped off photos of each of us in front of the monument—I’d waited a long time to get here, and a little rain wouldn’t slow us down.

Lightning, however, was another story. There were buses you could take to get closer to the monument, but because of the lightning, they were temporarily closed. I was bummed that was as close as we’d get.

What the monument will eventually look like

But there was a movie and museum dedicated to the monument, and that’s where we spent our time. I was surprised that they’d been blasting away at the statue since 1948—it still looked so unfinished. But learning all about the sculptor, Korczak Ziolkowski, was fascinating.

He was an army vet who was young and clean-shaven when he started. By the time he died, he’d turned into a Grizzly Adams-type mountain man who’d built his own log cabin, married, and had 10 children. Seven of those kids are still working on the monument, whose progress relies solely on donations and entrance fees. Ziolkowski refused multi-million dollar federal grants twice, because he was adamant the government would not live up to his vision, or honor Crazy Horse appropriately. I don’t know if the monument will even be finished in my lifetime, but Edra and I vowed to fly back and see it if it is.

We had to move on so we could see the other big mountain carving—Mt. Rushmore! It was about 30 minutes away, and I got more and more excited with each passing mile. We giddily stopped at the intersection into the park, when suddenly Edra shouted, “There it is!” and it was!

Comparing Crazy Horse to Mt. Rushmore is like comparing fish to lemons—you really can’t do it. Both memorialized great leaders, and both evoked great respect and emotion. Crazy Horse was amazing, but Mt. Rushmore—it’s iconic. I spent my whole life seeing that image, those presidents, that mountain, and being there in person (and on the Fourth of July, even!)…it was just was unreal.




We took about a thousand pictures of the sculpture, and with the sculpture. We moved in closer to see it at a different angle, then took more pictures. Mark was crushed that I had no quarters he could feed the telescope, but a nearby mom saved the day by giving him three. He whipped the scope around until the time ran out, then begged me to take photos of him picking the presidents’ noses (why are boys so gross??).

There was a visitor center and movie here, so we checked those out. We found an entrance to the outdoor amphitheatre, which was empty, and much quieter than the noisy viewing area above.

I could’ve stared at the monument forever. But it was the Fourth of July, so we headed down the mountain to see how Rapid City, SD, celebrates.

We passed through a couple more Disneyland-type tourist towns. We saw some random giant statues of JFK, Ronald Reagan and George Bush, a water park, a reptile house, and signs advertising Dances with Wolves movie set tours. We also saw a dead deer, which was not uncommon—we’d seen a lot of roadkill so far. But this one was kind of cool in that it had three vultures sitting on top of it. We doubled-back on the highway and parked on the shoulder to check that out. I know, disgusting, but how often do you see that? We were fascinated.

After a quick dinner, we returned to our hotel so Mark could have a quick swim before the fireworks. Our hotel was directly across the road from where they shot off the fireworks, and all of Rapid City was there to celebrate. The people filled the mall parking lot across from us, and our hotel parking lot. The neighborhood next door was filled with pyros shooting off fireworks. Mark worried they were going to light something on fire or hurt themselves, but I reassured him they wouldn’t. But I might’ve been wrong, since I heard an ambulance approaching, sirens blazing a little while later.

When the fireworks started, they were awesome, and right above us! It was one of the best fireworks displays I’ve ever seen, and it lasted forever.

By the time we finally went to bed, we were completely spent. But we were also feeling happy, patriotic, and in love with this great big country of ours.

Day 4: Moab to Denver, CO 6 hours?

We left Moab early, and it was already hot out there. Made our way through the last of the red cliffs and giant stone walls, just as beautiful today as they were last night.

Colorado appeared an hour later. We hoped Colorado was more colorful than its boring welcome sign!




The dry, barren landscape turned greener with each mile further into Colorado, until we finally felt like we’d really left Utah behind. Gone were the towering, jagged cliffs, which had fascinated us the whole ride out to Moab, replaced by trees and green pastures.

We found a new traveling companion--the Colorado River. We crossed it leaving Moab, and picked it up again somewhere near Palisade, Colorado. It was brown and calm in some places (very few places) but mostly, it was brown and white, running fast, rough rapids crashing through the middle of the river.

By 11 a.m., we were deep into Colorado. I expected to see the hilly terrain and mountains, but I was also surprised to see vineyards. Edra and I were delighted to see the vines meant exactly what we hoped they did--wineries!

Turns out Colorado has a whole wine region, with a healthy number of wineries in the area. We pulled into the first one we saw, and even at 11 a.m., the tasting room was full (side note: most of the oenophiles arrived on bike, and were pedaling to the wineries. How awesome is that!).

Mark parked himself and his iTouch in a chair, and Edra and I bellied up to the...err, tasting area. We sampled a few wines, purchased a bottle, and with a happy buzz, followed some signs to the town’s farmer’s market.

It was sunny and hot outside (I thought we’d left the desert behind us), but it didn’t slow us down. We joined the locals perusing the fruit stands and craft booths. The produce was big and colorful, and the Rainier cherries were incredible! (They were also sold out everywhere).

The vendor who surprised me most was not selling fruit—she was selling Mexican bread! In the middle of Colorado! (I can’t even find good pan dulce in my neighborhood, and there it was, readily available in the Rocky Mountains!)

We made a friend at the fruit stand.

I explored the town a bit more, enjoying the architecture. I also enjoyed this funny site:




That’s right, a drive-through liquor store! In Colorado, you don’t even have to get out of the car to buy booze!

Lunch was at a lovely little rest stop with covered picnic tables and grass, lots of it (Colorado had the best and prettiest rest areas during our trip). It even had a playground, though Mark was too hot to play.

We met up with our friend, the river, again after lunch. It ran directly next to us—the road was level with the river. After a few hours racing beside it, curiosity got the best of us, and we had to see it up close. We stopped at another rest stop, and walked to the water’s edge. Although there were only small rapids there, the river was moving fast. It passed by with alarming speed.

“I wish we could put our feet in it,” Edra said. It was smokin’ hot outside--I wanted to put my whole body in it!

Our next rest stop was not only pretty, it was teeming with wildlife. Well, OK, one wild life, anyway. As Mark and I stretched our legs, we heard squealing and saw a family pointing at the grass. We hurried over and saw a bright green snake slither into the grass. So cool!

Ambling back to the car, we found a little wading pool, fed from the mighty river itself. We rushed back to tell Edra, so she could dunk her feet in.

Edra, however, declined--she didn’t like the slimy (and slippery) ground leading into the pool. But I couldn’t pass it up. I waded in carefully. I know the river is melted snow from the Rockies, so I anticipated cold water. But to say it was cold doesn’t do this water justice--I felt like I waded into someone’s ice chest! My feet were seriously numb after about two minutes in there!



Our next stop was Vail, a sleepy little ski town nestled in to the mountains. It was a ritzy, shi-shi ski town, where the shops and lodges looked pricey. We don’t ski or shop anything but sales, so we went down to the river instead. Mark finally got to do his favorite thing ever--throw rocks into the water.

Only, it looked like a thousand young boys with the same idea had beat him to it--there were no rocks anywhere near the river. Mark improvised and threw sticks instead.

Edra and Mark tested the water here, which was as numbingly cold as it was at the rest stop. But it was gorgeous, and mesmerizing, and we couldn't tear ourselves away. Mark experimented throwing in different-sized sticks, pine cones, anything he could find, to see how far and fast the river took it away.




Our final destination of the day, Denver, was a couple hours away, so it was back on the road. Unfortunately, it was my shift at the wheel, which meant I got to navigate the long, steep, curvy drive through the Rocky Mountains.

I wasn’t worried at first. I passed a deer crossing sign, and didn’t think much of it, until a moment later, Edra called out, “Deer!” She pointed to the road side, where a giant deer was eating. So now, in addition to windy roads, barreling trucks, and speedy, impatient locals breathing down on me, I worried about dodging deer on the highway.

The sharp curves and steep hills freaked me out, and I wanted to ride the brake the whole time. A couple things stopped me—I did not see anyone else’s brake lights, but I did see signs that said, “If you lost your brakes, do not exit here—stay on the highway” and “Runaway truck ramp.” Those freaked me out—it meant people actually did burn out their brakes. So instead, every time I wanted to brake, I downshifted instead. I managed to get through the Rockies safely, but I was a nervous wreck afterwards.

Denver was teeming with people, more than we'd seen in the past three days combined. Most were strolling to a concert in the park; we strolled to dinner instead. The hotel concierge pointed us to what he called an outdoor mall, but was really one long street mobbed with people. There were horse-drawn cabs and pedi-cabs, and in the middle of the road were tables, chairs and colorful pianos (yes, you read that right, pianos!). There were sketch artists drawing caricatures of people, and bikers narrowly avoiding the people spilling in to the street.

Oh, and did I mention there was a convention in town?




Yep, the guys with the funny little hats. We sat near a group of them drinking really big beers.

Finally, at 9 p.m., was the highlight of Mark’s day--swim time. The hotel pool was open until midnight, and I joked I was the only bad parent letting my son swim so late. Turns out I wasn't the only bad parent though, as other families slowly trickled in.

Mark moved toward the hot tub, until he saw a young girl and her dad also head for it.

“And now I’m not going in,” he said, falling back into the pool.

“Why not?” I asked. “Because she’s a girl?”

He nodded.

“What if she was a boy?” I asked.

“Then I wouldn’t care,” Mark said. “I’d go in.”

And so we ended our night with a nice reminder that Mark is still a little boy. A little boy who loves to swim, does not like girls, and who, so far, has been a trooper on this road trip.