This ends my little report on our South Dakota trip -- starting with a typical day in the Buffalo Chip campground ...
Mornings.
To atone for our sins --well, mostly misdemeanors -- of the previous night, Fifi and I went into downtown Sturgis to work out at this remarkably well-appointed gym. If you’re ever in the region, invest in a guest membership!
Afternoons.
Knuckles off bike-riding. Fifi and Sunny. Bikinis. Booze vendors. Bikers. What could go wrong?
Actually ... not much.
Fifi and I laughed, joked, laughed. And talked and talked. (One gent, apparently eavesdropping, invited us to appear on a Chip radio station. Or, maybe it was a Sturgis Rally station? ((One day I may gather up my courage and agree to commentate on some pool match.)))
Rather than getting into afternoon trouble, what I remember so fondly about our girl outings was when Fifi and I would glance at each other, yawn, yawn again and head home. Shower, collapse for a nap. Wake. Shower. Ready for tavern hopping.
Nights.
My primary memories? Laughter. Friendly folks, good cheer. (The only negs Fifi and I encountered came from a couple of biker ladies. Best to ignore, no?)
Our first night at the Chip, Fifi and I strolled around the arena to check out the concerts. (Three nocturnal acts per day. Is that phrase confusing? Sorry!)
We noticed a young girl, quite casually, undress and stand placidly while a couple of other girls body-painted her front and back. In, appropriately, an official body-painting vendor booth.
Fifi and I, in that universal way good friends have of conversing without words, glanced at each other and carried on an entire conversation in a silent nanosecond.
‘Let’s do it. Why not? Think so? Maybe. Maybe not.’
Transport.
Think of the Chip. Imagine millions of miles ... okay, not millions, but lots of miles of roads, paths, trails.
Fifi, from London, doesn’t know how to drive any more than I do. (I did take one driving lesson, it didn’t work out. Fifi claims she probably really could drive from having observed Knuckles on his many machines.)
Fortunately, neither of us was put to that particular test.
So … Fifi and Sunny … well, let me say this about being pedestrians in the Chip. No worries! People there were so friendly! You don’t even have to put out a thumb (ala Claudette in ‘It Happened One Night.’)
Everyone stops to offer you a lift. There’s an official trolley, although Fifi and I caught it only a couple of times. But bikers, toaders (is that a word?) truck guys … it’s so friendly and so easy ... they all offer you a lift.
Plus, there are all those golf buggies (with a rear seat!) that stop to take you anywhere you want to travel.
Agriculture.
For some reason I was gobsmacked by the bales of hay that lay beside fields all over the state. In my mind, hay bales are rectangular. In South Dakota, for some inexplicable reason, they were roundish -- short, fat, cigar-shaped.
One guy, giving us a ride to the gym, said each one was worth around $200. Per bale!
Try leaving that much money on the side of the street in NYC. Or avenue. Good luck!
South Dakota.
Fifi and I were blown away by the beauty and grandeur of this particular realm. At least the corner of it we saw.
Here are some of the places that Knuckles drove us to:
Deadwood. This is touristy, but I loved the old hotels.
The Mount Moriah Cemetery showcased Wild Bill (dead man’s hand) Hickok’s ultimate earthly resting place. Next to that of Calamity Jane. Spare me, if you would be so kind, by not drawing word-association games between ‘calamity’ and ‘Sunny.’ Thank you ever so much!
Badlands. It’s described as a lunar scape. But moon references to this terrestrial setting understate the awe it inspires. The Lakota called it ‘mako siko’ while the French trappers preferred ‘les mauvais terres pour traverse.’ (Okay, I read all of that in the brochure!)
In any language, it is an astonishing vista. Barren, yet strangely lush with the sharpest vertical ridges you can imagine. I read that the shallow sea which once stretched from Canada to the Gulf receded while wind, erosion and other stuff shaped the formations.
Bear Country. While I’m in the Fran Lebowitz school (nature is something that you pass through from your apartment to a cab.), I have to admit that I enjoyed seeing all those animals.
It so happened that we arrived just as the ‘meat wagon’ boys were tossing out steaks to the bears. (Steak happens to be Fran’s favorite pet!) So there they were -- 20 or 30 or 40 bears -- roadside-dining, oblivious to all of us.
My favorite creature in the park was a white artic wolf.
Devil’s Tower. Go for the storyline … seven Indian sisters, fleeing, become the seven stars of the Big Dipper.
Black Hills National Forest. Yes! Gorgeous.
Spearfish Canyon, we were told, is the Vermont of the South Dakota autumn leaf-peepers. Even prior to the foliage turn, it is marvelously scenic!
Needles Highway. This was, for obvious reasons, the favorite biking route for Knuckles and his chums. Even in that large truck, Fifi and I had a sense of the riding pleasures from the sinuosity of those roads.
Mount Rushmore. This was the one South Dakota venue I was already aware of. And wanted to see. My mom and I watch that Eva Marie Saint movie every couple of years.
I may try to trick myself into thinking I’m too sophisticated to be impressed, but those four Mount Rushmore visages … well this particular spot lived up to its hype!
Overall … I could have gone into much more detail on pool, the rally, South Dakota, wet T’s ... and, of course you all would have loved it all. But I remain sensitive to your increasingly busy agendas.
And, as you well know, tempus does fugit.
Concision is my life,
Sunny
Mornings.
To atone for our sins --well, mostly misdemeanors -- of the previous night, Fifi and I went into downtown Sturgis to work out at this remarkably well-appointed gym. If you’re ever in the region, invest in a guest membership!
Afternoons.
Knuckles off bike-riding. Fifi and Sunny. Bikinis. Booze vendors. Bikers. What could go wrong?
Actually ... not much.
Fifi and I laughed, joked, laughed. And talked and talked. (One gent, apparently eavesdropping, invited us to appear on a Chip radio station. Or, maybe it was a Sturgis Rally station? ((One day I may gather up my courage and agree to commentate on some pool match.)))
Rather than getting into afternoon trouble, what I remember so fondly about our girl outings was when Fifi and I would glance at each other, yawn, yawn again and head home. Shower, collapse for a nap. Wake. Shower. Ready for tavern hopping.
Nights.
My primary memories? Laughter. Friendly folks, good cheer. (The only negs Fifi and I encountered came from a couple of biker ladies. Best to ignore, no?)
Our first night at the Chip, Fifi and I strolled around the arena to check out the concerts. (Three nocturnal acts per day. Is that phrase confusing? Sorry!)
We noticed a young girl, quite casually, undress and stand placidly while a couple of other girls body-painted her front and back. In, appropriately, an official body-painting vendor booth.
Fifi and I, in that universal way good friends have of conversing without words, glanced at each other and carried on an entire conversation in a silent nanosecond.
‘Let’s do it. Why not? Think so? Maybe. Maybe not.’
Transport.
Think of the Chip. Imagine millions of miles ... okay, not millions, but lots of miles of roads, paths, trails.
Fifi, from London, doesn’t know how to drive any more than I do. (I did take one driving lesson, it didn’t work out. Fifi claims she probably really could drive from having observed Knuckles on his many machines.)
Fortunately, neither of us was put to that particular test.
So … Fifi and Sunny … well, let me say this about being pedestrians in the Chip. No worries! People there were so friendly! You don’t even have to put out a thumb (ala Claudette in ‘It Happened One Night.’)
Everyone stops to offer you a lift. There’s an official trolley, although Fifi and I caught it only a couple of times. But bikers, toaders (is that a word?) truck guys … it’s so friendly and so easy ... they all offer you a lift.
Plus, there are all those golf buggies (with a rear seat!) that stop to take you anywhere you want to travel.
Agriculture.
For some reason I was gobsmacked by the bales of hay that lay beside fields all over the state. In my mind, hay bales are rectangular. In South Dakota, for some inexplicable reason, they were roundish -- short, fat, cigar-shaped.
One guy, giving us a ride to the gym, said each one was worth around $200. Per bale!
Try leaving that much money on the side of the street in NYC. Or avenue. Good luck!
South Dakota.
Fifi and I were blown away by the beauty and grandeur of this particular realm. At least the corner of it we saw.
Here are some of the places that Knuckles drove us to:
Deadwood. This is touristy, but I loved the old hotels.
The Mount Moriah Cemetery showcased Wild Bill (dead man’s hand) Hickok’s ultimate earthly resting place. Next to that of Calamity Jane. Spare me, if you would be so kind, by not drawing word-association games between ‘calamity’ and ‘Sunny.’ Thank you ever so much!
Badlands. It’s described as a lunar scape. But moon references to this terrestrial setting understate the awe it inspires. The Lakota called it ‘mako siko’ while the French trappers preferred ‘les mauvais terres pour traverse.’ (Okay, I read all of that in the brochure!)
In any language, it is an astonishing vista. Barren, yet strangely lush with the sharpest vertical ridges you can imagine. I read that the shallow sea which once stretched from Canada to the Gulf receded while wind, erosion and other stuff shaped the formations.
Bear Country. While I’m in the Fran Lebowitz school (nature is something that you pass through from your apartment to a cab.), I have to admit that I enjoyed seeing all those animals.
It so happened that we arrived just as the ‘meat wagon’ boys were tossing out steaks to the bears. (Steak happens to be Fran’s favorite pet!) So there they were -- 20 or 30 or 40 bears -- roadside-dining, oblivious to all of us.
My favorite creature in the park was a white artic wolf.
Devil’s Tower. Go for the storyline … seven Indian sisters, fleeing, become the seven stars of the Big Dipper.
Black Hills National Forest. Yes! Gorgeous.
Spearfish Canyon, we were told, is the Vermont of the South Dakota autumn leaf-peepers. Even prior to the foliage turn, it is marvelously scenic!
Needles Highway. This was, for obvious reasons, the favorite biking route for Knuckles and his chums. Even in that large truck, Fifi and I had a sense of the riding pleasures from the sinuosity of those roads.
Mount Rushmore. This was the one South Dakota venue I was already aware of. And wanted to see. My mom and I watch that Eva Marie Saint movie every couple of years.
I may try to trick myself into thinking I’m too sophisticated to be impressed, but those four Mount Rushmore visages … well this particular spot lived up to its hype!
Overall … I could have gone into much more detail on pool, the rally, South Dakota, wet T’s ... and, of course you all would have loved it all. But I remain sensitive to your increasingly busy agendas.
And, as you well know, tempus does fugit.
Concision is my life,
Sunny