Holding out for a bit of good weather

We've been here in Sloan for two days now, waiting out a system of storms that could potentially be deadly to walk around in. We're making room 101 of the Winna Vegas Motel our home, and I'm not complaining; it's a nice place. Buddy certainly doesn't mind lounging about, but I'd rather not be paying a lot for a place to stay. I was so eager to be getting somewhere that I almost chanced it this morning, but storm sirens, hail and sudden 70 mph winds changed my mind. So, I guess we'll have a few long days now if we're gonna be in Omaha by the Fourth.

There's a reason it's called weed.

While traveling south this afternoon I detect a pungent smell in the air that takes me back to past travels in the Pravati Valley, Himachal Pradesh. There on my left is a fairly sizable cannabis crop growing in the shade of a corn field. Although it's not on my list of edible plants, I feel like I ought to find some sort of practical use for this find. It's quite surprising to see how quickly it's taken off, covering a solid 3/4 mile stretch beside the highway. So, I snap a few pictures, pick a single leaf and rubbing it together in the palms of my hands, apply the resin to my pits as a deodorizer. I'm pretty sure there aren't any laws against such things.

Entering a new State

We enter Iowa around 18:00. It's exciting to be in a new state. When we get into Sioux City there are still lots of signs of the flooding last week. Probably some more to come.

I'm not interested in sticking around long, so we push right on through. However, I do stop briefly at the obelisk which stands as a memorial to Sgt Charles Floyd, the only member of the Corps of Discovery who died.

 

Early morning clearance

We check out of the North Vue Motel in Avon at exactly 11:00. The owners, Dale and Shonni had been so congenial, and on a count of Buddy they even let us have the room for half price. I think that's the first time a motel's done that for us on this trip.

Anyway, with my clothes washed, and Bud bathed in an apple, deodorizing and antibacterial shampoo that a woman named Cindi had donated in Platte, we strike out for whatever place we're destined to end at. I have a feeling that we'll go 20 miles or so and pitch the tent in a field somewhere, but by 19:00 hours we've made it to Tabor. The weather's good and we still have some energy left, so even though it's breaking the rules, I put Bud in the cart and decide that we're gonna push on through 15 more miles to Yankton.

Arriving here at about half past midnight, I start looking for a toilet. Luckily, there's one bar that lets me use the restroom in spite of it being closing time. Whew! I was starting to get pretty desperate. Now we're both sitting in front of a Ford dealership so I can use their Wifi. 'Ah, nuts! It's not working now.' I don't feel much like setting up the tent, and there's no point in getting another motel so soon, so I think I'm going to go search for a sturdy bench or table somewhere to catch some zees before dawn.

4:00 am. I can't sleep. I'm thinking, 'This metal table would do nicely if it weren't so near a busy road. Might as well go find a Walmart.' Both pairs of shoes have had holes in the bottoms for a while now, and Buddy needs more dog food. So it's off to the north side of town.

5:15 am I didn't know Walmart has 24 hour stores. Look at all those sleepy heads stocking shelves. Hurray! Clearance time. Two pairs of trainers just my size for five bucks a piece. You can't even beat that in Indonesia. Follow it up with breakfast at McDonald's and I'm done.

On the road again

According to Hupa-Hu Maza, the tribe was given it's name, Ihanktonwan, in days long ago, when, at the gathering of tribes, these Nakota would camp on end of the grounds and post warriors on the perimeter as watchmen to keep the rest of the tribes safe, always ready for the possibility of attack.

These days the people are under severe attack, but their foes aren't the Crow or Pawnee. My two days at the Sun Dance have birthed a prayer in my heart, that the Ihanktonwan will once again rise up to be the warrior nation entrusted with the duty of admonishing and protecting the people on the reservations from the destructive forces of addiction, abuse and corruption.

I highly respect and appreciate those who have taken time to teach me about their culture and ways, and though I've only been able to grasp a small piece of this amazing ceremony, I look forward to a future time when we will be together again. My purpose continues, but I have realised that crossing the country on foot is a small trip compared to the journeys that some people face.

Prior to leaving Wagner, uncle Iron Wing and I get together again and he sings a traditional blessing for my travels. In turn, I pray that when the storm clouds gather and the lightning flashes, when the clown brings his pipe to the field to meet with the grandfathers, that the eyes of his heart will be enlightened and he will receive the precious gift that he needs.



Wopila Dekshi

My chance to dance

As I walk up the hill from Pickstown I'm thinking of all the synonyms I can possibly come up with for humid: sticky, balmy, sweltering...no wait that doesn't necessarily imply moisture, Oh, well. It's sweltering!

I get to the top of the hill and find that there is a casino and gas station so I connect the dots that I must have entered the Yankton Reservation.

So, after getting Bud hydrated and consuming a couple ice-cream bars, I decide the best course of action is to wait for a little while, at least until the sun is a bit less intense. While waiting a van pulls up and an Indian guy (Native American) pokes his head out the window to say hi. He introduces himself as DZ Iron Wing (Hupa-Hu Maza) and inquires about our destination. When he learns that we're crossing the country, he asks, 'What caused ya to do that.'

Now I generally tell folks something like, 'I'm out here searching for that beautiful sliver of humanity that's rarely given an opportunity to shine.' Or, 'I'm looking for that seed of goodness inherent in the hearts of all men.' And it usually seems eloquent in my head, but to others it probably comes across as either esoteric nonsense, or hackneyed attempts at witticisms. Regardless, on this occasion, I just responded by saying, 'I'm trying to sort some stuff out in my head.'

He says, 'Well, we've got our Sun Dance beginning tomorrow, and it would be a good place to come and get some of that stuff worked out. No one's gonna bother you, and you can stay for a day or two, or all four. It's up to you.'

I thank him for his offer, but ask for a little time to consider my response. 'Sure,' he says. 'I'll be back in a little while, and you can tell me what you decide.' Well, I'd heard that the Sun Dance is one of the most sacred ceremonies amongst the tribes of The Seven Council Fires, and I figure that I probably won't find a better chance to learn about the culture of the Ihanktonwan Oyate. So, when Hupa-Hu Maza gets back, I gladly accept the invitation.

That night, he takes me back to his home on the reservation and treats me most hospitably. We stay up late, drinking coffee and discussing a wide range of topics. Around 00:30 I say goodnight and head out to the tent, excited about the ceremony in the morning. As I begin to drift off, lighting suddenly starts flashing, and soon, the wind and hail come with it.

I'm not a modern camper

I walk into the Pease Creek campground, and I confess, my attitude isn't the greatest. I feel tired and dehydrated from the heat, I'm regretting my decision to go 3 miles off the route to find this place, and the dirt road caking my wheels in mud doesn't help. But the straw that sent the camel to surgery comes when I pick up the courtesy phone to get a site allotment. A young guy--I'd guess he's far away in a call office somewhere--quotes a price that's so off the charts, I mean, I've only paid more once at the Great Falls KOA, difference being that they had hot water, laundry facilities and free firewood.

Anyway, my first impulse is to just hang up the phone and go back to the dirt road where I can set up in a forested area, somewhere I won't be detected by park rangers. But then I start thinking that my conscience would nag at me all night, so I begrudgingly let the guy on the phone run my Amex card, then go to find my "modern campsite."

So as you might imagine, I'm grumbling and groaning like Bud with gastritis as I pitch the tent. Then, at some point I decide that brooding is stupid and I make a conscious effort to be optimistic. In fact, I tell Bud, 'Maybe something wonderfully unexpected will happen to make all the rest worth while.'

Well, I'd just returned from a cold shower when a guy named Gary approaches our area to say hi. He and his buddies have come from Nebraska for some Walai fishing and seem to be doing fairly well. Anyway, he says there's an extra pork chop in the fridge and offers to heat it up with some potatoes. How could I refuse when my only alternative was instant oatmeal. The food's fabulous; it really does hit the spot.

Nevertheless, if you're a traveller on foot or a cyclist doing the L&C trail, I'd steer clear of the Rec Areas in South Dakota. They're off the trail, and expensive (to put it mildly). You'd be better off pitching it in a field two nights and then using the money you'd have otherwise spent on " a modern campsite" for a nice motel room.