Apparently, I looked the part as the hotel clerk commented as much when we arrived around 6 pm. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We started in Kennebec, South Dakota, this morning, just minutes behind the sun, clocking in for its short shift here. I didn’t get much reading done last night, but it was the first time on the trip. I must finish the book before the hike as I now debate bringing it.

Some hiker opinions state that newbies have time to read because they’re still getting their trail legs. After that, it’s just more walking (and writing for me); unless my dad is reading this, in which case there will be no words notating my daily snacks and mileage. And definitely, no pictures. The day greets us with yellow and green rolling hills and surprises us with varying-sized groups of antelope.

I point them out every time. The first four are seen staring at a group (part of a herd) of cows who are returning the long looks. I know this can’t be their introductory encounter, but weirder things have happened, and either way, I think it’s adorable. We pass into Mountain Time, which gives us another hour to continue our drive west.

We come into Badlands National Park from the NE entrance and remember the time we camped here and woke up to snow in our tent. We went and bought snow chains and returned so we could see the park in daylight. Now, we gawk at the scenery before us while I chomp away at breakfast. I could get used to this, minus the trailer, and Caleb is already making plans to come back.

This is one of the many reasons our relationship is so strong. We love a lot of the same things, and Caleb makes sure to feed me first. There are plenty of Western Meadowlarks making use of their surroundings, as is the tiny Common millipede that crawls through boulders (pebbles to us humans). I’m on the lookout for deer. I remember seeing a herd last time, but we are in luck today.

We had been discussing wagon travel on the way to the park, wondering what this landscape was to them. Turns out, it was a real struggle to find a passage through, and wealthier homesteaders in the 1920s packed a shovel to dig their Model Ts out of wet weather conditions. Only one viewing area from the part of the park we covered wasn’t trailer-friendly. We still had to limit our stops, or we would easily spend the day here.

Next to a large pull-out, a bison is sitting on the grass until I pull up and pet him. Just kidding, please do not do that or put them in your trailer. They are just fine being photographed from your car as you can’t remember how far away you’re supposed to be, but you feel too close already. The car behind us was lucky enough to have him walk across the road in front of their car.

One bison was going to join the other two. There are more scattered across the park, but without my zoom lens, I wouldn’t get to see them as closely. The visitor center showed people flying bighorn sheep in from Colorado. The park can accommodate up to 300, and we got to meet two of them, one named C3, so we assume its partner was named PO after the famous humanoid robot. Seeing one is rare, so seeing two is spectacular.

I was able to stop on the road twice so we could watch and listen to the prairie dogs bounce and bark among their burrows. The Yellow Mounds are windy, and the mud is like gravel, so it’s easier to ascend and faster to fall. The bird calls echo, and the colors radiate, but the resupply boxes won’t deliver themselves. We’re out of the park too soon.

Part of me agrees that parks should have no development at all or only be partially accessible by shuttle, but I realize how limiting that is and that it would have made today’s visit impossible. Everyone should have a chance to explore nature and access its beauty when they have the time. I appreciate still being able to feel like the only ones here as other parks have lotteries and lines, which dulls the enjoyment, or at least delays it.

We’ve been to Mount Rushmore twice, so we’ve been near Wall, South Dakota, before, but with the number of billboards a hundred miles away, we know it’s a tourist attraction and an overflow entertainment space for passing bikers during the annual rally. We magically miss that traffic hazard on our random trips across, though I know bikers come from states away to celebrate their hobby, transportation, and lifestyle.

We take a quick glance, grab a tray loaded with a week’s worth of sugar on it, and once most of that is gone, we can walk back to the car or possibly push it for a minute. Caleb’s hands are still healing, and oddly, the better-looking scar and mess of dead skin is the more sore of the two. It’s a short drive to our next stop in Piedmont and our first gravel road.

I take the turn slowly and park at the bottom of the hill. There’s a sign that offers rides up the steep 1/4 mile incline, but on our way back down, the kid on the golf cart leaves us in a puff of dust. We need to stretch our legs anyway. Past the Elk Creek Resort is the Petrified Forest of the Black Hills, not to be confused with a similar lot of trees turned to stone in northeast Arizona.

We are handed a laminated map and shown to the theater where the tour starts. After the film, you push on the double doors and squeeze through to the museum full of many beautiful rocks in their ore and -ite forms with a wall of slices so you can get a better look at their back-lit details. Once done oohing over those, step outside and aah at the fresh scent of nature.

We missed stop one (admiring the wrong view), and then, taking our time, we inspected the other 23 marker stops as the last one is seen from a bridge. Some tree parts are in their original location, one even partially excavated, and others were gathered from the forest for viewing along this path. If we had another day, I would have taken the unmapped trail and spent an afternoon stone spotting at 3600 feet.

We had planned on stopping in Sturgis at the Motorcycle Museum and Hall of Fame, but sadly, and also, fortunately, it was closed, and we were on our way through Wyoming, all 20 miles of it. On the other side awaited Montana, full of sheep and antelope. We stayed ahead of the rain clouds for most of the afternoon, but they caught up to us after a stop in Broadus.

We talked with the clerk at a gas station there about incidents on the local roads (meaning any highway in the state), including black ice and deer, and her returning here after 30 years of living in Vegas. It will get down to 43°F as we drive to Hardin, just 120 miles past our planned stop for the night. This should save us a paid night as we will be within reach of family tomorrow.

So, I drive us through the rain, and the car slows going up so many hills. Any average mpg gained in SD is lost to the steep climbs, and these are the small ones. Two dogs bound across the road, just like deer would, so I slow as Caleb believes there’s more waiting to ambush us and continue on when I spot them. Perhaps they were doing some off-season hunting of their own.

I circle our long load, not unfamiliar here, around the hotel and park close to the lobby. The clerk greets us by saying how tired we look, thanks. We’re offered access to the mini-fridge with cold drinks and pointed to which side our room is on. I parked on the opposite side, where there are longer spots, and watched a truck pull in and bump the rear of another.