Devils Tower
We said goodby to little Dubois and headed across Wyoming for Deadwood across the line in South Dakota.
Along the way, the Wind River offered many entrancing views. We reached the town of Thermopolis, which is always a treat with its state park situated around an amazing flow of warm mineral water. This is not the deadly boiling upsurge that is a feature of Yellowstone, but just the right temperature for a soothing bath.
Over 18,000 gallons of the warm water flows every 24 hours at a constant temperature of 135 degrees. There is a bath house where you can enjoy a soak.
Thermopolis features several Mexican restaurants, but Mert (though from New Mexico) is oddly not a fan. She settled on Wendy's, which we can get any day of the week in Chattanooga.
On to Worland, where the surrounding mountains shield it from high winds and storms. It is also where some of its enterprising residents got rich during the oil and natural gas boom. It turned out that the salt flats below that were thought to be worthless were a hot bed of highly valuable gushers. One of the chief of the newly crowned oil barons was Charley Worland, who gave the town its name and who later moved off to Denver to enjoy the high life.
Charley was a distant relative of Chattanooga Valley's David Worland, who made sure to stop by when he and his wife, Sally, were in the midst of a year's excursions in a camper. They were greeted as conquering heroes and given a front page newspaper article and photo.
The problem with Worland is that to get over toward Ten Sleep, you have to descend a highway with five time the plunges as Monteagle. At this time, we were more grateful than ever for the championship driving abilities of Zef, who started down the hair-raising descent by learning on the fly the special method of shifting into low gear in the beautiful red Buick Envision. There were five separate careenings down this lofty mountain. Along the way, Mert brought up the topic of a tram attraction in a nearby town, but she was promptly told we had already experienced that.
We were making good time in approching Bad Lands country when Mert arose from her book and noticed the sign for the Devils Tower just in the nick of time. She had studied all about it and did not want to miss it.
Driving in we got our first glimpse at a prairie dog town on this trip. They seemed quite accustomed to the tourists and preened for them and hoped for food. But that was not allowed. The guidebook said this prairie dog town at one time extended for miles.
The Devils Tower rises 1,267 feet above the prairie floor and is visible for extremely long distances in this Big Sky country. It is said to have been formed of volcanic magma that was left standing as its rock sheathing gradually eroded away.
It's a dream location for climbers, who find its natural cracks as welcome places to grasp on the long trek upwards. Those cracks look vulnerable to breaking away, and the Park Service indeed has decreed that no more cams can be inserted into the sides of the tower. However, climbing is still allowed using the previously inserted equipment. People of all ages have made it to the top. That top is a small prairie in itself, featuring somehow such creatures as snakes and rabbits. Apparently, the snakes climbed up and the rabbits were dropped down by birds. Thirteen varieties of bats inhabit the tower.
President Theodore Roosevelt in 1906 declared Devils Tower as the nation's first National Monument.
Min was put in charge of the evening meal and the identity was kept secret from those who favor local color eating spots. When Mert (who was in on the secret) pulled into a freeway access road, it was obvious that it was a "chain" she had in mind. Perkins.
It was in the late evening when we approached the well-known Western town of Deadwood. The downtown is a ways from the freeway and hemmed in at parts by a narrow, dark gorge. Circling this are the equally dark Black Hills.
We found that our downtown Holiday Inn Express featured parking that was a couple of blocks away. After unloading, Zef and I located the four-story garage and began the trip back throught the crowded streets. There was gaming and gambling on every hand throughout the town - including a door from our hotel lobby to the slots. The betting parlors, with their flashing neon lights, overwhelmed the Old Western museums. They were interspersed with an abundance of whiskey stores and honky tonks and bars, where music rang out into the fast-escaping night.
I almost felt that we had landed at Pottersville and imagined seeing Jimmy Stewart desperately searching for his beloved Mary and Zuzu and the other kids.
Zef, whose daddy was a Baptist peacher, just kept walking.
But the next night, there were gleaming antique autos - vintage Studebakers, Corvettes and Novas - lining the blocked off downtown streets and the motorcyclists were still buzzing about Sturgis.
The spacious lobby at the Holiday Inn Express in downtown Deadwood, South Dakota