The Dead In Deadwood

Deadwood, South Dakota practically boasts of the 1876 murder of Wild Bill Hickok that occurred during the area's gold rush.

Hickok was playing poker in the boomtown's Saloon No. 10 when a ne'er-do-well named Jack McCall shot him in the back of the head. Legend says the one-time marshal and Army scout was holding the winning hand when he died, a hand composed of the nine of diamonds, a pair of eights and a pair of aces. 

This combination of cards is now forever known as the deadman's hand.

Friday Tim and I stopped in Deadwood, SD, so named for the dead timber on the surrounding hills, enroute from the Black Hills to Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Finding a parking spot for the Dawntreader, our RV, turned out to be more of a problem than we were led to believe. The lady at the town's Chamber of Commerce to whom Tim spoke earlier in the week said we could park at the Rodeo grounds, but she failed to mention the Trike Bike (three-wheeled motorcycles, to the uninitiated) Rally that would overtake the grounds for the weekend. 

Consequently, we were in a tight spot when we turned into the gates. Backing up the bus requires unhitching the Jeep we tow, a hassle we were set upon until the business owner next door hurried out to invite us to park at the side of her establishment.  Whew!  Crisis averted!

With the Dawntreader safely moored, we embarked on our exploration of the town. 

Left, Wild Bill Hickok; right, Calamity Jane

First, we hiked up Mount Moriah to the cemetery where we paid our respects not only to Hickok but also to Calamity Jane. She worked on a bull train, performed in a Wild West show and, considering her mannish appearance, was a prostitute of little repute.  It was Calamity's dying wish that she be buried by Hickok's side.  One can only wonder what the elegant and fastidious Wild Bill would have said of her interment. 

A overlook at the cemetery's summit allowed us to gaze down on the town and get our bearings. 

We knew we wanted to see the Adams Museum.  

Another attraction on my list was the Pump House at Mind Blown Studio where tourists could order breakfast or later sandwiches; then, settle at tables in the former Texaco gas station where they could watch a glassblower ply her trade. 

We also strolled down historic Main Street with its 19th-century buildings, saloons and souvenir shops.  Inspecting the Trike Bikes that lined the curb was also fun. 

Finally, Deadwood has been resurrected in the last decade, thanks to the state's legalization of gambling. It's the same prospect of riches that lured prospectors and gamblers more than a century ago that continues to draw throngs of visitors to Deadwood's casinos today.  Zombie-like men and women with distant eyes sit at slots, feeding dollar bills into the machines' maw.  It made me think of the walking dead.  

Nevertheless, Tim had a try and lost all two dollars he'd wagered. 

Easy come, easy go!  And on that note, I'll say, "Goodbye, Deadwood!"

Finding a Balance

Peddling a bike requires a good sense of balance if you're going to move forward.  

Life is like that, too.  We struggle for stability as we juggle our family commitments, work, and all the other activities that give our lives meaning and purpose.  Rest is often our last priority.  Yet, rest is vital to recharge our souls. 

Full-time RVers have told us that one of the paradoxes of life on the road is how people neglect time to relax.  Just because we're on a perpetual vacation doesn't mean we need to cram all the sightseeing we can into our stay at a particular location.  Ha!  No doubt you're thinking, "Gee, I wish I had this problem!"  Granted, it's not a big issue, but Tim and I are still trying to find a good balance. 

During our first six months of living in our RV, we've spent 10 weeks working on Habitat for Humanity construction sites, 10 weeks seeing the sights, four weeks harvesting wheat on my family's farm, and two weeks hanging out while mechanics gave the Dawntreader some much needed attention.  Stated another way, we've spent 54% of our time working, 38% playing and 8% (ugh!) at the repair shop.

The start of this week in the Black Hills was a flurry of fun as we visited one sight after another.  However, we've slowed down these past two days, partly out of necessity (the laundry needed to be done) and partly out of choice (we needed a breather).

So yesterday we slept in before starting the laundry.  Tim did some maintenance chores while I wrote blog posts which I'll publish once we find an Internet connection.  (Starbucks, where are you?)

By noon we'd regained enough energy to take our bikes to the Rochford Trailhead to ride a different, more isolated section of the George S. Mickelson Bike Trail than the one we'd navigated on Monday.  Rochford, SD is an unincorporated community hidden in the center of the Black Hills.  There's not much to the town but the volunteer fire station.  It doubles as a good landmark for finding the trailhead.  

Climbing aboard our bikes, we peddled up a gradual incline north towards the town of  Deadwood, following the route once taken by the Burlington Northern Railroad.  

The trail ran beside the south fork of Rapid Creek. 

It's a lovely stream that flows southeast into the Pactola Reservoir 32 miles away.  

A railroad tunnel lends itself to a good photo op as well as some trepidation.  It's a little scary to point your wheels into utter darkness and hope you will emerge safely on the other side.  

But there was light at the end of the tunnel. I conquered my fear and boldly peddled through the passage not once but twice.

On the return trip, we zipped down the hillside, passing the trailhead where our car was parked to search for the Mystic Falls I'd seen on the drive to Rochford.  Water rushed down three tiers of rocks, creating a symphony of sound that soothed our weary souls. 

In fact, my muscles were so spent, I made Tim cycle back alone to fetch the car. 

This is actually a poster in the Crazy Horse Monument visitors' center.

Later that evening, we drove to the Crazy Horse Monument to view a laser light show displayed against the hillside.  

Again from a visitor's center poster, this diagram shows what the carving will look like when it is completed. 

In 1939, Lakota Chief Henry Standing Bear sent a request to a young sculptor who had won recognition at the 1939 World's Fair, asking him to carve a likeness of Crazy Horse on a mountain in the Black Hills to show that Native Americas, too, have noteworthy heroes.  

Korcazk and Ruth Ziolkowski

The sculptor, Korcazk Ziolkowski (pronounced "Core-chalk Jewel-cuff-ski"), made this monumental task his life's work.  Some would say it was his obsession.  

He dynamited, jack  hammered and chiseled the mountain with very little funding or help.  

The sheer size of his undertaking is breathtaking.  The four figures of Mount Rushmore would easily fit within the area of Crazy Horse's carved head. Korsazk died in 1982, but his wife and children continued his work, making no predictions of when it will be completed.  

This model shows what the final craving will be.

Looking at what remains to be done, I doubt it will be finished in my lifetime.

Today we hiked seven miles along the 23-mile long Deerfield Trail.  We began at the trailhead in Silver City which bypassed the steep elevation of the trail leading up from Highway 385.  The trail crossed the Slate Creek numerous times, giving us picture-perfect vistas to enjoy.  Along the way, we took turns praying for our children, our families, friends in need and our church.

As I've rested these past two days, I've thought about the balance Christ demonstrated in His short time on earth.  Luke 2:52 states, "And Jesus grew in wisdom and in stature, and in favor with God and man."

Wisdom is not only knowing facts, but using them in a way that helps others.  Stature stands for the physical health I've been given and should try to maintain.  Favor with God is something I can't earn--Christ's death on the cross paid my debt.  And, I'm to love those around me; that's what finding favor with man means to me. 

Life is a balancing act, isn't it?

Three Parks in One Day

On the second day of our stay in the Black Hills, my husband Tim and I visited two national parks, the Wind Cave National Park and Mount Rushmore National Memorial, and one state park, Custer State Park.  Touring three parks in a single day might seem monumental, but it was achievable, if we proposed to remain for flag retiring ceremony at Mount Rushmore at 9 p.m. which we did.




Point A - Our campground
Point B - Wind Cave National Park
Point C - Lookout Point Trailhead
Point D - Legion Lake Dam
Point E - Mount Rushmore National Monument

First, we journeyed south from our campground near Silver City, SD, to Wind Cave National Park whose expanse both aboveground and below we found well worth exploring.

Kassia, our ranger, demonstrated how strongly the wind escapes the blowhole.
After our tour, I couldn't resist the chance to experience it for myself.

Wind Cave is rightly named for it was the whistling sound of a strong draft of air escaping through a blowhole that attracted cowboy brothers Jesse and Tom Bingham to investigate its source in 1881.  Of course, the Native Americans of this environs had known about the cave for centuries.  To them, it was a sacred place.

Ignoring the sacredness of the Natvive Americans' belief, the McDonald family turned a failed mining venture into a commercial success by homesteading the claim, exploring the cave, widening its passageways, selling its formations and luring locals to see its wonders.  

Their son, Alvin, spent much of his time exploring and mapping the cave, all the while, keeping a journey of his findings that has proved to be helpful to this day.

Formations found in the cave are popcorn (upper left), boxwork (upper right) and frostwork (lower left).  The remaining photos are chambers within the cave.

Exploration of the cave has brought to light almost 145 miles of underground caverns.  Yet, scientists speculate from barometric pressure readings that number is only five percent of the actual extent of the cave.  The known passages of the cavern weave back and forth below a square mile of area.

Earlier this year, Tim and I toured Carlsbad Caverns National Park.  For sheer grandeur, I would pick Carlsbad, but if one desires a more intimate--dare I say--claustrophobic speleological experience, then I'd recommend Wind Cave.  At Carlsbad and armed with a map, visitors may saunter along broad walkways laid out inside the large chambers of the cave, but at Wind Cave, access is limited to ranger-led tours of 20 to 25 people.  There we squeezed through narrow passages, ducking our heads and pulling in our arms to make ourselves as small as possible.  At one point, Kassia, our ranger guide, switched off the lights, leaving us in a darkness that felt like the grave.  Returning to surface was almost painful until our eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

Wind Cave National Park also offers more than 30 miles of trails that wander over prairie grasslands and Ponderosa forests.  We chose to hike the lovely Lookout Point Loop from Lookout Point to Beaver Creek.  There we joined the Centennial Trail, a 111-mile trail through the Black Hills, although the portion we walked was less than two miles.  

Bones picked clean by an unknown predator (center left) and a buffalo wallow (lower right) are pictured above. 

Warned that buffalo freely roam the park, I was a little nervous, but all we saw were wallows where they had rolled for relief from insects or parasites.  Nonetheless, I was grateful to return to the safety of our car.

Next, we drove along Hwy 87, the western boundary of Custer State Park.  There is an admission fee of $20 per vehicle to enter the park which is home to buffalo, pronghorn antelope, elk, bighorn sheep and mountain goats. Even though we only skirted the park, we were fortunate to see a few of its residents. 

This group of white-tailed deer seemed to be posing for pictures.  Naturally, we stopped to oblige them.  Even the tour bus behind us slowed so its passengers could take advantage of the photo op.

Further north, we encountered a traffic jam, caused by this fellow, a magnificent buffalo who seemed to be wallowing in all the admiration. 

Scenes from the Norbeck Byway
Barney Peak, right center above, is the highest point in the Black Hills.

The highway curved around Legion Lake, but Mount Rushmore beckoned so we didn't stop to photograph it.  We knew we would need additional time to navigate the Peter Norbeck Scenic Byway that lay between us and our objective.  We were right!  The byway twisted, turned and tunneled through the hills.  

If you look carefully in the photo above, you may see Mount Rushmore framed by the tunnel.  

Finally, we arrived at Mount Rushmore a couple hours before sunset.  By then, many day visitors had departed, leaving the park relatively empty.  

Avenue of Flags displays the 56 states, districts, territories and commonwealths of the U.S.

There is no entrance fee at the park, but the concessionaires who run the parking garage charge a fee of $11 per vehicle which is valid until the end of the year.  We were too late to join one of the ranger-led programs held earlier in the day.  Instead, Tim suggested we grab something to eat at the park's cafe.  

We ordered buffalo burgers and sat outside on the patio where we feasted on our sandwiches and the sight of the granite presidential faces above us.

Presidential Trail

Following our meal, we walked the Presidential Trail, finding the differing perspectives of the monumental carving arresting in the fading light.  Yet, the photos I took were disappointing compared to actually being there.  The carvings face south.  In July, the sun sets behind the bluff, leaving the faces in the shadows.  The best I could do with my iPhone's camera was the panoramic shot below.  

I wanted to return to the park at daybreak when the rising sun would have illuminated the faces more fully, but our campsite was 30 miles away.  Tim balked at that idea.

What didn't disappoint us was the patriotic tribute that began at 9 p.m.  First, park rangers presented a program that included a video depicting the creators, the carvers and the choice of which famous faces should be included in the carving. 

Tim is in the back row, 8th from the end.

Then, veterans and current military members were called down to the stage.  The American flag was lowered from the flagpole and ceremoniously folded while the servicemen and women saluted. Finally, the ranger walked the length of the stage, holding the microphone close to each soldier and vet, asking for their names and branch of the military, and thanking them for their service.  The stage was darkened and spotlights flooded the faces of the monument above.

It was very moving, the perfect way to end a monumental day.