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Pics for the day
I checked out of the hotel in the morning. For posterity, here's what I'd been carrying around with me:
Two weeks' worth of all-weather clothing, a month's worth of medications, maps and food, my computer, my CPAP, distilled water for the CPAP, and, of course, hanging off the end, the black shoulder bag I use to carry my day-to-day stuff (wallet, insulin, glucometer, camera, etc etc). I really miss the days when I could travel light.
I had to make it to Denver that night, but I figured I had some time to play with, and there was more I wanted to see in the area. So I took a drive out to Custer State Park.
Absolutely beautiful. Though there were some hairpin turns, narrow roadways, areas where there was a cliff instead of a shoulder, and, of course, some narrow one-lane passageways:
I passed more bison (which, of course, meant rubbernecking delays), and, around the corner from them, a herd of elk. I silently apologized to both for having eaten their cousins the previous day.
I tried calling one of the local radio stations, but they were doing their weekly blues program and no one picked up. I was also, thanks to the mountains, getting spotty reception both on the radio and my cell phone.
Passed by a campground named "Horse Thief." Across the street was a house with... a horse in the front yard.
As with Yellowstone, I found the drive, beautiful as it was, took longer than I'd planned. It was getting a little late by the time I got through the loop. I noticed, though, that the blues morning had ended. I'd left a message on their voicemail making the request, but I decided to give it one more try. Called... and got voicemail again. I left a second message apologizing for being pushy but explaining that it was my first time in the Black Hills, that I'd been having so much trouble getting through, that I was going to be leaving the area very shortly, and that it would mean a lot to me if I could hear the song before I left.
On air shortly thereafter, the DJ announced that he was going to commercial, and that he had the Rolling Stones and I forget what else cued for when he came back. Dang.
Kept driving, taking in the sights. Radio came back from commercial, and... some very familiar acoustic guitar strains started to play. I got a big grin on my face, and it stayed there through the whole of Rocky Raccoon.
I called back and left another voicemail, saying that I had a long drive ahead of me, but that he'd just made my day.
A little while later, I realized I was in sore need of a bathroom. And I was in the middle of a state park. I kept driving, but no opportunities presented themselves. The road took me out of the park, but there was nothing by the roadside. I started bouncing in my seat, wondering if I was going to have to pull over and duck behind the bushes. Kept driving. There was a town on the map, but... nothing there. Missed a planned turn-off (I'd had the GPS off for my meanderings through the park) without realizing it. Finally came to a gas station, which turned out to be just down the road from my hotel in Custer. Stopped. Jumped out of the car. Found the women's room. Circled the building. No men's room. Went inside. No men's room that I could see, and no attendant.
Finally, in desperation, I hobbled rapidly across the parking lot to the little booth for the miniature golf place next door. Attendant there was nice enough to let me use the facilities there... just in time. Whew.
Back in the car, back on the road. Approached the town of Newcastle (a little ways back across the Wyoming border) just around lunchtime. There was a billboard announcing a restaurant called the "pizza barn," which sounded kind of cool. But the sign for the turnoff was small and poorly marked, and I missed it. Ah well. I'd be in Newcastle proper soon enough, and surely they'd have...
Blink and you miss it, especially since the turnoff I needed was on the near end of town. I was out into nowhere before I even realized it. Considered making a U-turn, going back, and exploring around until I found something open for lunch, but just then there was a sign saying that the town of Redbird was only another 20 or so miles down the road, and that there were a couple more towns along the way, too. So I decided to press on.
I found myself driving through empty desert. Long stretches where there wasn't even anything on the radio (except, sometimes, a NASCAR broadcast, which I listened to for a while). It was a Sunday, and it was already after 2:00. Remembering my experience of just a couple of days before, I realized I was in trouble.
Stopped off at a rest stop in what turned out to be Redbird. No sign of a town whatsoever. I was halfway between the tiny town of Newcastle and the next town over, Lusk. The rest stop barely had running water. Under the toilet seat was a huge gaping hole which led directly to a large septic tank.
Lunch was peanut butter crackers and boxed milk at a shaded picnic bench at the rest stop.
It started to rain shortly thereafter. Which, as it turns out, meant seeing the biggest, clearest, most beautiful rainbow I'd seen in years:
Made it to my hotel in Denver. Had dinner at the 50s-themed diner next door. Got room 408 at the hotel - same number as the room I'd had for my first two years in college. I looked at my remaining food supplies and saw to my surprise that I was down to my last box of milk. I'd originally planned to take 3 or maybe 6, for emergencies and times when the hotel I'd chosen didn't offer breakfast. I figured that'd be enough, and I could always get more on the road, if need be. But the grocery store had only had 9-packs, and I'd decided to take all 9. It seemed like more than enough, but I knew I could always donate them to someone if I had extra. And somehow I was down to my last. That night, I had a low blood sugar. 9 had turned out to be exactly the number I'd needed.
I checked out of the hotel in the morning. For posterity, here's what I'd been carrying around with me:
Two weeks' worth of all-weather clothing, a month's worth of medications, maps and food, my computer, my CPAP, distilled water for the CPAP, and, of course, hanging off the end, the black shoulder bag I use to carry my day-to-day stuff (wallet, insulin, glucometer, camera, etc etc). I really miss the days when I could travel light.
I had to make it to Denver that night, but I figured I had some time to play with, and there was more I wanted to see in the area. So I took a drive out to Custer State Park.
Absolutely beautiful. Though there were some hairpin turns, narrow roadways, areas where there was a cliff instead of a shoulder, and, of course, some narrow one-lane passageways:
I passed more bison (which, of course, meant rubbernecking delays), and, around the corner from them, a herd of elk. I silently apologized to both for having eaten their cousins the previous day.
I tried calling one of the local radio stations, but they were doing their weekly blues program and no one picked up. I was also, thanks to the mountains, getting spotty reception both on the radio and my cell phone.
Passed by a campground named "Horse Thief." Across the street was a house with... a horse in the front yard.
As with Yellowstone, I found the drive, beautiful as it was, took longer than I'd planned. It was getting a little late by the time I got through the loop. I noticed, though, that the blues morning had ended. I'd left a message on their voicemail making the request, but I decided to give it one more try. Called... and got voicemail again. I left a second message apologizing for being pushy but explaining that it was my first time in the Black Hills, that I'd been having so much trouble getting through, that I was going to be leaving the area very shortly, and that it would mean a lot to me if I could hear the song before I left.
On air shortly thereafter, the DJ announced that he was going to commercial, and that he had the Rolling Stones and I forget what else cued for when he came back. Dang.
Kept driving, taking in the sights. Radio came back from commercial, and... some very familiar acoustic guitar strains started to play. I got a big grin on my face, and it stayed there through the whole of Rocky Raccoon.
I called back and left another voicemail, saying that I had a long drive ahead of me, but that he'd just made my day.
A little while later, I realized I was in sore need of a bathroom. And I was in the middle of a state park. I kept driving, but no opportunities presented themselves. The road took me out of the park, but there was nothing by the roadside. I started bouncing in my seat, wondering if I was going to have to pull over and duck behind the bushes. Kept driving. There was a town on the map, but... nothing there. Missed a planned turn-off (I'd had the GPS off for my meanderings through the park) without realizing it. Finally came to a gas station, which turned out to be just down the road from my hotel in Custer. Stopped. Jumped out of the car. Found the women's room. Circled the building. No men's room. Went inside. No men's room that I could see, and no attendant.
Finally, in desperation, I hobbled rapidly across the parking lot to the little booth for the miniature golf place next door. Attendant there was nice enough to let me use the facilities there... just in time. Whew.
Back in the car, back on the road. Approached the town of Newcastle (a little ways back across the Wyoming border) just around lunchtime. There was a billboard announcing a restaurant called the "pizza barn," which sounded kind of cool. But the sign for the turnoff was small and poorly marked, and I missed it. Ah well. I'd be in Newcastle proper soon enough, and surely they'd have...
Blink and you miss it, especially since the turnoff I needed was on the near end of town. I was out into nowhere before I even realized it. Considered making a U-turn, going back, and exploring around until I found something open for lunch, but just then there was a sign saying that the town of Redbird was only another 20 or so miles down the road, and that there were a couple more towns along the way, too. So I decided to press on.
I found myself driving through empty desert. Long stretches where there wasn't even anything on the radio (except, sometimes, a NASCAR broadcast, which I listened to for a while). It was a Sunday, and it was already after 2:00. Remembering my experience of just a couple of days before, I realized I was in trouble.
Stopped off at a rest stop in what turned out to be Redbird. No sign of a town whatsoever. I was halfway between the tiny town of Newcastle and the next town over, Lusk. The rest stop barely had running water. Under the toilet seat was a huge gaping hole which led directly to a large septic tank.
Lunch was peanut butter crackers and boxed milk at a shaded picnic bench at the rest stop.
It started to rain shortly thereafter. Which, as it turns out, meant seeing the biggest, clearest, most beautiful rainbow I'd seen in years:
Made it to my hotel in Denver. Had dinner at the 50s-themed diner next door. Got room 408 at the hotel - same number as the room I'd had for my first two years in college. I looked at my remaining food supplies and saw to my surprise that I was down to my last box of milk. I'd originally planned to take 3 or maybe 6, for emergencies and times when the hotel I'd chosen didn't offer breakfast. I figured that'd be enough, and I could always get more on the road, if need be. But the grocery store had only had 9-packs, and I'd decided to take all 9. It seemed like more than enough, but I knew I could always donate them to someone if I had extra. And somehow I was down to my last. That night, I had a low blood sugar. 9 had turned out to be exactly the number I'd needed.
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