Trip to Glacier National Park — Aug 1 to August 8
We left Mt. Rushmore and the surrounding Custer State Park and headed north to North Dakota. These seven days proved both trying and interesting. The same miscreant who labeled the road to Newcastle (see previous posting) as a scenic road must have also been assigned road designation duties for Highway 2 across Northern Montana. More about that later.
We traveled through Rapid City and on to Spearfish South Dakota, which sits in a pretty valley between high, conifer-covered mountains. Between Mt. Rushmore and Glacier there are few campgrounds, or 
few available campgrounds, or few acceptable campgrounds – define them as you will. So, we spent many of these nights in motels, starting with Spearfish, where we found a delightful Holiday Inn and Convention center with laundromat, heated pool, good beds, and a great breakfast. We also indulged in eating out or having room service from local restaurants. A delightful find was the restaurant associated with the Holiday Inn itself called Lucky’s 13 Pub. Great food and relaxed atmosphere. Portions are huge, so we had dinner plus food for the next day or two. We stayed two days and left happy, relaxed, well-rested, and clean.
From there we went early to Theodor Roosevelt State Park in North Dakota, where we had reserved a site. 
When we arrived, we determined two interesting and pertinent facts: we hated our reserved/assigned campsite and the park was a horse camp (i.e., catered to those traveling with horses.) We also confirmed what Nancy already knew, which was there were few, if any, alternatives within a reasonable distance. After some negotiation with the volunteer camp host, we switched sites to one much more to our liking. After dodging a few low trees and backing gingerly into our site, we set up camp and prepared to set out on the day’s adventure.
Before we could pull out, the Ranger came and informed us that the Volunteer had made a mistake and the site onto which we were now ensconced wasn’t really available. Again, after some negotiation, we were allowed to stay the night as long as we were out by early morning, to which we graciously agreed…knowing we had nowhere else to go!
We took off on a 36-mile drive through the North Dakota badlands. What an amazing array of geographical formations and dangerous landscapes. We actually passed by the infamous Hole in the Wall, familiar to any fan of the western genre, particularly the stories by Zane Grey. One could easily picture the myriad of bad and shady characters that occupied the saloons and streets of the hidden, lawless town that was reported to have existed inside the walls once one passed through the almost obscure, narrow opening – the Hole in the Wall. And of course, past the guards high on the entrance walls. One could only imagine the lawmen who died trying to get in seeking their respective outlaws to capture. And finally, there was the notorious Hole-in-the-Wall gang that ruled the roads and byways (and banks) of the area during that period, and who controlled that inner sanctum.
The geography of the Badlands clearly supports its nickname. It is a series of low mesas arrayed in confusing fashion across the landscape, protected by hidden crevices into which an unsuspecting horse and rider could easily fall before they were even aware they were upon the opening. Only the most experienced and wary traveler, white or red, could ever find their way successfully and intentionally through that landscape. 
As if that were not enough to deter entrance, there are the ever-present Prairie Dog Towns with their burrows just waiting to swallow and break a horse’s leg while the furry builders of those treacherous burrows squeaked and scurried in hilarity. Even the adventurous and competent cowboys must have been frustrated more than once trying to round up cattle in that environment, as the cows would likely hide in every niche, crevice, and draw.
All that said, it was a wondrous drive and certainly brought to life all the stories Fran has heard throughout her life about the Badlands – both the myth and the reality. We returned to camp and enjoyed sitting outside with a glass of wine watching the horse owners feed, groom, and clean-up after their equine charges before all of us snuggling down to a cool summer’s night lulled to sleep by the occasional soft neigh and the warm smell of horses.
We were off early the next morning to our next campground. We did not have a reservation and although we arrived mid-morning, it was full. Volunteer at the gate said it was full by 7:00 AM! She referred us to another campground just a short distance away, which had one open slot: she informed her counterpart that she was “sending us over”. As we were turning around to head there, we noticed another camper/driver speaking with the same Volunteer and then running (literally) to her vehicle and rushing off. As we followed her out of the park, we realized she was heading to the same campground – the Volunteer had told her of the same one slot available and obviously told her to hurry. (Local relationship? ) Sure enough, she pulled into it just ahead of us. We pulled into “over flow” in hopes of something opening up. However, despite the lake view, it was hot, dry, and dusty.
Instead of coping, we headed off to spend the next four nights in motels along the way to Glacier, passing through the communities of Havre, Glascow, and Shelby Montana. We explored at least one campsite not on Nancy’s map in Havre, about ten miles out of town. It was in a State Park along a river and looked inviting, but a little too off the beaten path for our taste, since we knew nothing about the area or the facility. So, we started our series of motel stays.
Now…back to that miscreant cartographer. Once we hit Highway 2, we could find little justification for the scenic route designation given to the route by the map makers. It is hundreds of miles of straight ribbon road across thousands and thousands of acres of flat (very flat) grain and hay fields, primarily wheat and alfalfa. I now concur with the trite description of a “ribbon of road”. However, I used to think that description had a certain warmth about it. Not anymore….our highway was a cold, straight ribbon of grey, highlighted by a straight, yellow line down the middle, and offset by a cold, white stripe down each side – no shoulders, no pull outs, and no exits.
Being familiar with western Montana with its high, green mountains, I never quite understood the state’s self-designation as “the Big Sky State”. Boy! Do I understand it now. Along with the flat terrain, straight roads, and the acres and acres of vast cultivated fields, there is the 360 degree horizon unbroken by any variation in the landscape. We talked as we drove about how a trapper on foot or a rider on horseback must have felt upon seeing what was likely the very same terrain, only with tall grasses and no fences. Each must have entered into that part of their respective journeys fearing they would never reach the other side or see any sign of civilization again. Montana skies make Texas look average size.
We’ve all heard that in those days, there were millions of buffalo roaming the prairie. I also read many times about how Plains Indians (Dakota, Lacota, and Nacota) had to hunt the buffalo and only those skilled in tracking could find them. Logic and ignorance got in the way of my comprehension: if there were millions of buffalo, why were they so hard to find? Now I know. Having experienced the day-after-day drive through that flat, endless horizon, through what was then thousands and thousands of acres of tall grasslands, I believe the entire population of China could have hidden in that terrain and never been discovered.
Despite the endless prairie, the lack of camping options, and some rain, we arrived at Glacier National Park on August 8, 2017, as planned with clean clothes, filled tanks, and replenished supplies thanks to good staff at the Holiday Inn, Comfort Inn, and the Cottonwood Inn; to the occasional stop at the ubiquitous Dairy Queen; and to the obligatory and ever-available Walmart.