In a motel in the Bad lands/Black Hills now of North West South Dakota-- The casino town of Deadwood. It's pouring rain out, otherwise we would have camped. We drove through Sioux indian lands all of today, down Hwy 63 north toward South Dakota. Cattle, ranches and plains, wild horses, and towns with names like Little Eagle, Iron Lightening, Faith. sometimes completely flat, then suddenly the road pitching up and down. Roaming the fields, buffalo, antelope. Pheasant with bright red crested heads pecking in the shoulder-- and road runners running across the road just like in the cartoon. Narrowly missed a few. The only car for miles and they choose that moment to dart across. Not too savy, like their famous namesake.
Further down hwy 65 towards the border, the Buttes rose straight up from the flat grassy plains, revealing colorful generations of black, pink and red strata. Descending the high points on the highway the road stretching down and receding in a long thin triangle, a winding snake disapearing over the edge.
No idea what to expect here-- where we're going to end up at night (we economized on the maps and serious guidebooks). Joint intuition is the guiding force.
Open space and a sense of infinite possibilities. In my head, the inflight movie for the drive, thinking of how to buy a simple cabin, live a simple life-- what to make, where to live. Perhaps one of these ranchers needs a resident artist to lend a helping hand? should stop and ask them.