Lonely Roads

DEADWOOD, SOUTH DAKOTA: I left Missoula early enough, I supposed, to get in a decent day's drive. I planned on driving into Deadwood, and even reserved a hotel room there, this being the weekend and all. After crossing the Clark Fork River a few more times (I-90 parallels this river for much of western Montana,) I crossed the continental divide for the last time. I couldn't help thinking that the Clark valley must have been even more beautiful before the interstate came through. Of course, without the interstate, most people would never have seen it.

I kept on driving east after another delicious Arby's sandwich, and the state of Montana just kept going. It seems obvious that the states are bigger out here, but actually crossing them truly drives home the point. Around 2:00, I began to worry that I would not arrive in Deadwood at a reasonable time, but a quick look at the map reassured me and I drove on. My first scheduled stop was in the far eastern part of Montana. The town of Hardin, in addition to being on the way to Little Big Horn, holds the Big Horn County Museum. This is more than the one-room museums I'd seen before, and actually includes a few buildings restored to 1910 style, which seems to be this area's heyday. I took a picture of the one-room schoolhouse.

Leaving Hardin, I took the short drive to the Little Big Horn battlefield which is, strangely, on an Indian reservation. Or maybe it's not so strange, since they won the battle. I didn't stay long, and took a state highway "short-cut" to I-94. This short-cut was actually shorter in distance and would've been shorter in time if not for the construction being done on it. Still, I don't think I lost any time, as going back and forth along interstates would've taken me far out of my way. After getting to I-94, the road became more desolate. Not scary, creepy desolate, but just free of a lot of traffic. The greatest sign of activity I saw was the bird that commited suicide by flying directly into the path of the speeding Camry. It disappeared in a puff of feathers, and left no trace on the car. Most of the land here is used as cattle ranches, and I saw lots of cows taking shelter from the sun in the shade of billboards along the highway's edge. The best was the McDonald's billboard a few were hanging out under. If only they'd been able to read!

The next stop was Marmarth, North Dakota, so I left the interstate and drove east on U.S. 12. Some of you may be wondering why I would drive to an old railroad town with a population of 140. Well, Julia's grandmother was born here and when I planned the trip Marmarth wasn't too far out of my way. I had changed my plans a bit, but this way still seemed as good as any other. By the time I rolled in to the town it was 7:30, but still plenty bright with sunshine. I slowed down to the town's 25 mph speed limit (this is the problem with the U.S. roads rather than interstates - towns have ridiculously low speed limits, and because I expect some small-town cop to be hiding behind each corner, I observe them.) And, finally I entered Marmarth, which has to be the saddest town in America (actual ghost towns excepted.) Some houses were occupied and reasonably kept up, but every single commercial building was abandoned (including the two in the picture here and at least three of four on the town's website) with the sole exception of a small bar/restaurant. I suppose this is to be expected when the railroad doesn't stop here anymore (the town's depot still stood, abandoned) and the auto traffic is re-routed to the interstate. Still, seeing a dead town full of empty buildings is far sadder than seeing one of the two-building towns along the way. Not many folks live in either one, but Marmarth used to be something worth seeing.

I drove on, growing more concerned about getting to Deadwood. A closer look at the map told me I had at least 150 miles to go, all along U.S. 85. 85 proved to be emptier than 12, with only farms, roadkill, and the occasional opposing traffic to keep me company. I drove on, and on, and by 10:00 the sun had gone down for good. Fortunately, the road is straight and well-signed, and my high beams kept me where I needed to be. I was just hoping to get off the road, and was having paranoid imaginings of deer jumping in front of my car.

My heart leapt for joy as I saw ahead the lights of the metropolis of Belle Fourche, South Dakota. I had given up on Deadwood, and just wanted any clean room for the night, and the "clean" was looking less and less important. But a stop in a few hotels quickly failed to produce a vacancy. The clerk at the Motel 6 even called around to other hotels, but all were full and she suggested I drive ten miles south to Spearfish, along the interstate. The interstate! Why had I ever left it?!? I drove on to Spearfish but, there too, there was no room at the inn.

By now, I was considering sleeping in the car, but those same visions of angry cops not taking kindly to me kept me awake and driving forward. By this point it was 10:30 or so, and I was only twenty miles from Deadwood. Would they still hold my reservation? If not, perhaps some other lodging might be found. The Deadwood area, I was learning was the single greatest tourist attraction of the northern plains. I drove into town (did you know there are casinos here?) and past a number of hotels, some with the "no vacancy" sign up, and pulled up to the Super 8. I haven't named names much here, and after a bad experience in upstate New York on a different trip, I'd been avoiding Super 8s. But that's where I had my reservation, and a more welcome site I never did see.

I pulled in and walked up to the desk where a man and a woman were working.

"I have a reservation here. I don't suppose you still have it, do you?" I said, expect more rejection. The woman looked at her papers.

"Are you Kyle or Matthew?" she said. Wow, these folks are on the ball!

"Kyle," I said. "Is the reservation still open?"

"Well, of course," the man said with a big grin on his bearded face, "you reserved it with a credit card!"

And so I had! I'd forgotten that part as I'd talked to myself for the last few hours.

"If I'm going to pay for it," I said, "I guess I may as well sleep in it."

He laughed, and we chatted a little as he processed the information. Thank God for friendly hotel keepers and credit cards. I went upstairs, and directly to bed. I think I'll drive a bit less today than I did yesterday (852 miles) and I'll definitely make a reservation for Minnesota.