Drive to Mount Rushmore

         The expansiveness of the Dakotas only made a greater impression on me the longer I stayed within their borders. Driving west from Bismarck, I encountered several things which one only finds in the middle of the nowhere: the World’s Largest Ceramic Cow, large metal sculptures of flying birds, and herds of cows that apparently belong to someone, but there is no house, barn, or structure of any kind in sight. I saw a herd of buffalo, grazing peacefully in some farmer’s field, but it was not the first time I’d seen them. When I was younger, my family went on vacation to Yellowstone National Park, where there were not only buffalo, but there were also endless videos to watch of people being mauled by buffalos, warning tourists not to venture too close to the deceivingly speedy beasts. I generally like to observe strange, powerful animals from afar anyway, so the temptation to stand next to one to snap a picture was never particularly strong for me.

            Lost in thoughts of my travels, I missed the exit that was to take me south toward Mount Rushmore. Just as I realized my blunder, I turned a corner and entered Theodore Roosevelt National Park, an alien landscape called the Badlands, similar to the ones in South Dakota. It was unbelievable to see the glacier-carved, multi colored dunes that acted as wind tunnels for the unrelenting gusts, looking as varied as sand but as solid as stone. The hills had been robbed of any soil by the unforgiving wind, exposing multiple layers of stone of impossibly vivid colors. It was tremendous, unforgettable, and mysterious, and I was immediately thankful that I had missed my turn.

            After returning to my route, the land once again retreated into the vast, empty landscape that had dominated my vision for so long. Hours rolled on, and the scenery changed little. I passed through towns that have no businesses but an auto body shop, a gas station, and one restaurant, visible from a distance only because of the cell tower and water tower peaking up over the trees. It was almost hypnotizing, but I was determined to make it before night. Hours later, I arrived in Keystone just a little while before the darkness totally swallowed the land.

            There is a fair amount of controversy surrounding Mount Rushmore when it comes to the local Native Americans, the Sioux. In 1868, the United States government promised the Sioux land in western South Dakota that includes the Black Hills, the mountains upon which Rushmore is built. Unsurprisingly, they only honored that agreement until gold was found in the area, and in the 1870s the government forced the Sioux to give up the Black Hills portion of their territory. This was particularly insulting not only because the United States government was going back on a deal with the Native Americans for the umpteenth time, but also because the Black Hills are considered sacred ground by the tribes. When Mount Rushmore was built more than 60 years later, it served as a painful reminder to the natives of all the ways in which European settlers have infringed upon their beliefs, rights, and territory.

             The approach to Mt. Rushmore was riddled with signs for various gimmicks and attractions, a trademark of the American road trip. Although I did not stop for any, they all seemed as though they would be mildly disappointing, expensive, and not worth the trouble, as I had been warned by countless novels and relatives alike. Long before I arrived, there were signs for Mount Rushmore that dotted the interstate, making my anticipation grow increasingly by the minute. I crawled up the mountain, taking my time to look at all of the souvenir shops and hotels that were erected solely for the traffic to and from Mt. Rushmore (let’s be honest, there’s no other reason to go to rural, southwestern South Dakota). On the way up the mountain, I glimpsed my first sight of the monument, surveying the land solemnly and serenely on a backdrop of autumn clouds. It was breathtaking, and in that moment I felt like I became just a little more of an American. I climbed back in my car and drove the rest of the way up to the entrance of the main viewing area. Once I paid for parking, $11 for the whole year, I wound my way to the top of the parking deck, which was the only level that could accommodate my excessive height of more than seven feet.

            I exited the car, bundled up, and jumped up and down with excitement as I gazed up at one of the most famous American monuments. The viewing area had bathrooms, a large gift shop, and a stand with several jovial youngsters serving burgers and hot dogs. I walked up just in time to hear the young man who was taking orders apologize with a sheepish grin and a shrug for a customer’s dissatisfaction with his cheaply purchased convenience food. I was under no delusion that the hot dog I was about to buy was going to be the best one I’d ever eaten; far from it, I was fully prepared to over-pay, get something less than acceptable, and throw it away without taking more than one bite. I was ravenous, and the idea of something high in protein that was at least edible was extremely motivating, so I stepped up to the stand after the disgruntled tourist walked away. The young man behind the counter greeted me with a smile, a chuckle, and a cordial, “Hello, how can I disappoint you today?” I laughed heartily for the first time in several hours, and ordered my convenience food, which was actually not so bad, at least as hot dogs go.

            I ate quickly and walked through the columns displaying each state’s flag to the viewing deck. It was cold, windy, and overcast, but for several long moments I stood in absolute awe of the vision before me. The faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln are portrayed in an inconceivable amount of detail. My mind wandered, imagining what it would be like for people hundreds of years from now to visit, or possibly rediscover, such an incredible sculpture. Even as a present-day American who has been bombarded with images of it for as long as I can remember, it was surreal to behold Mt. Rushmore in all of its glory. It really was huge, and quite spectacular. If you’re able to, it is definitely worth a visit.

Although I wished to linger, the day was growing old, and I still had over four hours to drive to Pierre, the capital of South Dakota. I clambered back in my car, and with one more look at our American wonder, I returned to the interstate as the sun set behind the mountains.

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