Go West, Middle-Aged Woman, Go West

 I believe it was Horace Greeley in the mid 1800's who first stated "Go west, young man" while listing the opportunities for an adventurous young man.  Toby Keith then added to that "Haven't you been told?" in the early 1990's before excusing Marshall Dillon's commitment issues, and really, poor Miss Kitty.  But it was in 2023 that Rebecca McMahon heard and followed the words "Go west, middle-aged woman, go west."  And really, who would you rather read more about?  (also please know that it makes me almost physically sick to use middled-aged while describing myself, but numbers don't lie).

While this adventure truly began in Colorado, I feel like I have to start the story with Wyoming and South Dakota and flash back to Colorado in the next piece.  WY and SD was where I solo adventured: drove 912 miles in two days, saw three national monuments, the entirety of Deadwood, SD and didn't cry once! Well, I did curse a roundabout towards the end of my trip in a high-pitched tone but I was hungry and tired and that roundabout was stupid.

First up, Wyoming.  My prior knowledge of Wyoming came from watching Longmire, and really, I was not disappointed.  Wyoming is vast and green and endless.  I learned very quickly that if you think you need to pee, you stop at that gas station because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, for the next 70 miles.  It was me and my cousin's very nice car and two-lane highways and a speed limit of 80.  And people in Wyoming are considerate drivers and move into the slow lane and let you pass!  Oh, and windy!  Everywhere I stopped, the wind was whipping, just whipping around.

Long, lonesome highway.

Cheyenne was my first stop and I stopped solely for The Cowgirls Museum of the West.  Cheyenne was lovely! Every single person that I passed looked me in the eye and said good morning.  They also had downtown, street parking for free. I am still not over that.  The old man at the museum was so excited when I walked in.  He told me all about WY, its equality, and how the museum came to be.  It was nice to be in a museum all about women.  It was small and well cared for and definitely someone's labor of love.  The three old people sitting around asked where I was from, what I was doing.  They loved that I taught a Women's class and when I listed what I was off to do, the woman commented, "Well, aren't you an adventurer!" and in that moment, I remembered that like all of these women on the walls here, yes, I was an adventurer!

When in Cheyenne, stop here!

This served me well the next four hours of  driving to Devil's Tower.  There was a great deal of time that I was the only person on the road and I wavered between singing "Wide Open Spaces" and feeling for sure I would die and no one would know for days.  It's a real treat inside my brain, let me tell you. Case in point: there were a lot of gently rounded hills that came in twos and I laughed and then was a little sad no one was there to call them boob hills with me.  

Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse Memorial.  All three come popping out of the hills when you least expect it and sort of just take your breath away.  Devil's Tower had a more remote feel to it, but a hike around quickly showed me that I was nowhere near alone.  These monuments were crowded and I quickly hated the rest of America there with me.  One, I have been to beautiful, pristine places and I guess that I don't like to share.  Two, these people sucked.  They were climbing rocks that said "No Climbing" to get their best Insta photo.  They were scraping parts of rock off to take with them.  They were not yelling at their children acting like lunatics and scraping off pieces of rock.  I am so glad I went to these places, but if I was to do it again, I would go at 6 in the morning and revel in what I was seeing alone.

Crazy Horse. The most poignant.

Dead white men.

Devil's Tower

After Devil's Tower, I made my way to Deadwood, SD.  I had a hotel booked based on beautiful internet photos and I was tired.  Oh, did those photos lie!  When I pulled in to what Google Maps assured me was my location, I saw a motel.  Doors to the outside motel with more than 30 motorcycles parked.  I was wrong; it wasn't the isolated road I was to die on, it was here.  I was even more surprised when I went to check in and saw not only was this a motel, but a casino!  With slots.  Only slots.  My room was on the second floor and didn't open to the outside and that was fine with me.  I laughed and laughed when I opened the doorway to the second floor and found this carpet and the smell of 1983 in the air. You know, cigarettes, Tab, Smurfs on TV, a newly microwaved meal, and despair.

No words.

I walked to the adjoining restaurant and noticed that the biker gang was comprised of people older than me and all speaking German.  I ate at the bar alone with a giant beer and french fries and a fried chicken something and felt much better.  Sometimes you just need fried food and a giant beer to wash the road away.

The next morning I got up early and did Deadwood top to bottom. Like 80 flights of stairs, per my Fitbit, top to bottom.  I loved Deadwood! I loved that it was 55 degrees when I woke up. I loved that the nice man at the visitor booth at the Mt. Moriah Cemetery asked me if I was a student.  Bless him; he must have left his glasses at home.  I hiked that whole cemetery and saw the graves of all the famous dead people of Deadwood.  Hike? Check.  History? Check?  Kind words? Check!  Deadwood was speaking 3 of my 4 love languages and I loved it!  All that was missing was someone handing me chocolate along the trail. I would definitely go to Deadwood again.

top of Deadwood

If you get a chance to just drive anywhere in this country, drive the Black Hills.  They are too gorgeous to even describe.  I know why the Native Americans fought so hard to keep them.  At one turn, I came across a lake that was so beautiful amongst the surrounding hills that I decided then and there that a bear could eat me there and it would be okay.  This drive took me to Mt. Rushmore and then Crazy Horse.  I liked Rushmore more than I thought. It pops out at you from the hills and even if you are tired of the history of dead, white men, it's still kind of amazing. Crazy Horse was poignant with so very much work still ahead of them.  The museum was great and I enjoyed it a learned a lot of things.

Hmm. All that driving and not one woman carved into those hills.  Just saying.

My plan after Crazy Horse was to go to Custer State Park and hike.  I sat down outside and looked up at that memorial and suddenly realized that I was kind of tired.  And I thought about hiking on my own and well, I just ran out of brave.  I couldn't picture fending off a bear or creepy serial killer and knew it was probably just time to head back.  I still had an almost five hour drive along lonesome highways back to Denver vacillating between the exhilaration of being all alone on a highway and the moments of terror about being all alone on a highway.  

If I was to do it again, I would plan out one more night in SD. Hike Custer State Parkway full of energy and bravery and bear spray.  I don't regret not pushing on with that. I had an amazing adventure, saw things I have never seen before, experienced two new states, and met some nice people and some really annoying people along the way.  And as that nice woman told me, I am an adventurer!  And sometimes, adventurers get tired and play it safe so they can have more adventures next summer!