One Family's 28-day Wild Odyssey Across the Western U.S.
Chapter 4: Towards the Rocky Mountains. Palmer Gulch, SD to Guernsey, WY.
In the silence of early dawn at the Palmer Gulch campground, I woke to the crisp morning air. The world was still in a twilight glow, between the fading stars and the breaking dawn. With an instinctive familiarity, I threaded through the barely-awake morning towards the bathhouse. This window of solitude before the girls awoke was sacred, a time to center myself and prepare for the day. Their sleep-softened faces echoed the quiet of dreams, but once those dreams receded, my focus would become distracted and absolute.
Upon my return, I was welcomed by an exhilarating sight of a hundred horses silhouetted against the Ponderosa pines. They were galloping gracefully in the morning light, mere feet from our tent. Their wild energy seemed to animate the horse corral that had lain silent when we had settled in the previous night. The cowboys that pushed them along whooped and hollered and ushered the horses down the trail. What an electric way to start a morning.
With this sight in my mind, I flew open our tent. It was time to awaken the family. Diem, ever the early riser, started preparing our morning meal while I worked on dismantling the campsite. The aroma of warm noodles, one of the girls' breakfasts of choice, filled the morning air while Diem and I savored a bánh mì. Diem stir-fried pork belly and Chinese sausage and prepared phở gà to get an early start on lunch. Jennie, always embracing her Vietnamese roots, added a few of her favorite chicken feet to her meal.
The KOA at Palmer Gulch was tranquil in the early morning light. As dawn broke, the dew on the grass glittered. The cool and invigorating air was steeped in the scent of the surrounding pine forest, an earthy fragrance. The sunrise painted the sky. A rose pink on the horizon blended into lavender and deepened into a cerulean blue. The colors swept the undulating landscape and found the imposing and rugged faces of the surrounding mountains. As the hues faded, the deep blue sky dominated the horizon. The mountains punched through the treetops with granite spires reaching for the heavens.
By 9 AM, some three hours after we began disassembling camp, we said our goodbyes to Palmer Gulch and steered our vehicle onto South Dakota Route 244 before turning south onto US 385/16. It was hard work breaking camp, with the realities of deflating and packing four inflatable mattresses, a kitchen, a bathroom, and simply, stuff. Combine the quantity of materials with the girls arguing over whose job it was to do what, and who wasn't doing their job, and the experience proved to be less than thrilling. Diem and I ultimately did most of the work. I was exhausted and sweaty before we piled in the van. I couldn't help but think this camping thing may need revisiting. But now we drive.
The road led us to our first attraction of the day, the Crazy Horse Memorial. Billed as the world's largest mountain carving, this colossal monument is still a work in progress and keeps watch over the Black Hills. It was envisaged as a tribute to the revered Lakota warrior Crazy Horse and, once completed, will honor the indomitable spirit and rich history of the Native American people. Currently, only Crazy Horse's face gazes out over the land, yet even this partial unveiling stirs an incredible sense of awe. It speaks of a storied past and a man who once said, "My lands are where my dead lie buried."
As we approached, however, we were met with a line of cars that stretched as far as the eye could see. The popularity of this monument was undeniable, but the thought of spending hours waiting in line made us reconsider. We chose to pull over onto the side of the highway instead and admire the mountain carving from afar before we resumed our journey southwards to the town of Custer.
General George Armstrong Custer is a figure synonymous with the frontier of the late 19th century, and he was driven by ambition, duty and controversy. Born on December 5, 1839, he graduated from West Point in 1861, just in time to cast his lot with the Union during the Civil War. He was a daring cavalry officer, and his role at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863 and later exploits during the war made his name known across the country. Yet his 1874 expedition into the Black Hills of South Dakota, sacred land to the Lakota Sioux, would set in motion a series of events culminating in one of the most infamous battles in American history. It was in this year his expedition discovered gold in the Black Hills near the site of Custer. The discovery ignited a rush leading to the founding of Custer in 1875 and direct conflict with the Native American tribes who called these lands home.
The name Custer is forever entwined with the Battle of the Little Bighorn on June 25, 1876, a year after the founding of the General's namesake city. This event marked the end of Custer's life and a turning point in the Indian Wars. Custer led the 7th Cavalry against a coalition of Native American tribes, including the Lakota Sioux and Cheyenne, and his bold tactics met a formidable and determined resistance. The battle ended in a crushing defeat for the U.S. Army, with Custer and over 200 of his men losing their lives. Custer's Last Stand remains a symbol of a clash of cultures and the tragic demise of a complicated man.
Today, Custer is a vibrant small town with a strong sense of its past, making it an interesting detour on our road trip. We cruised through the downtown area, admired the charming town, stopped for gas and a few baubles, and continued on. From Custer, we turned east on US 16A for a few miles before turning south on SD 87, setting our sights on Custer State Park. We made a pit stop at Heddy Draw Overlook. By now, everyone was deep in a mid-morning nap, lulled to sleep by the hum of the van's engine and no doubt a product of staying up too late the night before and the weight of breaking camp. I decided not to disturb their slumber, and alone I ventured onto the half-mile trail to the overlook.
The trail was cut into the side of a small mountain and wound around to offer wide views of the rolling hills pocked with trees flowing into verdant meadows below. The signs of wildlife were evident, with tracks and a significant scat left by what seemed to be a bighorn sheep. The wooden structure at the overlook allowed me to pause and appreciate the expanse. Alone with my thoughts, the vast landscape and the silence, I savored the moment.
Leaving the overlook behind, we drove through Blue Bell, a little settlement that was once a Civilian Conservation Corps Camp. With its lodges, general store, campgrounds and cabins set in a tranquil wilderness, it felt like stepping back into a simpler time.
During the Great Depression, from 1933 to 1942, South Dakota was home to a remarkable endeavor known as the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), a federal work-relief program. It welcomed 31,097 jobless men and offered them work and a fresh start, guided by Custer State Park and the National Park Service. The CCC's accomplishments in South Dakota were sprawling. They carved out 25 miles of roads and built the 14-room Blue Bell Lodge. Among the Ponderosa pines were 22,000 young men, 1,700 veterans, 4,554 American Indians and 2,834 supervisors working together. They fought forest fires, erected stone lookouts and built bridges. In Rapid City, they developed parks and fish hatcheries, and in Galena they transformed a log building into a park office. Throughout the park's southern half, they waged war on bark beetles, safeguarding the timber for future generations.
As we descended from the Ponderosa pines into open prairies, we had a sudden but welcome interruption with our first sighting of wild Bison. I pulled the van over and, as the engine's rumble gave way to the rustling of the wind through the prairie grasses, I woke everyone up. There was a flurry of excitement as they caught sight of the massive beasts carelessly lumbering over the rolling grasslands that stretched before us.
From Blue Bell, we crossed over into the boundaries of Wind Cave National Park, one of America's oldest National Parks. It was established in 1903 by President Theodore Roosevelt and is best known for its intricate cave systems, distinctive box work formations and lush prairies that house abundant wildlife, including Bison, Elk and Prairie Dogs. Wind Cave was the first cave designated as a national park anywhere in the world.
Located along the western edge of the state, the lush Black Hills, or Paha Sapa, cover an area of approximately 5,000 square miles. They are actually a collection of mountains covered in deep evergreens, and their Lakota name comes from their black appearance when viewed from afar. Long before George Armstrong Custer’s 1874 expedition unearthed gold in French Creek, the area’s natural wonders inspired reverence and spiritual awakening in Native American tribes. To the Lakota people, Wind Cave, deep in the Black Hills, is the sacred site in their oral creation story. It is here that the Pte Oyate, the people of the Buffalo Nation, first emerged from inside Mother Earth and became Ikce Wicasa, those who walk the earth.
I attempted to book tickets months ago, but the newer reservation systems across the parks had been proving less than user-friendly. Today's reservations had sold out moments after tickets went on sale back at the first of the year. A batch was released every morning for that day on a first-come basis, so we still hoped to explore the famed underground labyrinth of Wind Cave. Alas, despite my best efforts at the Visitor's Center, we were out of luck. The tours for the day were sold out, save for a few slots late in the afternoon, which we, unfortunately, had to decline. With the timeline of our road trip in mind and the drive to Southern Wyoming looming ahead, we had little choice but to forgo the underground wonder this time.
Despite this minor setback, the above-ground beauty of Wind Cave National Park was remarkable in its own right. The rolling prairie was speckled with occasional trees under the vast cerulean sky. Bison sightings were abundant here, and each one felt as thrilling as the last.
Leaving the Visitor's Center behind, we continued west on US385, passing through Pringle, before turning south on SD89. We then swung southwest on US18 north of Edgemont.
Leaving South Dakota
South Dakota's history, much like its landscape, is layered and complex, filled with stories that might raise an eyebrow or two. Before it became a state filled with larger-than-life sculptures and a corn palace (yes, a palace made of corn), it was home to indigenous tribes such as the Dakota Sioux, who knew a thing or two about living harmoniously with the land. Enter the Europeans, led by French fur trappers who weren't satisfied with just naming their fries. They explored the area in the early 18th century, exchanging pleasantries, beaver pelts, and, likely, some bewildered glances with the locals.
Lewis and Clark, the famous traveling duo, traversed the region in 1804. They explored the Missouri River, making maps, taking notes, and presumably saying, "Look at that!" quite often. Their expedition was the precursor to the great movement westward that would bring settlers, farmers, and those searching for gold to South Dakota's promising lands. With the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1874, people came from all corners of the country, with dreams of wealth, and perhaps a new pair of shoes, glittering in their eyes. This influx wasn't without controversy, as the Black Hills were sacred to the Sioux. But gold has a way of making legal agreements appear more like suggestions, and soon the region was swarming with miners, settlers, and opportunistic businessmen.
Deadwood became the poster child for Wild West towns, filled with saloons, gambling dens, and characters with names like Potato Creek Johnny. Legends like Wild Bill Hickok met their end here, creating tales still told over campfires, often with a soundtrack of spaghetti westerns playing in the background. Statehood came to South Dakota in 1889, accompanied by railroads, agriculture, and an enthusiasm for carving famous faces into mountains. Mount Rushmore, a feat of engineering and perhaps a touch of madness, symbolized the state and the country's enduring ambition. Through droughts, the Great Depression, and changing times, South Dakota persevered, growing fields of corn and soybeans, and nurturing a rich cultural heritage. The state found its stride, with a blend of Native American, European, and uniquely Dakotan traditions.
In South Dakota, history is in the museums, and it's also in the very soil, the wind that sweeps across the plains and the faces of the people who call it home. Whether you're exploring the sacred lands of the Sioux, gazing at the determined faces of Mount Rushmore, or enjoying a slice of kuchen, the state's official dessert, you're partaking in a rich history that is as inviting as it is intriguing. We spent 3 days in South Dakota, and it would take far more to explore it all. However, our time in South Dakota had ended as we crossed into Wyoming just after lunch to little fanfare. The open prairie gave way to buttes and spires dotting the lush green expanses.
Our journey took us through Lusk and onto US20, which crossed the open plains of Wyoming toward WY270. The old state highway, degraded from a decade of harsh winters, made a rhythmic frump, frump, frump sound as we rolled along the lonely road. Heading south by late afternoon, we made our way toward the quaint town of Guernsey, our resting spot for the night. The town of Guernsey, Wyoming, lies on the western fringe, where the Rocky Mountains spill into the Great Plains. It's far from a busy metropolis, with no towering skyscrapers or pulsating nightlife, and its allure lies in the history in every street and every weather-beaten edifice. Guernsey is a relic of a bygone era and the rugged spirit of the American frontier. Its origins date back to the late 19th century when the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad began operations. Its growth was also significantly influenced by the construction of the Guernsey Dam in the 1920s.
We arrived around 4 PM and were warmly greeted by Gordon, the friendly owner of the Bunkhouse Motel. Gordon was a retiree and possibly the most informative and kind motel manager I have ever encountered. He graciously provided us with maps, flyers, and insights into the local historical places and sights. We checked in, settled into our rooms, and I spent some time sorting through the information Gordon had given us. Even as our long day of travel ended, the promise of new adventures in this small western town ignited a spark of excitement.
After settling in, Diem and I busied ourselves with setting up our mobile kitchen. Tonight's dinner would be a fusion of Vietnamese and Korean cuisine, stir-fried noodles paired with mouthwatering Bulgogi short ribs. As the aroma filled the air, it drew Gordon over. He commented on the enticing smell and stayed for a chat, which eventually drew a small crowd of fellow travelers curious about the source of the scent and our strangely outfitted van. Gordon regaled us with local tales and suggested that we visit a nearby state park known for its sunset views.
After considering Gordon's recommendation, we decided to explore the area after dinner. His instructions led us to the entrance of Guernsey State Park, an open gate with no noticeable fee. Following Gordon’s directions, just beyond the gate, we turned onto Skyline Drive inside the park. This jewel of Wyoming was one of many man-made reservoirs on the North Platte River and another great project of the Civilian Conservation Corps. The park tells of a time when America was grappling with the Great Depression and how it harnessed the spirit of its people to rise above it.
As we wound our way up the roads within the park, the vistas took us by surprise. The panorama of the surrounding plains and reservoir was spectacular. At the end of the drive, we came upon a unique structure referred to by locals as "the castle." This beautifully crafted stone and wood edifice was another contribution of the CCC during the 1930s. The castle, one of the most intricate picnic shelters found in any park, was accompanied by an equally impressive latrine structure, and both were built during the same period by the CCC.
We lingered at the castle, soaking in the views and the golden warmth of the evening sun. The landscape, with its green plains and winding river in the light of the setting sun, was deeply moving. The quiet surroundings and the sounds of nature allowed us to reflect on the day's journey and the many surprises and delights it had offered. It was here we each realized the magnitude of our undertaking. We were in the midst of our age of discovery.
As we made our way back to the Bunkhouse under a sky growing darker with each passing minute, the anticipation of the next day's adventures brought a sense of excitement. Always mindful of being present, the mind was constantly calculating tomorrow. All of it painted an image of yesterday, today and the tales still left to be told on our boundless journey beneath an endless sky.
As we made our way back to the Bunkhouse under a sky growing darker with each passing minute, the anticipation of the next day's adventures brought a sense of excitement.
To explore some of the Parks and Monuments we've explored and more, click here for the National Park Service.
