Side Dish - Wall Drug

If I was ever to have a close encounter of my own kind, the first order of business for any sit-down with a little green man would be to point him in the direction of Wall Drug. What does it mean to be an American, he might ask? There, my alien friend, where the ice water is free, the merchandise cheap and plentiful, and the food so delightfully bloat-worthy that it begs to be served with a side of bacon. While our brief stop at this interstate oasis -- a quick and easy hour's drive from Rapid City, South Dakota -- was but a thin slice of cheese slapped between the larger sandwich of Wind Cave National Park and the Badlands, it all but defined the journey, for what better way to spend a 4th of July holiday than with the overweight, the overtired, and the overclogged store fronts teeming with imported Chinese garbage?

Well, count ourselves among the aforementioned, for while we dined on donuts, dashed about a shooting gallery, and shopped for a reasonably priced stuffed bison, we could not help feel a greater kinship with our fellow countrymen. I had always believed that patriotism was the first and last refuge of a scoundrel, but when faced with giant jackalopes, old-fashioned fortune telling machines, and enough bad taste shot glasses to intoxicate a small city, my cynicism lifted and I all but heard the roar of cannon and battered, yet prideful, snap of Old Glory in a gentle prairie wind. If one can't giggle with delight at such a place, what have we become?

Take the above photo as an example. Has there ever been a more brightly shining star of slack-jawed Americana? But rather than shirk from the responsibility of my old fogey attire, unshaven visage, and dollar store haircut, I embrace it with relish. As does my wife, the poor gal, for if this had been the lasting image of a first date, there very well might not have been a second. But here we are, safely married a full decade, amidst the midwestern beauty of dirt, sun, and sky, and I'm getting my kicks trying to pass as a squaw with child. Damn right this is the greatest country on earth.

But stop you must, o weary traveler, for where else could you kiss scantily clad statues and feel so mightily at home? Purchase a tight t-shirt proclaiming your status as World's Greatest Grandpa while spilling powdered sugar, chili, and a confection only slightly resembling cheese on the very same? Strangers become friends, divisions melt away, and all are one in the great circus of the land they call Dakota. Come, stay awhile. Spend a lot of money. Gain a pound or two. Ah, but regret nothing.