A Good Time in the Badlands - 4th of July, 2010

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to see the Badlands of South Dakota. Curious, in that I've always had one of the most stunning mountain ranges in America right in my backyard, but for a change of pace, perhaps, I wanted stark, barren, and lonely. No, not my high school record with women, but a landscape out of science fiction: unforgiving terrain where evil men went to die, and innocence took a holiday. So at last, over an extended Independence Day weekend, a childhood dream was fulfilled. Like so much of my youthful fantasies, blue skies gave way to clouds and rain. The mood darkened, though it seemed appropriate, as this is not happy country, but the last, best hope of the damned.

For those not in the know, or at least those who dreamed of Disneyland and the beach rather than remote South Dakota, Badlands National Park, near the non-town of Interior, is, as the brochure tells us, "a land of extremes." Dotted by peaks, buttes, gullies, and wide prairies, there are also rock formations, striking colors, and enough biodiversity to choke even the heartiest outdoorsman. And while the area has been a treasure trove for paleontologists and bird watchers alike, it is the rolling mounds of rock, silt, and stone that bring us to stare in wonder. Sure, blue skies make for better pictures, but they also help cloud our minds to the site's dark appeal. It's all too similar to an airless moon, without a witness left standing to tell the tale.

Purple prose aside, this is just simply a cool place to be; a landscape unlike any other you'd see in most of your travels, and worth the cooing and slack-jawed wonder you'd been led to expect. The driving tour on the Badlands Loop Road is a non-stop finger-pointing and head-turning delight, with every corner and turn a revelation. Numerous overlooks provide the expected breathtaking vistas (Pinnacles, Yellow Mounds, Homestead, among others) and no shortage of photo-ops. It's dry and odd and seemingly lifeless, yet altogether beautiful. Upon further study, it's also rapidly eroding away, at least by geologic standards, and amounts to about an inch per year.

At the end of the driving tour lies the Ben Reifel Visitor Center, a nicely put together education destination that manages to rise far above the usual NPS mothball approach. Reopened in 2006 with new exhibits and air conditioned theater, the center showcases the film Land of Stone and Light, which has the unique distinction of being not at all embarrassing. In fact, it's a gem. It was a fine way to conclude the visit, though there's a redheaded stepchild section of the park called the Stronghold Unit that is actually within the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. There's no other way out unless you want to backtrack, so take the drive to be sure, but don't expect the same level of awe. There's even a second visitor center for the passport stamp faithful (White River), but the stamp itself is so non-descript it could be from some random post office in a backwater town. Not to worry, as the real deal was found in Ben Reifel.

Ah, but before we leave, there's the prairie dog town to discuss. On the way to the stubbornly closed trailer unit of the Minuteman National Historic Site (only a short distance from the park's entrance), in the bustling berg of Cactus Flats, stands a 12-foot tall prairie dog, weathered and faded by years of harsh Dakota weather. It seemed appropriate that we end the journey there, resting comfortably along the roadside America we love so deeply.

FINAL RATING

8/10