Lake Ohae-Missouri River (SD)

Fishing for Walleye at sunset as turbulent clouds move across The Plains

We followed Route 50 west of Yankton until we reached Wagner, then adjusted our heading to 360-degrees on Route 281.  With a 125-mile stretch of road ahead of us, and a robust tailwind to economize our fuel, we decided it was time for Kristy to sit in the Left Seat.

"You guys are going to put me out of a job." -- Tom Petty; Breakdown (Live from the Pack Up The Plantation album)

The first few miles were incredibly awkward.  The "feel" for the 35' of trailer in-tow was much different.  The uncomfortable chucking feel of the hitch under the 6+ tonnes of towing weight.  I immediately HATED sitting in the Right Seat.  I was trying to navigate, check weather, calculate time-marks to the next town; meanwhile, Kristy is kicked back and letting Hank do all the work.  I had no idea how much I relied on "the tiller" to keep my in-vehicle motion steady.  

"Trouble ahead, trouble behind..." - Grateful Dead, Casey Jones

The tree-covered landscapes were now behind us, and there was nothing but rolling cropland on all sides.  The scenery was HUGE.  Even the cloud formations looked impressively large.  We were in-and-out of cellular range, so when I once again acquired a signal, It was immediately clear why the clouds looked so large...they were!

Looking into the eye of the storm, and seeing it look back at us

Ahead of us--moving at a trajectory perpendicular to ours--were two super-cell storm formations with an array of pretty rainbow colors on satellite imagery.   With the soothsayers from NOAA prophetesizing an apocalyptic future of large hail and dangerous sheer winds in excess of 60 MPH, we kept our eyes on the darkening horizon.  The first storm crossed our path 5-10 miles ahead of us, making a bee-line for the town of Huron.  Amateur video of this hail storm can be seen HERE.   

"Scotty! I need you to get us out of here now!" - Captain James T. Kirk; just about every episode of the original television series "Star Trek."

All projections had us intercepting the core of the second storm at Redfield.  We pulled The Rig over, let The Boys take a very quick nature break, switched seats, and drove at a brisker pace.  Although not listed on the map, about 8-miles south of Redfield we reached "providence" (population: 1 very powerful guy).  The second storm slowed and took a more southeastern trek; completely sparing us from any wind/hail encounters.  At Redfield we turned due west and spent the afternoon chasing the sunset and admiring the northern edge of a really impressive storm.  

Gettysburg, SD: More picket fences; less Pickett's Charge

As we neared our next destination, we drove through a small town with a famous name--Gettysburg.  This name recognition wasn't lost on the locals, who made sure nobody inadvertently mistakes this place for the one where Lincoln spoke with brevity.  Gettysburg was a small western town that revolved around agriculture and grain motivity.  I don't know what the official population is, but I'd be willing to bet that there are an equal number of grain bins.

RV-top panorama view of Bob's Resort

Seventeen miles beyond Gettysburg; where the road crosses the Missouri River into the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation, sits Bob's Resort.  Bob's Resort has been a local convenience store/bait shop/RV park/restaurant since 1960.  We checked-in with one of the surviving sons of The Late Bob, and backed into our full hook-up site.   Bob's RV park is mostly a local/regional destination for anglers infatuated with walleye.  Everyone--except us--was using Bob's proximity to the East Whitlock boat ramp, where walleye are plentiful in the deep waters around the adjacent bridge.  Our non-fishing presence--coupled with our Texas plates--gave everyone something to talk about when they weren't talking about walleye. 

The Boys tracking Walleye in the cold Lake Ohae-Missouri River waters

We used Bob's for three principle items: 1) establish a temporary mailing address to receive our "mail call" package from Virginia; 2) position ourselves for an easy drive into Western South Dakota; and 3) be reasonably near a RAM dealership for Hank's periodic maintenance.  The weekly rates were about the same as 4-days at the daily rate, so we booked for a week and decided to leave when we felt like it.

Bob (owner of Bob's Country Bunker): "Well I'm sure glad to have you boys here.  I'm Bob and this here is my place."Jake Blues: "Well it's a b'yootiful place Bob"  -- From the motion picture The Blues Brothers

The weather was a bit warmer than in Yankton, but that was due to the paucity of shade being cast on Glory's roof.  "Paucity" as in ZERO trees of "shade size" near us.  Most days were sunny and clear, but in the evenings thunderstorms could be seen developing in the western skies.  The beautiful Big Sky provided an enormous canvas for the rose-pastel thunderheads to develop in the foreground of the sinking sun.  

One such evening we watched the sun set behind an enormous army of rapidly massing clouds.  The radar confirmed our suspicions of a long night ahead.  With the trifecta forecast of hail, strong winds, and possible tornadic  activity; I readied a bug-out plan and took the graveyard watch.  In a second instance of Providence, the storm weakened to mostly a rain event and bisected to the north and south of us.  I didn't get a lot of sleep, but what I did get was sound.

The meteorological equivalent of a bar fight where your friends walked out on you.

The next day I took Hank for his periodic "oil and lube spa" at the dealership in the capitol city of South Dakota--Pierre.  The hour drive south was a repetitive video-loop of crops extending into the horizon, with brief intermissions of grain elevator cities extending into the otherwise unobscured skies.  When I reached Pierre, the damage from the prior night's storm was evident.  Large hardwoods pushed over, cars damaged by flying debris, roofs partially peeled back on western-facing mobile homes.   Clean-up crews were abundant, and when I queried the staff at the dealership about the storm, the details were daunting.  Eighty MPH winds plowed through the city in a straight-line attack.  Characteristic of these hardy souls, they immediately commented that they didn't have it as bad as the next town over, where winds blasted through at over 110 MPH.  

Hank finished his spa treatment, so we took the more scenic Missouri River route back.  Even with the sparsely distributed trees, the rolling hillsides covered in wind-bent grains was quite beautiful.  We stopped at various points along the journey back to take in the unique sights of the northern plains...and to avoid hitting one of dozens of pheasants that were strangely drawn to the middle of the road.

A small strand of trees stand tall above the endless fields of grain

On Father's Day morning Kristy and I were in the middle of our daily caffeination ritual, when I noticed a man running past our RV with an incredibly small RV fire extinguisher in hand.  Various communities across Our Great Country have unusual traditions, but something told me that I should  investigate this activity further.  Four campsites away from us was a small gathering of people watching one man with a Lilliputian-sized fire extinguisher, and another with a Ronco Pocket Hose (As Seen On TV) try to quench a blazing engine fire in an antiquated Winnebago-style camper.  The flames--initiating in the engine compartment--had spread into the interior dashboard, and proceeded into the over-the-cab sleeping bunk.  THIS was a hot mess!

Gettysburg volunteer firefighter heads back to his Father's Day lunch

Being just before noon on Father's Day, the members of the Gettysburg Volunteer Fire Department would just be exiting their local parish en route to a local Sunday buffet.  A 10-minute notification time, plus another 10-minutes to drive to the firehouse, plus another 15-minutes to travel the 17-miles from town...would result in a burned-out camper.  I grabbed our extinguisher and a water hose and headed to the burning camper.  Hooking up to a neighboring water source, I partnered with the Ronco Pocket Hose fella and we proceeded to direct copious amounts of limestone-flavored water onto the fire.  By the time the volunteer fire department arrived on-scene, the fire had been reduced to a smolder, and the curious on-lookers had returned to discussing the weeks bounty of walleye.  The Father's Day cookout ended as quickly as it began.

Editor's Note: From a purely investigative standpoint, this was the second camper fire that we had witnessed in a few months, and both involved campers that had been static for a couple of years.  A trend of unchecked faulty wiring (gnawing mice?) was emerging.

With our mail in-hand and Hank feeling rejuvenated, we decided it was time to move the caravan.  We were both a bit excited about the next destination, as we were now at the threshold of an array of massive natural wonders and inspirational landscapes.  We were about to step into the "Interior" of The West.

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