Monday, July 4th
In the night there’d been lightning. Another thermal kind of storm, lighting striking lightning rather than the ground, at least that’s how it seemed from inside the darkness of my tent. Thunder and rain followed but it seemed to move on quick enough to let me sleep.
I woke at 5, got out of the campsite, and headed over the road to the gas station. I bought coffee and doughnuts to wake myself up and washed my face in the bathroom. I’d just fallen asleep on top of my sleeping bag in the clothes I’d cycled 100 miles in and there was a layer of sweat and dirt and Subway on me.
It was July 4th. It was before 6 but people were pulling into to stock up on things for whatever they had planned for the day. Probably most heading in my direction to the park.
I went back over the road to the motel. I’d managed to guess their wifi password, one of the most satisfying feelings in the world, and checked my route. It was around 30 miles to Cedar Pass, the entrance of the park?where there was a campground. I was undecided if I’d camp here, take an easy day and cycle around some of the sites of the park, or try and head most of the way through and camp at a more off the beaten track site at the other end – an extra 40 miles.
The wind had changed again, but not in my favour. It was now coming directly west, exactly where I was heading. The first 20 miles were slow and arduous.
The road I was on was slightly higher than the interstate it ran parallel to and gave a good view over this and the scenery beyond, the wide open prairie. About 10 miles in the first signs of the badlands appeared, white jagged rocks emerging from the grassland like icebergs.
I reached the junction of Route 16, and Route 240 – the scenic byway which leads into the park and takes you all the way through. I stopped at a gas station / gift shop on the corner as it was probably going to be the last services in a while. I bought a buffalo hotdog and felt a little bad for doing so. Best hotdog i’ve had in a while though.
A few miles in was the entrance gate. $7. It was busy, but I was expecting there to be more cars on the road than there were. It was going to be a very hot day, around 34º+ in the afternoon, but I was already feeling the effects of it as I sweated up the initial climb to the first lookout point – the Big Badlands Overlook.
I’d dealt with nothing but winds, fields, and a lingering sense of dread for days, and now to find myself in front of this incredible canyon-like landscape which seemed to go on forever was amazing, even more so because I felt i’d had to work so hard to earn it.
I leant my bike against a sign at which point I was greeted by Bill, a baker who was on a trip up to Montana to look for dinosaur bones and fossils. One of the first things he said to me was “Can I offer you a cold beer?”, of course I didn’t refuse. He went back to his car and pulled a labelless brown bottle from a cooler on the back seat. At first I thought the label had wilted off, but it was home brewed by his son, some kind of IPA. It was perfect. We spoke for a while, i’d just listened to a podcast the other day about t-rex bones found on a ranch in South Dakota, and how they sold for nearly 8 million dollars.
From what I understood anyone, provided they had permission from whoever owned the land, could go out and look for fossils and claim ownership of what they found. Though I got the feeling Bill was more motivated by an interest in rocks and fossils than finding his fortune.
He went back to his car and produced an arrowhead he’d hand carved from bloodstone, I think it was meant as some kind of good luck charm. It was meant to be a stone with grounding properties of some kind. He carried around a few different types of stone which he believe to have certain mystical or spiritual qualities. It was a nice way to be welcomed to the Baldands. A cold beer and this memento to make the occasion. I wandered out on the rocks. You could get as close to the edge as you felt comfortable with. It was unlike anything i’d seen before, but how I imagine the Grand Canyon to feel. A sense of scale and a visible manifestation of time which brough you down to scale.
I began to realise how the park was setup. Essentially the road, the 240, looped through the entire park past at least 10 of these scenic overlooks positioned so people could drive, get out the car and take the photo, and repeat. There were a few hikes off the road, and some areas of boardwalk which led you around the mounds of rock, but the whole thing felt designed for the average American car driver. In fairness, this structure worked, despite it feeling a little bit like just hopping from one thing to the next without necessarily exploring much or taking it in.
I did a few small walks around off the road, but didn’t have a lot of energy for hiking, and for me, just cycling through the landscape was almost enough for me. The first 10 miles were on the floor of the canyon and the road cut a curvy path in-between the huge stacks of rocks, opening up these incredible views as you turned each corner.
I reached Cedar Pass where the visitor centre and first campsite were. I had though of camping here, but then didn’t really know what i’d do with the day, I wasn’t very good at just relaxing. Despite the heat and the distance i’d covered yesterday, and waking up at 5am, I felt like I had enough energy now to take me through the park and to a primitive, isolated campsite right on the other side of the park.
It was only accessible from a 12 mile gravel road, but the idea of camping somewhere quieter, potentially amongst buffalo, was more interesting to me than here in this busy hub of the park where fireworks and bbqs would be fill the air. I was told you could camp anywhere as long as you were half a mile away from the road or trail, and not visible from it, but i’d seen enough rattlesnake warning signs to put me off this.
So over the next four or five hours I worked my away around the park, stopping at the various overlooks and watching the landscape change, from something very barren and moon-like to begin with, to eventually grassy prairie land where prairie dogs squeaked from their homes in mounds of earth in the ground.
The Yellow Mounds were one of my favourite spots – hills of a yellow/red gradient which stood out against the otherwise white stone which defined the park.
Half-way through the afternoon it really struck me how hot it was, and how vunerable I was – I probably needed twice as much water as I had, but I just had to carry on. There were a number of tough climbs. People looked at me from their cars like I was insane, and I probably looked it. The heat was causing my phone and batteries to stop working and it felt like I was starting to shut down too.
The toughest climbs were the last few. A series of switchbacks which led to a point where the byway exited the park, and the gravel rim road which led to the campground began. I had two litres of water left and wanted to drink it all there and then. But I’d need some to make dinner and breakfast, and carry me the 15 or so miles in the morning to Scenic, the nearest town on the other side of the park.
Why is it called the Badlands?
The Lakota people were the first to call this place “mako sica” or “land bad.” Extreme temperatures, lack of water, and the exposed rugged terrain led to this name. In the early 1900’s, French-Canadian fur trappers called it “les mauvais terres pour traverse,” or “bad lands to travel through.”
Today, the term badlands has a more geologic definition. Badlands form when soft sedimentary rock is extensively eroded in a dry climate. The park’s typical scenery of sharp spires, gullies, and ridges is a premier example of badlands topography.
I stopped at one last overlook and on the horizon, just like yesterday, were ominous clouds and rain, which I assumed was heading in the direction of the park. Nevertheless I carried on. The gravel road was bumpier than I’d been told. The tread from off road vehicles left bumps in the ground which were hard to read in the light now the sun was preparing to set. Since a lot of it was downhill I had no choice but to ride it out and absorb the shock as best as I could.
A few cars were on the road, but most would have left for more comfortable habitations. It felt like I was cycling to nowhere, I began to question what i’d find at this campsite, or if it even existed at all.
Eventually the road descended to a river. It was all grass and prairie land now, the rocks and mounds were behind me now, and I felt a tinge of regret that I hadn’t take the time to spend time amongst them a little more, but it was hard to get out of the rhythm of stopping at the overlooks and moving on, and the heat didn’t invite exploration.
Finally I saw some tents and the gravel road led to a roughly oval area surrounded by hills where there must have around 25 people camping. A patchwork of different coloured little domes. I found a picnic bench which was unclaimed and leant my bike against it and lied down on the top and tipped my head back to the sky. I could feel the culmination of the past 7 days riding, the week since i’d left Fargo and entered the voids of North and then South Dakota, in a tiredness and aching with extended through my entire body.
But I was glad i’d made that extra effort to reach this spot. There was a peacefulness and understated quality to it which was completely lacking from more or less every other American campsite i’d been in. This was how camping should be, I thought – free and simple, in tents, without any more comfort than was necessary. I know that’s a romantic view, but given the size of most national or state parks, i’m not sure why creating an area like this, to accommodate the seemingly small number of people who wanted to camp this way, wasn’t possible.
I still needed water.
I spoke to a young couple who were taking things from their rental car to their tent, Tim and Alex, and much to my surprise, and delight, they were able to provide me with a huge glass jug of water – several litres which they didn’t need. This was almost lifesaving. I was able to rehydrate myself, cook some dinner, and, finally, relax in the peace and wilderness of this great park.
