DAY 9: Rapid City, South Dakota to Billings, Montana #fiveexplore #travellingduringcovid19

Day 9 – July 25th

Our car was starting to resemble an old white van covered in dust and dirt, with tropical looking insects mashed in the radiator. However, we were running late this morning and the car wash would have to wait.

We briefly headed through Rapid City’s surreal mixture of industrial buildings and randomly named hotels. The locals enjoy a healthy obsession with beer including walk-in beer coolers and large signs at gas stations advertising alcoholic beverages. While impressed, I chose to ignore the moral dilemma of pushing alcohol sales at outlets designed for drivers. You can also apply for a license to shoot deer while filling up your car.

After three nights in South Dakota we headed for one last cavort through Black Hills. This is a place where climates collide at the beautiful Spearfish canyon. On the way we drove through Deadwood and Lead, reminding me of classic cowboy wilderness towns you see in films. Tourists crammed into shops and tables outside restaurants. Again, we rewound back to 2019. Party on. We stopped at Spearfish Falls a few miles east of Wyoming. We walked down to the bottom where once again maskless locals were keen to grab my phone and take a photo of the family. COVID who? The lush green grass, wildflowers, pine trees and hidden paths were invigorating. Most impressive where the majestic jagged cliff faces looming over us, casting their shadows on sweeping ranges of trees. We passed Bridal Falls, tumbling down like an elegant veil. Lyra mumbled something about home, but it seemed the fight was weak in her today.

The route ended at the town of Spearfish. Spearfish holds the world record for the fastest recorded temperature change; increasing 27C in two minutes and then falling 32C in twenty-seven minutes, causing glass windows to crack. These dramatic shifts made me question why British people talk about weather so much.

We rejoined our old friend the I-90 and pointed Northwest for Billings, Montana. The landscape altered once again. Parched yellow grass and gentle mounds surrounded us as we dipped through the north east corner of Wyoming. Before we crossed the state line, we drove through Belle Fourche, the self-styled center of the nation (although the actual center is twenty miles away). Yes, I was confused too, but found out this includes Hawaii and Alaska. Apparently, it used to be in Kansas before Hawaii joined the union in 1959. Go look at a map if this still doesn’t make sense.

Rather than continue on the I-90, we took route 212. I cannot recommend this journey highly enough. Soon the yellow grass gave way to larger hills, scattered trees, then turned into the largest landscape imaginable. Layers of mountains sat one behind the other, oscillating between shades of grey and blue. Heavens fingers danced upon the asphalt of winding roads. Looking left and right endless sweeping curves merged into the sky.

The scenery changed. Every size and shape of pine tree imaginable crossed the horizon. One minute they arched above us, the next disappearing beneath the edge of the road. The children were convinced this must be the place where Santa’s elves source Christmas trees. We stopped in small towns including one called Broadus. Another maskless stranger prepared the most delicious wraps I ever tasted. Exotic local delicacies were on sale, including Montana Elk Droppings (chocolate almonds) and Montana Wild Huckleberry Lemonade.

Montana was comfortably the most isolated state we had visited. My sense of time and space was rapidly warping. A three hundred mile drive was all in an afternoon's work. Filling up the car twice a day was normal. The absence of mobile phone signal or people left us precariously driving for sixty miles, hoping we didn’t break down before the next modicum of civilization. At another gas station we parked round the back and I spotted a new phenomenon of cicadas jumping out of the grass everywhere. A dog ran around the backyard and suddenly my windscreen was filled with flying insects. The children quickly slammed the doors to exclude unwanted visitors.

Another feature of the road trip was Sarah’s singing. As we crossed these vast continental expanses, I suddenly heard vaguely tuneful singing loosely related to something happening, or the town we were passing through (-average once every ten minutes). Intertwined were the strange animal sounds Lyra grunted when dissatisfied with something (-average once every five minutes). To complete the ensemble, Alaina would regularly request to release some form of bodily fluid -(average once every twenty minutes). Like a game of whack-a-mole we trundled along the highway in desperate search of five minutes silence between singing, moaning, and emergency toilet wailing.

As quickly as possible I ate up the last miles of the journey and arrived at the surprisingly large industrial town of Billings. It was as if Montana had taken its small population of one million people and placed most of them in one town. Sarah and I noted some vague similarities to Iceland where most of the population live in one city.

We finished the evening skimming the high roads over the city to visit Zimmerman trail on Rimrock. These high ledges enable visitors to overlook the city and dramatic Montana back drop lit by the setting sun. Cicadas, birds, and beetles jumped out of long grass as we made our way down the trail. Lyra climbed the rocks, enjoying one of three things that made her happy (-the others are swimming and playing Roblox).

Locals wandered near us smoking cigarettes, drinking, and celebrating into the night. The vibe reminded me of the relaxed west coast culture. We could not feel further from New York, New Jersey or even London.

In addition to this daily blog, you can check out our Instagram feed for more photos and short posts documenting our 2020 road trip @fiveexplore