Middle of no-where?

When I set out from Wisconsin, I didn't know what to expect from the plains states of the mid-west.  I'd been through them too many times to count behind the wheel of a car, or jammed into the backseat staring at endless fields out of the window that never seemed to end.  No trees, no turns in the highway and with barely a hill in sight, I was worried that biking across the plains would be a similar experience to driving.  But I tried to keep my hopes up, I tried to avoid having expectations which, without failure, taint an experience to a point where an enjoyable time can be viewed as a failure.  I tried to keep an open attitude toward the state and the experience.  What will the people be like?  Will the backroads really be as bad as the interstate?  So we ventured across the South Dakota border from Minnesota, leaving behind flat acres and acres of corn and soybeans, and finding thousands more acres of corn and soybeans.  Now however, the ancient eroded landscape rolled before us so we had hills to climb, and the wind, which lacked impeding structures in the surface of the earth like trees and mountains, blew with regularity into our faces.  The hot sun rained down on us, bringing the temperature of the earth to the upper 90's, with a humidity of 70+%.  Brint's thermometer on a keychain read 113 degrees at one point and, though we knew this was incorrect, the number still frightened us.  While biking, it's hard to know exactly how hot it is.  The constant wind on your face keeps sweat evaporating quickly, so you can't get an accurate feeling for the temperature outside until you take a break, sit in the shade, and walk back out into the sun.  Then the heat hits you with its full force and tells you "watch out, don't even try it, go inside and drink a margarita.  Or two...

South Dakota, however, did not remain the unlivable, desolate, middle-of-nowhere place that I was afraid of.  Instead, the landscape came alive with geological formations, prairie, and wildlife.  Along state highway 14, we discovered many small towns with life of their own.  People that are raised out here seem to come to enjoy life in the small towns where everyone knows everyone and you can do as you please.  We came across the town of Laura Ingalls Wilder in De Soto, and spent a long time trying to figure out what drew pioneers to such a landscape.  It wasn't until I read a quote of Laura's that I really understood.  It said that the prairie looks the same everywhere you look, but if you take a little time, it holds many wonders and secrets that can only be found with patience.

From Huron, we took the smallest country roads west through the prairie.  We didn't see a single town for about 70 miles and about 20 cars over the course of the day.  When we finally rolled into what we thought would be a small town - Mac's Corner - we found it was nothing more than a small convenience store and gas station.  After going through 5 liters of water over the course of the day though, we filled up, bought some food and rolled another 30 miles to camp on the banks of the Missouri river.

The country roads along the way turned out to be the best decision we'd made for directions.  Although it could have been because of the cooler temperatures and lower humidity (85degrees and 50%), I was pretty sure it was because of the landscape.  The hills rolled onward so much so that we experienced our first climbs since leaving the hills of Wisconsin.  A small "mountain" range loomed ahead of us all morning and, while it couldn't have been more than 200ft high, at least it was something to look at as we rolled up and down the small hills of the state.  At the bottom of every hill was a wetland, or an eroded river valley.  The hills around the river having been eroded for thousands of years before becoming what we have today.  Meandering rivers wind themselves through tiny river valleys, disappearing from view in what appears to be a sure uphill rise.  The ground water dynamics of the area seem visable even from the surface, as one stream's groundwater surely flows into the stream on the other side of the small hill.

Wetlands bring an abundance of life, and the feeling of it was palpable in the air when we stopped next to a watery area.  Birds wouldn't cease chirping, waterfowl would half fly, half swim away from the roadside through their algae filled home.  The grasses of the prairie sang with life as crickets, grasshoppers, and prairie birds would jump, chirp, and sing the blades of grass to life.  At one point, I followed a red-tailed hawk as he soared across the prairie, about 10ft off the ground, in search of a morsel to eat.  Killdear flew on either side of the road, and entire flocks of red-winged blackbirds soared by.  Am I really about to admit this online?  I wished I knew more bird species...

The cornfields and soybeans gave way to prairie fields where cattle grazed away.  Small ponds and wetlands appear in the middle of the driest fields giving cattle a perfect place to cool themselves off in the heat of the day.  The cattle out here have a different sense about them than the cows in Wisconsin.  When we stop to take a picture, they sense something is not right, and it doesn't take long for one of them to trigger the herd to go galloping away from us in fear of the weird creatures that for some reason stopped on the road instead of passing straight by.

Indeed, in the grasslands of South Dakota, we didn't find the middle-of-nowhere.  We found life.  Life in the fields, in the wetlands, and even in the rocks in the geology of the area.  What a beautiful place and a privilage to be able to enjoy.  Next time you drive through the plains, take a moment, slow down, and think about life slightly differently, the way the prairies of the plains are meant to be appreciated, before you cruise on to the next state border.