Wall, SD to Bozeman, MT
567 miles
In the early morning daylight, we could see just how miniscule Wall really was. After a few blocks, the town ends and the empty plains begin. Less than a thousand people live in Wall, according to my road atlas. What put such a tiny place on the map? Wall Drug, no doubt.
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breakfast at wall drug |
Though we were both feeling a little crabby, Wall Drug did not let us down. It was awe-inspiringly tacky, with just the right touch of cheapness. Wall Drug may have started in the 1930s as a drugstore offering free ice water, but the past several decades have seen it balloon into a Wild West-themed mecca. The pharmacy department is still there, but there’s also a cafe, a soda fountain, lots of Old West bric-a-brac, a travelers’ chapel, and not one but two musical mannequin displays ("Ted Hustead’s Cowboy Orchestra" and the "Chuck Wagon Quartet"). Most recently, they’ve decorated the backyard with cartoonish replicas of animals, dinosaurs and stagecoaches. Of course there is a full line of T-shirts and souvenirs – several shops’ worth, in fact, lining the tiny "Wall Drug Mall." Can’t make it to Wall anytime soon? Relax: you can order your souvenirs online.
We ate breakfast in the "Western Sculpture Dining Room," which was done up in oak and lined with the promised Western-themed paintings. The five-cent coffee was perfectly drinkable and the homemade donuts were tasty, though they left me feeling a bit sick afterward. We polished off our meal with a glass of free ice water (served in little commemorative yellow cups) and left Wall behind, free bumper sticker and cheesy brochure/map in hand.
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| western sculpture dining room |
From my journal:
"I’m in a strange space right now. We have been on the road for about three
days, just Callie and the cats and me. Other than truckers, desk clerks and restaurant
employees, I have had barely any contact with humanity. Hardly anyone young in hundreds of
miles, at least since Iowa City. And we’ve been driving through these empty, desolate
areas. There aren’t ‘towns’ along the highway as much as much as
settlements – a circle of small prefabricated homes or trailers, maybe a Conoco gas
station, maybe a McDonalds and a couple of motels. I feel isolated and quite conscious
that we’re far away from NYC, yet days away from Seattle. There are so many vast,
empty spaces in America. I guess I suspected as much, but seeing it for myself is just
eye-opening. How do truckers do it? This is one of the biggest things I’ve ever
done. Perhaps THE biggest."
South Dakota’s emptiness blurred into Wyoming’s brown hilliness. Once in Montana, the terrain gradually got denser, lusher and more mountainous. West Coast indicators started popping up: Safeway supermarkets, Olympia beer and espresso for sale at gas stations. We drove past Billings, marveling at the unfolding green hills, and stopped for the night in Bozeman, a reportedly nice college town that, predictably by this point, we didn’t have time to visit. We stayed in an off-ramp cul-de-sac of cheap motels and chain restaurants. Tonight’s dinner: Papa John’s pizza. I vowed to go on an all-granola and salad diet once this trip ended.
We could have eaten worse, though. Thumbing through the Bozeman alternative newspaper, I read about the "Testicle Festival," an event presented by Rock Creek Lodge. We’d actually passed a sign for said festival on the highway. It turns out to be an annual rite featuring beer, Southern rock, and enough debauchery to make Woodstock ’99 almost look like a Morrissey concert. Oh, and admission includes all the bull testicles you can eat – breaded and deep-fried, no less. "Tastes like chicken," the writer deadpanned. I’ll take her word for it.
