Tooling around South Dakota and Wyoming

We followed the fence-lined paths of Roughlock Falls Trail to four overlooks in Roughlock Falls Park and watched two fishermen fly cast from the dam.

"What time is dinner?" I asked.

One fisherman chuckled.

We could see small trout--brown, brook and rainbow--skirting the edge of the water plants just below us on the bridge.

"This is the first time on this trip that I really feel like it is fall," said Andy as we walked single file on the trail. A few yellow paper birch leaves drifted down around us, dancing in the up-currents of breeze along Roughlock Creek. Intermingled among the pine, many of the birch stood bare, white silhouettes against the yellow and pink limestone cliffs. Under my feet the fallen leaves formed a crisp carpet, crunching in harmony with the rush and bubble of the brook to our right. Riparian habitat, where land meets water. That's how the nature sign explained the environment. We took deep breaths and looked at the cliffs, where heaven meets earth.

Coming back, we passed a small group of elderly walkers going the other way. The two men wore cowboy hats and the two women stepped gingerly, each one feeling her way with a cane.

"Is it far," they wanted to know.

"Did you ever notice that men when they get older always seem like they are in better shape than the women?" asked Andy, chuckling, after we passed the group,

I laughed. "Thanks a lot. Did you ever wonder why they die sooner?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe they expend all their energy keeping in shape," he offered.

"I think I'll sit down and take some pictures," I told him.

Spearfish Falls, another riparian habitat, plunged over a 110-foot wall of rock and joined another fast-flowing stream at the bottom. The three-quarter mile trail included signs about gooseberry, choke cherry and box elder that grew in the region.

At Bridal Veil Falls we stopped for a picture, but the wind drove us back.

"It has to be 50 m.p.h. gusts," I told Andy.
"Easily," he agreed. "But it's hot air. It must be the narrowing of the canyon walls, because it's not like that anywhere else."
I didn't photograph the falls. The water in the shadow of the rock was only a trickle compared to the other two waterfalls in the canyon.

"I'm looking for the geographic center of the United States," said Andy, taking out his map when we unlocked the car. "It's somewhere in Belle Fourche, South Dakota.

I tried punching in Point of Interest in the GPS as Andy turned several times in the downtown Belle Fourche area. Suddenly directions popped up.

"The GPS says turn left," I told him.

He turned.

"Now GPS says it's 29 miles out Route 85.

"That's ridiculous. I'll go a little ways on 85, and if we don't find it, okay, that's it," he declared impatiently.

"There's a park to the right, and I see flags," I pointed out.

"Stupid GPS. See, it was right in town, not 20 plus miles away." He was elated.

We got out and read the sign outside the visitor center: "Due to the remote location of the exact geographic center of the United States when Alaska and Hawaii were added as states, we selected this site for convenience of visitors. The actual geographic center of the country is about 20 miles north on Route 85."

Only in America!

The Aladdin Tipple Historic Interpretive Site displayed the coal shaft and sorting machine for coal mining and delivery from the early 1900's. Miners were paid $.75 a ton for getting the coal out of the hillside, and the tipple dropped the coal pieces into bins by size: nuts, eggs, and lumps.

Nearby in Wyoming was the town of Aladdin, population 15, a 110-year old General Store with the sign out front: "Cowboys, scrape shit from boots."

I wonder what Aladdin teenagers do for fun.