Oregon Trail - Part Six - Rapid City

First, some words about the Corn Palace.

The Corn Palace, which advertises from the highway that you should 'cornsider' visiting this
one-of-a-kind attraction, is a multipurpose municipal building for Mitchell, SD. Home to concerts,

basketball, vaccinations and more, this would-be tourist draw was more than I expected. Built in
the 20's and renovated through today, the corn is grown in 12 colors by one farmer and must be
replaced annually on the exterior. A mild summer meant a delayed harvest, and the school-aged
workforce is suddenly busy, making repairs slow. The woman giving the tour and manning the guestbook table remarks that she's pleased that the venue is used so much. I'm impressed as well; the structure is both enduring and endearing, adjoined to the town hall, and rather than (as I had assumed) a tacky tourist draw which locals put up with for the economic boost of souvenir sales (which there are, no doubt), it seems to be a rallying point for the community and makes me entertain, for a brief moment, the notion of moving to Mitchell.

I press onwards instead. Rapid City is a fantastic town, with perhaps the best hotel of my stay, for half the price of the most expensive. I go to the Firehouse Brewery for a good burger and some okay beer. On the way back, I see a girl with what looks at first like a stuffed toy fox, then like a taxidermied fox, then finally like a pet fox, with a leash and everything. I keep walking in search of another drink, which after that incident, I tell myself I need, and believe it. The Adoba hotel provides hip, stylish accommodations with extra amenities and custom omelets at breakfast. Other guests marvel at my card-access ninth floor room, while I explain that I am not in fact some VIP, but that they must have run out of normal rooms and had to give me a fancy one on the cheap. In actuality, I suspect there is little difference, but no matter since the room was great and I intend to return there some day.

In Montana, I drive past a small radio tower guarded by, I shit you not, TANKS, one of which has
a giant missile on the back. I do not stop to make a photo or even slow for a better look, lest the
Howitzer atop the second tank perforate myself, my vehicle, and my possessions. A store on the
side of the road has vintage cameras, but no bathroom, so I move on.

I stop in Hardin to get some work done and stay in a cinderblock room that's pretty clean and
makes a decent office. I reflect that any hotel with a policy prohibiting alcohol on premises and a
bottle opener on the bathroom wall is a taunting contradiction. Obesity seems widespread here;
my Philly cheese steak drips with white American cheese that has melted back into its constituent milkfat, canola oil, and polyurethane. I have a steak at a restaurant run by plain-dressed folk, and when I get back to the laundromat where I've left my clothes, a woman is apologizing and putting quarters in the dryer for my clothes; my understanding is that due to the majority of driers being out of order, she had to commandeer the one that contained my clothes, but when she removed them, they were not quite dry. I appreciate the gesture, and being no stranger to communal driers, I sympathize. I stop by the grocery store to see displays of butter, packs of American cheese larger than should be available outside a commercial setting, and other 'red flags' but nothing summed it up as well as this salad, which I promise contained lettuce, probably. Decent beer selection for Montana, but I don't buy any.

I also see this magazine:

I reflect the that thing to "just do" must be "die" because otherwise, I think aging is inevitable.

I check out the next morning, and the woman at the desk (which I believe is in her living room—it has a suspiciously nice television and I suspect she lives upstairs) remarks that I have a new shirt on; I had explained when she first commented on how well-dressed I was (overdressed, in fact, for the entire town), I explained that I was out of shirts. Anyway, upon her remembering this which I had already forgotten, I explain that I made it to the laundromat after all. And then I leave, because I've got to make it to Spokane before bedtime.