Bear Country USA, Mount Rushmore, Badlands Backroads, Wall Drug 
Auntie Cindy told us way back in Banff this great story about a close enounter she had had with a bear in South Dakota. Apparently, she and a girlfriend were driving through some wildlife park where wild animals were allowed to roam, but they had left the back right window cracked open a few inches. The bear walked right up the door, stuck its paw through the partially open window, inches from Auntie Cindy's head, and then retreated.
Needless to say, Matthew and I thought that sounded so cool.
So when we saw signs for Bear Country USA, we had to go there. We saw elk, arctic foxes, mountain goats, sheep, reindeer, bison, timber wolves, and black bears aplenty. We were quite infuriated, however, with the limited space many of the creatures were afforded, and even the species represented. How cruel, to have an arctic fox outside in 90-100 degree weather with no shade and little water in the middle of South Dakota. These people were really raking in the money, but you wouldn't have known it from the way they treated and kept their animals.
Mt. Rushmore was absolutely infested with bikers. I mean, they had a whole separate parking lot for the motorcycles. Everywhere you looked was either a chubby guy in black leather or an older woman wearing next to nothing (I make generalizations based on actual disturbing sightings). But as much as I rag on the bikers, I will concede that while some fit the stereotype, many do not. Many are quite friendly, garrulous, curious, adventurous people that happen to ride motorcycles. Just the fact that they were swarming these national parks and monuments speaks volumes. Some genuinely care about their country and want to soak up its history.
I chatted with a gang that drove all the way from New Jersey in three days, through Pennsylvania and Iowa. They shared such a pure joy for the travel and the scenery and the things South Dakota had to offer. One guy, Bob the EMT, was telling me about Custer, a park in the area that he had seen and adored. I urged them to check out Wind Cave and described what I loved about the park.
I won't try to romanticize all of them.
I saw way too many Confederate flags than are acceptable. The advertisements that were geared toward these bikers literally read "Free Bikini Bike Wash and Pork Ribs!", much to my amusement. And I wondered if many of the bikers even knew why they were so counter-culture. Was it merely to get a reaction? Or did it actually represent a genuine belief? When one of them sported the Confederate flag, what message were they actually trying to communicate? Were they completely aware of the nuances leading to the Civil War (oops, War Between the States), or were they simply racist? Were they supporting more power to the states, or were they supporting the owning of human property?
But I digress once more.
When we rounded that bend in the road, revealing those four faces carved into the mountain, I actually couldn't speak. You can see the pictures, know the facts, but nothing prepares you for the immensity of those profiles, the grandiose scope of the sculpture, the craftsmanship of the mountain.
Each president has a different focal point, a unique facial expression, and therefore represents a different aspect of the country's character. So many questions whirled through my head that all I could do was sit there with my brow furrowed and my mouth open.
After Rushmore, we drove to the Badlands where, upon the advice from a Hispanic man that pulled over behind us, we continued on a backroad to see the park until we arrived in Wall, at the legendary Wall Drug.
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