Dead Presidents, Close Encounters, and Holy Snow!

Mount Rushmore, from its role in movies, seems enormous -- huge, bulking faces peering down at the lowly peasant groveling in awe. My first glimpse came from a ski lift about 3 miles away, and my trip up the mountain on the wavering chair was more impressive than the stony politicians (oxymoron? I think not). The ride in the chair actually scared the pants off me, possibly accounting for my blase attitude toward Rushmore.



Rushmore did not meet my expectations. I did visit Vegas recently, and the Bellagio has a Rushmore exhibit, as well. See if you can tell which one is the Real Rushmore from the photos.



Near Mount Rushmore is the Crazy Horse memorial, which honors the memory of the Lakota Indian leader who famously said, "My lands are where my dead lie buried." An Army officer killed him with a bayonet near the kidney while the Indian was resisting arrest, according to Wikipedia. The folks at the memorial maintain he was killed while his back was turned.



The vast grounds -- again in the Black Hills -- contain an artists' colony, where native Americans sell such various wares as handmade flutes, necklaces and colored pencil drawings. I bought the latter off Michael, below, who spoke extensively (and meanderingly) of the "pipe" and the power of women.



From the Black Hills (which, incidentally, aren't black), I drove through Deadwood (HBO series *and* last resting place of Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok -- how cool is that???). The cemetery there is full of famous dead people.



I admit to becoming something of a Calamity Jane-o-phile, ever since I read Larry McMurtry's Berrybender book series.



Off topic: The Book on Tape is narrated fabulously by Alfred Molina, who can pull off Mexican, British, Southwest, and French accents like a wizard. You've seen Molina in Raiders of the Lost Ark, Enchanted April, Frida, My Life Without Me, and Spider-Man 2. All right, here's a picture from www.cinema.com:


Another image from the movies is Devil's Tower, made popular in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. (As a child, I thought this was the third film in a trilogy. Seriously.) It's in the northeast corner of Wyoming, near the Belle Fourche river. It's a geographic marvel, surrounded by trees and plains full of prairie dogs, oddly enough. I saw no aliens, but, frankly, I forgot to look for them. It was hot out.



I next drove the length of Wyoming (a long, hot drive in June) to get to Laramie, in the southeast corner of Wyoming. Pictured is the downtown Laramie bar where Matthew Shepard, I am told by friends there, met with the men who would take his life. FYI: http://www.matthewshepard.org/



Upon leaving the hamlet of Laramie, I headed southwest toward Utah. I took a meandering route that led me through Medicine Bow National Forest, near the Wyoming/Colorado border. What a delight to behold snow in July!





I stopped along with other tourists to take in the snow-capped countryside and tickle my flip-flopped toes in the snow there. This was July 1st! I was *loving* it.