Road Trip - Colorado to New York

Click to see our trip...

Mind you, we dined at the finest restaurants in South Dakota, including one establishment owned by Dances-with-Wolves himself. The waiter there came up with this little gem: "...topped with a Holiday sauce." When we ask what we could expect from a Holiday sauce, she responded, "Well, it's not sweet, it's a creamy-garlic sauce." And she clarified it a bit with, "They usually put it on eggs." Oh.

Here's another one: "And for dessert, we have Tiramizoo, which is a really, really good French dessert made with whipped cream, like, cookies, chocolate and..." (dramatic pause mine) "coffee grinds." So we ordered ice cream and asked if they had hot fudge.
Why did I bother laboring through culinary school when I could have simply moved to South Dakota?

We were all almost killed by this snake that tried to attack us from the side of the highway. I'm not sure where its head went, though. But if it had one, it coulda killed us with it.

Waiting for Stallone to close the deal in the Badlands.

The tour lady at the Mammoth Site really loved talking into her trucker-style walkie-talkie. We were supposed to be listening to her on those phones. What she REALLY loved, though, was not pluralizing anything she said: "Twelve to fifteen mammoth found their way into the lake." "They weighed 20 ton each." "We also found fossil of two bear and a tiger." I understand the colloquial appeal, but dang. We made a game of counting how many time she did it. 10-4, good buddy...over and out.

The Harley Davidson store in Sturgis had us bring Stallone in. Poor, broken-willed puppy. He routinely wears clothes.

Annie's latest tattoos match the design on the elevator door in a Deadwood casino. It's like she put planning or something into it.

Wind Cave. And that is all I have to say about that.

South Dakota sculpture of some sort.

We ate at a Hardee's, first time for all. I had a Mushroom Swiss Thickburger(tm), a fact I will remember for the rest of my life.

We swiped about 5 pounds of apples from the hotel lobby to feed to the tick-covered, feral donkeys. We broke down and gave them all of our snacks, too. Crackers went in kinda like a floppy disk. A drooled-on floppy disk.

But they got a little pushy.

The pets were superexcitedandumumneedmyadderall happy to see the South Dakota wildlife. The prarie dogs proved to be too much for Kitty to handle. He went catatonic. Ten pounds of rigid, dialated, wild-eyed feline fluid production. He had six inch bubbling tendrils of sticky, globby tuna-scented drool swinging from his jowls.

Annie got to him just in time to catch the falling glob in her outstretched hand. This, in turn, proves to be too much for me to handle. Commence projectile barf-fest. So we meet again, Thickburger.

Stallone watched me barf. Don't look at my butt.

And then Annie started in. And then me again.

We finally made it to Mount Rushmore, but for the entire 40 minute trip there, I bitterly complained that all I could smell was retch.

I'll end the vomit story here: after washing up a bit, trying to remove the apparent smell from my face, I blew my nose and nearly passed out when I realized that in the tissue was not any nasally produced object. Yep...it was a sliced mushroom. Thickburger:2, me:0

Despite Chicago commuter traffic, we made it back in time for Sarah's [some kind of pre-wedding function] in NYC.

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