We Just Keep Going, and Going, and . . .

Samuel T Griffis

Celeste Tribune

We’re rolling along in Wyoming headed for South Dakota to visit Mt. Rushmore. It is a pleasant drive, but I have a wary eye on the Big Horn mountains off to our left. I feel pretty good though, because it looks as if we will remain in the valley and be able to travel around them. I am actually relaxed and enjoying myself as we drive along side the Big Horn river. I’m kinda lost in my thoughts as I think of all the history connected with this part of the U. S. Not too far north of here, back up in Montana, is where Custer’s Last Stand at the battle of Little Big Horn occurred.

All of a sudden the road turns left and I am jolted out of my daydreaming as I see us headed straight for those dad-blame mountains. There is a particularly ominous looking one and yep, you guessed it, that’s the one we gotta cross. I will spare y’all the details of another mountain adventure, but I will say it was, oh what is the word that best describes it? Scary? Horrible? Horrendous? Terrifying? Yes, that’s it. Terrifying.

I don’t know for sure, but I think at one point I heard the girl’s voice on our GPS unit joining me as I screamed, “Vicki, watch out! Slow down! Don’t ride the brakes! Be careful!” I’ll tell you how bad it was; a few weeks ago at church when they started singing Go Tell it on a Mountain, I had a flashback and almost passed out.

Well, we made it out of the mountains, but had made horrible time. We decided to drive a little longer than usual to make up for the lack of distance we had traveled. We’re cruising down the highway and it is getting dusky-dark when Vicki says, “Look at all those buffalo up there.” “Where,” I ask, straining to see them. “Up yonder at the foot of those hills. I hope they are still there when we get nearer to them.” I take a closer look and see what she is talking about. “Oh, they are not going anywhere,” I respond. “What makes you so sure?” Vicki asks. “Because,” I answer, “those are round bales of hay.” After that, we both decided maybe we had better find a place to stop for the night.

The next day we arrive in South Dakota and head to Mt. Rushmore. It is not too far from Rapid City, just south of the little town of Keystone. We drive up to see it and there it was: Mt. Rushmore, the mountain I had seen in pictures and read about all my life. I thought you could probably see it from the highway, but no, you have to go up into some more mountains before you even get a glimpse of it. Although I didn’t exactly enjoy the drive up to it, I have to admit it was pretty cool to see it in person.

We stay the night in Rapid City and arise fairly early in the morning. We are trying to make it to Minnesota before we stop driving for the day. We put the pedal to the metal while rolling down I-90 on flat terrain and putting the miles behind us.

Before you know it we are almost all the way across South Dakota pulling into a diner right before Sioux Falls. It is in this diner I encounter one of, if not, the worst waitresses ever. We walk in and seat ourselves in a booth. The waitress, a late teen to early twenties young lady, is sitting at the counter. She glances our way, but does not acknowledge us. Vicki and I look around, trying to get someone’s attention to take our order. Finally, the waitress strolls over to our booth, and by her facial expression and demeanor, makes no secret of the fact she had just as soon we hadn’t shown up. Without saying a word she drops two menus on the table and returns to the counter and sits down. After awhile she comes back to ask if we are ready to order. We both want hamburgers and tea. Again, not saying another word, leaves to give our order to the cook, brings us our tea and sits back down at the counter, never looking our way again until the burgers are ready.

The place is nearly empty, but our order takes a fairly long time. Finally, she brings us the burgers, doesn’t offer to refill our tea and starts to walk away. I look at my burger and it is composed of just meat and bread. “Uh, miss,” I call to her, “y’all forgot to put any tomatoes, lettuce or pickles on my burger.” “You didn’t ask for them,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Well, where I’m from you have to ask to have them left OFF your burger.” I explain. “You can have them, but it will cost extra.” she informed me. “Oh, just forget it,” I reply and start choking down the hamburger.

We finish eating and have to ask for the bill. I take it to the cash register and our waitress is the cashier. She does not say one word as I pay our tab. I think about telling her how horrible her attitude and service were, but decide that just because she doesn’t act like a lady, it shouldn’t keep me from acting like a gentleman. Besides, if someone had held me down as they obviously had her and stuck a key ring through my lower lip, a thumb tack in the side of my nose and a couple of nails in my eyebrow, I might be mad at the world, too.

We leave Sioux Falls and cross into Minnesota. We make it about halfway to Bloomington before we stop for the night. Vicki has plans, big plans for tomorrow. We are going to where every man in the world wants to go. We are going to a mall, not just any mall, but The Mall of the Americas, the largest mall in the U.S.

Oh joy, oh joy. Be still my heart!