In Search of the Poet's Table

This story begins in 1969.  That's the year some intrepid wayfaring adventurers, and presumably poets, transported a heavy wooden table and chairs colored with green industrial strength paint to a well hidden location near Sylvan Lake in the heart of the Black Hills. I recall first hearing about it back in the 70s, but forgot all about it until several years ago when I stumbled across a reference to something called The Poet's Table on the internet.  I don't even remember where exactly.  Some travel blog maybe.  There were photos of that original green wooden table, plus a matching green cabinet which looked to be filled with journals and notebooks containing all manner of writings.  My curiosity was peaked, and it's been in my head ever since that time.  So, this was the summer I decided to make the pilgrimage.
My first attempt started at the Little Devil's Tower trail head.  From the parking area I headed off on the trail armed with a few clues that I hoped would lead me to my goal.  But after a mile or so I began thinking that I had missed the unmarked turn-off.  I was pretty sure it was close to the start of the trail.  I still had some doubt, though, and the trail ahead looked very promising.  Also, a memory from long ago surfaced and the phrase "Forward - Onward" kept popping into my head.  I probably should explain where that came from.  In the wandering days of my youth, a friend and I would regularly head out on warm sunny summer days with our thumbs in the air and catch a ride from some friendly motorist heading south toward the Black Hills.  Our goal on this particular day was a place called Devil's Bathtub, a popular spot where the creek widened to form a perfect little swimming hole.   We found a ride with some long haired hippie types...like us...who took us all the way to the start of the trail to what I thought would be our final destination for the day.  However, after reaching the swimming hole and taking a nice cool dip, my fellow traveler thought it would be fun to keep on going upstream to see where it would lead.  I concurred and off we went.  After what seemed like a few miles (I have no idea how far we actually walked) I suggested we turn back.  The only response I got was "Forward! Onward!"  So we kept going.  There was very little conversation other than about every mile we would pause, then in unison proclaim "Forward! Onward!" After hours of walking and discovering several old cabins we emerged at an abandoned mining town, followed a dirt road out of there and eventually ended up on the highway where we were able to catch a series of rides home.  All that in one day. For some reason I've never forgotten that day, or that phrase.  I may have even said it out loud a few times on my current trek, so it was probably a good thing that on this day there were few others on the trail to hear my strange incantations.  I continued on...and on...and on... and was finally rewarded for my persistence with the pay-off of an incredible view that was worth every huff and puff on the way up.

The climb took all I had to give for that day.  But I had a good idea where I should've turned off the main trail in order to find the Poet's Table, and I decided to come back the following week to complete my quest.  Which is what I did.  This time I concentrated on a clue referencing a leaning tree that pointed the way.  And, after only about a quarter to half a mile from the trail head there it was.  I turned off and began a steady climb toward my destination.  The way seemed to reveal itself to me at each decision point until I came to a solid rock wall.  I could go left or right.  To the left was the obvious choice because it offered the least resistance.  But I chose to go right, hugging the side of the rock cliff, making my way around on loose dirt and pine needles, then over a fallen log.  After a few more steps I noticed a lone tree rising up from an outcropping in the rock.  That had to be it.  And it was.  I had found it!

For the next hour I browsed through the writings, books and trinkets left by previous visitors, studied the carvings on the walls, admired the view, and just listened to the quiet.  I also took some time to read from a book that I had carried along with me...

...The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. I marked a passage that was perfectly appropriate for this day and this place:

"The secret of this kind of climbing," said Japhy, "is like Zen.  Don't think. Just dance along. It's the easiest thing in the world, actually easier than walking on flat ground which is monotonous. The cute little problems present themselves at each step and yet you never hesitate and you find yourself on some other boulder you picked out for no special reason at all, just like Zen."  Which it was.  

I'm not sure how long I was actually there, but eventually it was time to go.  I took a few more photographs, and left a couple of pictures that I had brought along for no particular reason.  I decided to leave my book also.  Hopefully others visiting this special place will take time to read a few lines and appreciate the genius of the author.  Maybe you will decide to make the trip.  I'm sorry that I can't help you much with directions.  It's a place you should find mostly on your own.  It's more rewarding that way, and you will have a greater appreciation for not just the destination, but the entire journey as well.  Safe travels and good luck!

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Attack of the Bacon Eating Zombies

Bacon and Zombies.  Nothing new here.  But lately it seems these two subjects have reached a status  of epic proportions in our culture.  References are everywhere.  I have a friend whose Facebook page contained over 30 bacon-related comments and photos - within a 36 hour period!  Go back a few more days and it reaches into the hundreds.  Here's just one example:

Ok, so that might not be a bad idea.  But this certainly can't be good:

 

Bacon references are everywhere.  There is actually a website devoted entirely to all things bacon and meat related.  The address is (appropriately) baconandmeat.com.  And this is where it gets a little weird....here you will find bacon-themed wallets and shower curtains, bacon air fresheners,  Gummy Bacon (for those of you who want to move on from Gummy Bears), even bacon breath mints. Yeah. Right.  Chicks dig bacon breath. 

Almost as big in our pop culture nowadays are...zombies!  Those loveable re-animated corpses with no soul brought back to life for evil purposes.  They have become much more than just characters in classic horror movies.  I googled the word "zombie" and my search returned 46,300,000 results in .18 seconds.  Even the federal government gives some credibility to the phenomenom, as reported in a recent FOX News article:

"Are you prepared for the impending zombie invasion?

That's the question posed by the Centers for Diseases Control and Prevention in a Monday blog posting gruesomely titled, "Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse." And while it's no joke, CDC officials say it's all about emergency preparation."

In the interest of being fair and balanced (FOX News, not me) the article went on to say that the federal government does not support the contention that zombies actually do exist.  They just want you to be prepared in the unlikely event of the return of the living dead. 

By the way - I've seen one.  A zombie.   A few years ago in Las Vegas.   I was walking down the Strip and there she (it) was. 

She didn't seem to be causing any trouble, so I snapped a photo and moved on.  I did turn and look back a couple of times though.  You know, just to be sure. 

I'm not sure what my point is in all this, other than I think too many people have become too obsessed with bacon and zombies.  Especially the bacon thing.  It's really not that funny or cool any more.  To me anyway.  Except for the newest bacon picture I saw today on Facebook:

In the immortal words of Larry the Cable Guy "I don't care who you are - that's funny right there."

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The Art of The Ride

It's not a lifestyle for me.  I just like to get out and ride my motorcycle once in a while.  And it's days like this that remind me why I enjoy it so much.  Over 150 riders of all backgrounds and from all walks of life turned out for the 2012 Rhea Trevino Memorial Poker Run to Benefit Children.
It was a cool morning with a light sprinkle of rain coming down as we began the ride, but spirits were high and not a discouraging word was heard.  By the half-way point the sun had come out and it had warmed considerably.  After a quick break to get our cards signed at the ever-popular Lewie's Saloon and Eatery,  it was on to our second stop at Trevino's Leathers on Highway 385 south of Deadwood.  I never knew Rhea Trevino, but I know a lot of people who did, and it's clear that he was a good man who touched the lives of many people.  He was also a master craftsman in a world where it seems there are few left.  His obituary in 2010 contained this quote by Bob Dylan - "A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do."  Seems to fit.

 

I try to ride as much as possible these days, and wish I would have done more riding in the past.  I have never been overloaded in the spare time category and it's not like I didn't have other things to do, but still, I think I missed a lot.  Most of all the comradery, or "brotherhood" if you will.  It's events like this one that illustrate that point so well.  The diversity of riders and machines is nothing less than amazing.  Of course there were the big chromed up V-Twin Harley Davidsons with their pipes belting out that familiar rumble.  But there were also Hondas, Kawasakis, Suzukis, BMWs, trikes, custom choppers, crotch rockets, and at least one Boss Hoss.  And they were all welcome.  It is not unusual on charity or memorial rides rides like this to see an Electra Glide and a Ninja ZX going down the highway side by side.  In all honesty this kind of mixing may be frowned upon in some circumstances, but not here, and not on this day.  Even the Sunkist twins showed up.

I realize that those of you who don't ride can't really appreciate the sights, sounds and smells that provide a feast for the senses on even a short trip.  And I'm sure there are other things you do that provide your own personal enjoyment.  But even if you have no interest in the ride itself, surely you can appreciate good art.  You will find it anywhere a group of motorcyclists are gathered.  The colors and details you will see are as varied and impressive as what you might view on the walls of a fine gallery.

So that's why I like to ride.  There are more reasons, but some are harder to explain so I won't try.  But, getting back to the main subject of this essay, one more reason is that I am able to participate in events that allow me to give a little something back.  To become more aware of worthy causes and perhaps help out a little bit.  I smiled when the following comment was posted on Facebook by Nick Cramer of Dakota V-Twin, the main organizer of this particular event:

"Thank you EVERYONE!  HAD AN AMAZING TURN OUT!  over 150 bikes, and guess what!  We met our goal and the kids slide will be ordered this week!"  

Now that's what it's really all about.

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Dumb and Dumber in the Southern Black Hills - A Short Story

It could have been a scene out of one of those screwball comedy movies that leave you snickering and shaking your head.  Except this wasn’t a movie.  It was real life.  And I’m still wondering how we could have been so clueless.  You see, this past weekend my younger brother and I decided to make it a golf weekend, with our first stop being the Southern Hills Golf Course in Hot Springs, South Dakota.  Their website says it is “A short undulating course that will have you using every club in your bag.”  A more accurate description would be “A diabolical confusing course that will have you using every profanity in your vocabulary.”  By the time the round was over we felt a little like Harry and Lloyd on their way to Aspen.

This story involves the No. 10 par 3 hole.  It’s a 141 yard monster that will suck the air right out of the lungs of most any golfer who sees it for the first time from the obscenely elevated tee.  But, we had a fairly successful front 9 and were ready to take whatever the infamous back 9 could throw at us.  My brother had the box and hit a slight hook which appeared to send his ball directly at the sand trap just to the left of the green.  A slight adrenaline rush during my swing sent my ball flying over the green.  Way over.  So, we hop into the cart and drive down to the greenside area at the bottom of the hill (cliff).   I’m off to search behind the green, and he makes his way over to the bunker.  But…no ball.  Not even a sign of the ball hitting the sand and rolling out.  “Must have been long,” he said to no one as he walked down the adjoining slope into the scrub in search of  his wayward shot.  Meanwhile, I’m stumbling, fumbling, bumbling my way through the heavy underbrush and trees behind the green searching for my ball.  At some point I began to think that this area behind the green didn’t look anything like it did from the tee box way up above.  After an extensive search, which I’m sure exceeded the allotted time allowed in the Rules of Golf, we finally gave up.  We each dropped a ball (no way in hell we were going all the way back up to that tee box and hit again), chipped on, putted out, then plopped down in the cart for the short ride to the next tee box.  We hadn’t gone 20 feet when into view came…wait for it…number 10 green!  That’s right kiddos.  We had just spent all that time on the WRONG GREEN! 

“Uh, Lloyd, do you think maybe we should have been over here all that time?”

“Yes, Harry.  Man, you are one pathetic loser. No offense.”

“None taken.”

A quick check revealed that our original golf balls were exactly where they should have been – had we gone to the correct green in the first place.  His on the beach.  Mine in jail.  We picked up and got out of there before someone saw us.  That’s the other thing.  All the time this was going on there was not another person in sight! There were other golfers on the course, just not on these two holes during this entire episode.  How lucky is that?  

Now,  I probably should have kept this whole matter quiet and just between us two.  We would have avoided the ridicule that will most likely follow.  But it’s a story that had to be told.  If for no other reason than to make other golfers feel better about themselves.  Even if it’s at our expense.  So consider it a public service.  You are welcome.

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Best Burger Road

I couldn't put it off any longer.  I had to find out if I agreed with the Midwest Living Magazine article "The Midwest's Best Burgers," which ranked Lewie's in Lead, South Dakota in the top 25.  That's a pretty big deal.  Anybody can put up a sign claiming to be the best.

But this isn't just anybody.  It's Midwest Living, with a circulation of 950,000.

They called it Lewie's Saloon and Eatery.  I've always known it as Lewie's Burgers and Brews.  And, despite the fact that it's only about 25 miles from my front door, I must admit I've only been there twice before.  I will also confess that I had never eaten one of their now nationally ranked burgers.  There was something at stake in this because I have always considered the Sugar Burger from the Sugar Shack on Highway 385 between Deadwood and Hill City to be the best burger in the Midwest, or perhaps even the best burger anywhere.  So off I go to seek my own personal validation of this rather lofty pronouncement by some unknown reporter who may not have ever actually been to South Dakota, and who had obviously not been to the Sugar Shack. 

Once inside Lewie's I decide to sit at the bar rather than a table so I could get an up close and personal experience.  The view of the wall behind the bar is impressive.

There are cool antique toys, old records and advertising memorabilia scattered throughout the place.  Some in the coolers, too.  Like Schlitz and Grain Belt beer for example.  Who still drinks Schlitz and Grain Belt?  There must be enough old timers frequenting this establishment to make it worth stocking.  I'll bet you can't get those brands at Applebee's or Chili's.  But, I digress.  Let's get back to the burger.  I ordered the Lewie's Burger and a Miller High Life, which is somewhat of a throwback itself, but nothing like those other two.  Then I waited.  And waited.  It wasn't the speediest service I have ever received, but everyone was very friendly (Lewie wasn't there and I've heard he's kind of grumpy) and it turned out the wait was worth it.  What a great burger!  And hot.  It's odd that the first thing I noticed after taking a bite was just how hot it was.  Almost burn-the-roof-of-your-mouth hot.  That subtle but very important detail made a big impression on me.  Enough of an impression to make me want to conduct further investigations into this matter.  I see another trip down Highway 385 in my not too distant future.  Then, probably back to Lewie's.  These things take time you know, and one must be thorough.  I also intend to visit another place on that list.  Not because they may also have an excellent burger, but because of their name and the magazine's description:  "Dinker's, Omaha - The decor hearkens to a 1970s bowling alley."  Now that sounds like my kind of place.

Oh, one more thing.  This is not about burgers, but I really want to mention another place I discovered personally for the first time recently.  If you want the best pizza you must go here.

It's called Dough Trader Pizza Company, just off Jackson Boulevard in Spearfish, South Dakota.  I can say without any hesitation it is the best pizza I've ever had.  Not a big place, but fun and friendly with great food.  And a cool vibe, if that matters to you.  And I hope it does.  So check them out if you're not in the mood for a burger.  You won't be disappointed.

There are also a few other local non-food places that I would like to talk about some time soon, including one with a classic Bob Dylan poster on the wall and another with a "What Would Neil Young  Do?" poster.  What's on the wall can establish the mood and personality of a place, so be observant in your travels.  And I'll see you down the road.

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The 'Spring Effect'

As a keen observer of the human condition and a dedicated people watcher, I always find this time of year very interesting.  Sometimes funny.  Often a little curious.  And always entertaining.  I’m talking about those first days when the temperature crosses the tipping point and long pants and sweaters give way to shorts and tank tops...or less.  We hit that milestone here recently when the temperature topped 80 degrees for the first time this season.  People sort of went a little crazy.  Men and women.  I actually saw a guy wearing striped shorts and a “muscle shirt.”  Hey pal, Richard Simmons called - he wants his outfit back. 

But the most amusing scenes occur when women, especially those who were born before 1972, appear in public wearing something they’re just not quite comfortable in.  You can always tell the shy ones who have ventured out slightly beyond their comfort zone.  They are the ones making constant adjustments.  Tugging on their shorts, pulling their shirts up at the top or down at the waist.  Constantly glancing around to see who might be looking.   To those ladies I would just like to say that, except in the extreme cases (and you know who you are),  you look fine.  Don’t worry about it.  Getting some sunshine and enjoying a beautiful Spring day is good for you, as long as you remember that moderation is the key.  Just don't go too far the other way....

                                                         (NOT the good old days)

And, don’t worry about the tan lines.  Tan lines are good.  Wear them like a badge of honor. They are evidence you have shed the winter darkness and ventured into the new light of Spring.  Rejoice!

Remember that time when....

Here is a suggestion for a fun exercise when you are sitting around with not much else to do.  Try to remember.  You might be surprised at how much comes back to you when you make a conscious effort.  But be advised – it might not all be good.  Special places, ideas you had, things you meant to do, people that made you angry or happy, events you thought you would never forget, but did.  So here are a few things I have remembered lately. 
I recently came across an article about how the Voyager I spacecraft, launched in 1977, has now reached the very edge of our solar system and could cross over into interstellar space at any time.  No man-made object has ever gone this far before.  I recall my excitement when I first read about the mission, and the items being carried by the Voyagers (there are actually two flying around out there).  Both carry a 12-inch gold-plated copper phonograph record containing sounds and images selected to portray the diversity of life and culture on earth.  It’s kind of a time capsule, intended to communicate a story of our world to extraterrestrials.  I had forgotten all about this, but now I’m excited about the prospects again.  Let’s just hope whoever (or whatever) finds it has a killer stereo system to play it on.
Speaking of time capsules...what about those?  Do you realize how many cities have buried time capsules over the years?  It was the cool thing to do back in the decades of the 70s, 80s and 90s.  But I suspect many of them are probably forgotten now.  An internet search for time capsules in this region came up with Sioux Falls, Jefferson and at the State Capitol in Pierre, South Dakota.  I also found references to time capsules buried in Laramie and Evanston, Wyoming, and Helena, Montana.  I’m sure there are many more.  Anyone remember if there’s one in your town?
Then there are all those congressional pay raises over the years.  Congress voted themselves more than $56,000 in raises from 1990 to 2003!  There have been more since.  Every time it happens we get mad and vow to “throw the bums out” if they don’t shape up and start earning their pay.  But they know we’ll forget about it in relatively short amount of time.  And they are right.  We do.
Most baseball fans have forgotten about the ’94 strike.  Not me.  I said at the time if there was a strike I would be done with baseball for good.  I was fed up with a bunch of whiny overpaid steroid using cry babies with absolutely no respect or consideration for their fans.  They went out in August, and didn’t come back until April of the next year.  No playoffs.  No World Series.  I have not watched a baseball game since.
On a lighter note – here are a few memories I’ve conjured back up after being buried for years that may spark a similar memory for you.  Perhaps only the time and place or the name will be different.

    •    Mert’s Café.  It’s gone now, but…oh those homemade burgers and fries.  So greasy and so good!  “What say Mert?”

    •    Going over the fence for a late summer night swim in the pool.

    •    Family vacation to Yellowstone.  Every time that old Buick would overheat we would just have a picnic and wait for it to cool down.  Bear jams, giant moose, trout fishing, and endless amusement chasing chipmunks around the campground.

    •    The airline that lost our luggage.  We arrived in Hawaii right on time, but our luggage apparently went on to the Philippines.  It caught up to us a couple of days later – after we had been forced to blow nearly our entire trip budget on t-shirts and shorts.  I swore I would never fly that airline again.  Now I can’t even remember which airline it was.

It’s not always easy to remember things.  Sometimes you have to work at it a little bit.  But it’s usually worth the thought and extra effort.  Just don’t let old grudges go too far.  Like that baseball thing of mine.  I may have let that one get out of hand.  Play Ball!