I am currently in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, hundreds of miles from home. We drove. No Interstates. We passed multiple scary chicken containment buildings in Minnesota with cheery signs that said “Farm Fresh Eggs!” It seemed clear that the signs should have read, “Regional Chicken Prison System for Forced Egg Production.” We saw Sitting Bull’s grave and found out his Sioux name is really Tatanka Iyotake. His grave was decorated with small treasures including rocks, feathers, and cigarettes. We passed on the deep fried shrimp burger and had hamburgers at Brenda’s Tumbleweed Café in a South Dakota town of 14 people. We used the ATM machine at the Milbank Bank and crossed the Missouri river on the Mobridge Bridge. One town proudly announced its slogan as “The place where two roads meet.” I can’t tell you about Yellowstone since it would involve me using too many vague adjectives like “stunning” and “amazing” which we all know tell the reader absolutely nothing.
So I apologize for being AWOL from the blog. Nonetheless, I am inspired to seek your travel stories, of which I imagine you all have one or two. This is the spot!