The Last 100 Miles

The closer we got to Sacred Stone Camp, the more it seemed like something didn’t want us to get there.

We headed out from our last camp at a beautiful, austere lake outside Lemmon, SD, where Scout got a chance to run after days cooped up in the van. That was nice.

I fought a headache that was fast-blooming into a full-blown migraine. We stopped for gas and water at McLaughlin where I went into the station’s small store and bought fried chicken strips in the hope that food would settle my stomach. It did not.

Scout loved her share but within half an hour on the road, I had to pull over and vomit in the tall grass. Then again, minutes later. And again. Each time, Pish waited up ahead.

We got through Ft. Yates on the Standing Rock reservation and had to pull over yet again. This time, I didn’t even make it to the side of the road. We were less than twenty miles from our destination but I could go no further.

We decided to turn back and find an emergency room

The staff at the Indian hospital in Ft. Yates couldn’t have been more kind. Dr. Reyes ordered morphine for the headache and anti-nausea medication for my stomach. Nurse Terry found a vein while apologizing for the barely noticeable pain of the needle going in. She proudly told me about her daughter, a barrel-racing rodeo champion, as I drifted off to blessed sleep.

Standing Rock Reservation Administration Building

An hour or so later, I walked out of the hospital feeling almost back to normal. It was evening by then, so we decided to sleep in the hospital parking lot and make our last push to Sacred Stone Camp in the morning.

Scout and I rose early and walked along the shores of Lake Oahe, a huge reservoir across from the hospital and the Standing Rock Reservation administration building next door.

Standing Rock monument

I learned the meaning of the term ‘Standing Rock’ from a plaque next to an installation of a large rock that, if you squint and look at it from the right angle, could represent a woman carrying an infant on her back.

Which is exactly what legend says it is

The story goes that a Native woman looked at something she wasn’t supposed to and was turned to stone. (Sound familiar?) The rock has been revered by the tribe for over 150 years.

Finally, Pish, her two adorable remaining dogs, Chinley and PB, Scout and I were ready to head out. Of course, that’s when the rain came down.

Because, you know, something didn’t want us to get there

We waited for the squall to pass like they do in the Southwest, but this is the Midwest. Rain doesn’t do that here.

So we set out on the last leg of our journey

The light rain turned into a downpour but we drove slowly for the last fifteen miles. It  finally let up when it was clear we weren’t going to give up. We made a wrong turn, then retraced our steps.

Then, at last after eight days on the road, we were there.

Tipi and tents at Sacred Stone Camp

(to be continued…)