Did my walking tour through Deadwood, soaking in more local color. At midpoint, I shared a bench seat in the shade with three elderly ladies on vacation together. One of them shamed me into sharing my chocolate mint ice cream cone with Jubilee. I enjoyed passively listening to their banter and laughter. My favorite part was when a Wild Bill Hickok look-alike, dressed to the nines, waltzed down the street in our direction, tipping his hat. I overheard one of the ladies say, “I’d like to feel him sink his spurs into ME!” I almost spouted mint chip from my nose! I wanted to whack her on the knee and say, “Honey, let’s ask him!”
My final thrill for the day was Mount Rushmore. Again with the gaping maw. Again with the tears! I should have bought stock in Kleenex. I cried not only for the genius of the plan and the dedication of so many to carry it out; the engineering; the art, right down to Lincoln’s sparkling eyes; but for the imperfect yet heroic men who are memorialized there and for their passions, which survive eternity, perhaps.
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