Dakota Part One

Repelling South Dakota



Well it always seems like a good idea at the time. Low cost unending travel. Hitch-hiking across the continent. The time was the early to mid seventies. Most folks back then didn't automatically assume you were a felon or fugitive. Long hair and Pink Floyd were popular. As was Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey and paraquat. Most of the mushrooms back then weren't found in the gourmet section of some chic food emporium. Time and youth were on my side.

Having recently received my honorable discharge and matching pension for injuries served. I decided to see America, in part to find something real about the country I had just served with the best of my ability. And in part because I honestly didn't anywhere to call home. I hitch-hiked all across this continent. I crossed America so many times I actually started a hitch-hiking guide service. The Urban Backpacker's Conglomerate. I averaged close to a hundred thousand miles a year back then. My best time from LA via SF to NYC was 84 hours and 32 minutes in six separate rides. I hitch-hiked the Trans-Canada, which was a six week experience of a lifetime. Hundreds of hippy folk heading to Vancouver. We were meeting back up every night in youth hostels. Gathering points spread about every two hundred miles over a six thousand mile stretch of road! Home spun music, roll your owns, and I'll trade you this for that, made the nights memorable. Most my fellow sojourners had traveled from Europe for the summer. All of us in hope of arriving first at the music mecca of western Canada, Vancouver, BC.

Unfortunately times today are different. So much so, that it would be most unwise for me to expound on many of the details of those trips today, at least in print. I made several perimeter runs around North America outlining the furthest accessible reaches and tracing it's coastline. I saw all of Canada except for the Prince Edward Islands and the Yukon. I saw all but three States. I missed Alaska due to a torrid transient girlfriend. South Dakota will be explained later, and Hawaii. Now I did hang out at the piers in Southern California for a couple of weeks trying to get there but no luck. It also seems to be pretty consistent to me that drivers of Hawaii tagged vehicles have a, limited to none, sense of humor. Must have something to do with the drive over here.

Now about the great state of South Dakota. I can only assume it is a great state having on eight separate occasions purposed by thumb to share the love there. I still have yet to arrive within it's boundaries. Those eight attempted outings, resulted in finding myself in Florida, Texas, Minnesota by way of Arizona, the Northwest Territory by way of Oklahoma, Arkansas, Philadelphia, Washington State exploring the rain forest, and finally ending with a thirty three year stint in Idaho. Despite the fact I had been within light missile range of that fine state, I have yet to set foot in it.

It was here in Idaho that I finally gave up the dream of seeing the stone carvings of dead presidential heads. Let me say this in the defense of my now long dead and dusty dream. I did on all attempts make courageous and valiant efforts to cross the impenetrable border of South Dakota. I suspect someone phoned ahead. Told them I was currently inbound. They, in their state sovereigntyness and safety consciousness, just naturally turned the switch and the freeways officially off. In order, I suspect to protect their good citizens from my influence and of course eliminate all possibility of gene pool contamination. It was indeed the seventies, and in their eyes better safe than sorry, why take chances?

On that final thumb induced attempt to brazenly enter South Dakota I waited on what, if memory serves correct, was a fairly brand new concrete six lane Y. The right arm of which, would have no choice, but to deliver me into the thus far elusive promised land. The first eight hours of standing there revealed the only four vehicles of the entire stay. Thereby answering a plaguing question, is this highway really in use? Three were headed south, on the other side of the median, and one continued north without slowing or waving on the left arm of said Y.

Someone had indeed phoned ahead yet once again. Finally frustrated and now sixteen hours later, I cut across the vacant freeway. I was once more defeated. I lowered my sulking head and trudged off south from whence I came.

The personal rejection of the Great State of South Dakota still weighs heavy on my heart today. Though I have only recently stopped chanting and sacrificing small animals in order to appease the great and powerful border guard spirit. I have also grown tried of the incantations and midnight nude moon dances as well. Neither has resulted in knowledge or enlightenment on this issue. They have however, on numerous occasions allowed me the opportunity to be forcibly practiced in the very difficult, albeit confining, yoga positions at the hands of Boise's finest. Hence I have relinquished all hope of knowing the nature of my unintended transgressions to this noble and unwelcoming territory.

I had not completely given up, following this successful near contact. I would yet again attempt this insurmountable trek from birth back in the days of my colorful and reckless youth. I have in fact attempted several covert missions. All vain attempts to penetrate the Dakotan force field. One such attempt hoped that through civil airspace I might gain a foothold on its topography. Cleverly disguised as a small time business traveler. I was incognito among the terminal masses. I boarded the plane in Boise checking my carry on, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I was now scheduled to arrive in Grand Rapids. Just a quick over-niter topped with a morning business deal. A mere seventy two minutes and I would at last be within the borders of my thwarted desire. I was near giddy with anticipation! I, however, wound up in St Joe, Missouri. My luggage went to Houston, Miami, New York and finally London, England, before returning to Boise ahead of me. It said it had a nice time. Me not so much. I was plunged into a four day and five night, intensive course study of airport security and cleaning techniques, personnel scheduling, and the aesthetics of the St. Joe airport washrooms. I also participated in a biology experiment designed to see how long a human being could survive on corn nuts and water. I learned from that trip never to put your return ticket, check book, and traveler's checks in your bag when trying to enter South Dakotan airspace. Nothing good can come from it. The business deal was as lost as my well traveled luggage. The score was now South Dakota, nine. Non-visiting team, zero. But this game was far from over, my time would come or so I thought.

My next attempt eventually resulted in the catastrophic disintegration of my marriage, economic ruin, and of course the standard journey into traumatic emotional oblivion. A very small price indeed, for gaining purchase to the great state of South Dakota I say. I would on the next future mission accept the 'At All Cost' priority And of course, the devious spirits of the South Dakotan highway system would be lying in wait for me.

On my next carefully concealed black op mission to enter the a fore named abyss. I was doomed through the oldest and most common of military planing snafu's. I had, in hindsight, seriously under-estimated the resolve of these cosmic forces determined to keep me at bay. Nor had I fully considered the cruel ways, means, and resources, they would employ to maintain this land as a Thaylon Taylor free zone. Despite the careful planning and brilliant execution, this attempt resulted the devastating loss of all things material and loved. It had all started so naturally. And once again, it seemed like a good idea at the time.