Day 34: Wacky Wyoming and Men on a Mountain

“It’s flat.”

“Yeah, but at least it’s not as flat as Kansas. That’s flat flat. And straight.”

So went our conversation on the landscape of Wyoming as we left Cody.

Then Wyoming went through an identity crisis, like it couldn’t decide what geology it preferred to adopt.

Rainbow layers to rolling treed hills to craggy buttes led to grasslands and lakes. Really, Wyoming?

Of course, I guess most of this was a sea bed eons ago, but I still had no idea that landscapes could change so drastically in such a short distance.

Earl got tired of me pulling off the highway every two minutes real quick.

But it was so pretty!

The drive through Wyoming led us into South Dakota, home to one of the sights we have both been anticipating.

Mount Rushmore! Ooh!

I had no idea what to expect from Rushmore. I figured it could go one of two extreme ways: It would be a 10 minute “Oh, look at the big faces, get back in the car” stop or a 2 hour “is there not an angle where Roosevelt doesn’t look just squished in there?” lookie-loo stop.

Yet again, I was wrong.

The museums are chock full of all the details of how the monument was carved. Dynamite, mostly. But there are also lots of sculptures of alternative versions of the presidents. The “Wait, what are you guys looking at?” Lincoln was my favorite.

Because of the scale of the project, there were lots of casts used by the master sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, and the 400 men who worked for 14 years to turn vision into reality.

Here you have Jefferson’s hand, Washington’s face, and…an ear.

Earl wanted to wander down to the Sculptor’s Studio to see Borglum’s workspace and master 1:12 ratio model. On the way, we found Borglum himself, sculpted by his son, Lincoln, who took over the project when Borglum died in 1941.

All Lincoln really did after his father’s death was to tweak a couple of lapels. Money dried up. Something about a World War or some such. Part of me wonders why no one has attempted to go back in and complete the job. Mighty, mighty impressive, that would be. Even though ol’ Teddy still looks like he’s doing an awkward photo bomb.

Somehow, despite all the signs of “strenuous hike” and “422 stairs,” I agreed to go with Earl around the Presidential Trail for a better view of the real deal on the mountain. And, of course, we did it backwards, so like 785 of those 422 stairs were UP. But the views were worth it.

This close, the details pop. They’ll need to trim trees soon, however, or else Teddy will go from perpetual photobomber to persona non grata from the ground.

There were plenty of good views of George, though. Enough that anytime I said, “Hey, Earl! Look!” she’d come back with, “Hello again, George,” before she even turned around.

We huffed and puffed our way back around to the amphitheater to wait for the nightly lighting of the faces. We had plenty of time for Earl to work on her Junior Ranger booklet.

In this one, it had a section asking kids to draw a self portrait of themselves enjoying something around the park.

“I want to draw a picture of my face when I first saw it.”

“Okay.”

“Take a picture so I can copy it.”

My dramatic child, she melts me.

The booklet completed, we snagged a spot of dinner from the cafe then visited the ice cream shop.

Did you know Thomas Jefferson is credited with the first known recipe for ice cream recorded by an American? And that you can buy TJ’s ice cream at Mount Rushmore (and Monticello has the recipe posted online)? You can! We did!

It was yummy! Even though there were chunks of vanilla bean that Earl kept ungracefully spitting out and the scoops were way, way far too generous.

At 9:00, the night program began with a brief ranger talk and a 20 minute video on the men on the mountain. “God Bless America” played and spotlights hit the faces.

Members of the military, past and present, were invited on the stage to lower the American flag. There must have been 70 men and women file down the stairs to the platform. A few people left the program at that point, heading, I’m sure, to get out of the parking lot before the crowd. Earl nor I were very pleased.

“How rude,” Earl channeled Stephanie Tanner beside me.

But it didn’t dampen the chills down our spines as the flag was lowered and each person on stage was asked their name and branch. It was a proud moment in a remarkable place on what continues to be a phenomenal trip.