The Badlands, SD

As we started our trip homeward, we headed north and spent a few days in the Badlands, curious to know how the area received its intimidating name and interested in experiencing trail running through this fascinating landscape. We drove through miles and miles of rolling grassland in northern Colorado, depressed and disgusted at the inhumane cattle farms that packed cows side by side in putrid conditions. We then spent the night in a lovely state park that appeared out of nowhere, and had a nice run on well groomed flat trails. We then continued through the most depressing human habitation in the middle of some of the most gorgeous rolling terrain in southern South Dakota, to finally arrive at the outcropping of crumbling mountains and deep washes of the Badlands. By the time we arrived, I was feeling queazy. The poor cows, the hopeless people, the run down shacks with piles of deserted cars and trash and mangy dogs left us all in quiet contemplation. At what point was all hope lost? Was anger and resentment and disappointment and sorrow passed down through generations, thus crippling a culture’s future? I contemplated these thoughts for 12 miles as I loped, alone, over baked and peeling clay, up and over crumbling towers, down narrow paths of grass that threatened rattlesnakes at every dip. The sky was cold and gray. As I looked around I had the feeling I was running on the moon. Some unusual characters mingled with the terrain. One man was wedged into a crack in the rocks. He looked alive. I didn’t stop to ask. Another man, dressed head to toe in desert camouflage, with a desert camouflage backpack and rolled up sleeping gear, hunched along the path. I felt uncomfortable. As this was a national park, I didn’t have my trail dog Harry Potter with me (dogs are banned from the trail), and I felt a bit exposed. I ran quickly. I was relieved to finally look up and see Izzy’s smiling face in the distance, waiting for me, looking out the RV window from the trailhead where we were parked. She had told me not to listen to my earbuds while running so that I might hear the rattlers’ rattles, and I had compromised by using only one earbud. Izzy, always nervous when I go running, looked as relieved as I felt when we spotted each other. I felt satisfied that I gained some small understanding of where the Badlands got its name. I showered and we headed eastward, toward home.