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I only made it eleven miles south of Hot Springs and the Mammoth site before one more stop beckoned. A sign in the middle of what looked like pancake flat scrub brush bragged of Cascade Falls. How could that be? It was late afternoon on a hot day. The small parking lot was bustling. Wet footprints on tarmac evidenced nearby water. Indeed, a very short stroll brought me to a veritable natural water park.

It’s not evident from the photo, but just in front of this little girl is a deep hole. Her dad (or bro or uncle?) was encouraging her to take the plunge. She wanted to—oh, so badly! The young woman on the right demonstrated a running leap and splash, giggling all the way. When she got back to the rocky outcrop, the young man tried even harder to convince the little girl. (I’m telling you, I had my doubts. There’s no way in hell I’d have taken a plunge of that significance at that age!) But clutching his hand, the tiny tot loped beside him and leaped! And came up sputtering and giggling. They raise ’em tough in South Dakota!

I’d barely gotten back on the road when a sign popped up announcing the film location for the movie Hidalgo in half a mile. What? What pile of film karma have I landed in? But oddly, the next sign said, Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary (BHWHS). I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of a herd of horses who were just emerging from an afternoon visit to the river. But the $300 two-hour tour was not in my budget. The BHWHS is an 11,000 acre non-profit dedicated to the “preservation of endangered wild horse bloodlines of Spanish, Choctaw, Curly, and American mustangs.” It operates strictly on private donations and sponsorships. I never saw any further references to the film site of Hidalgo. I must assume that the cameras panned this general region of the Black Hills National Forest.

At last I passed into Nebraska. The fact that I passed up an eleven-mile dirt road leading to the Toadstool Geological park is an indication of my waning enthusiasm. But I’d already seen enough badlands for this trip. I had my heart set on a shower in Chadron. The next morning I continued my journey in an unfortunately easterly direction. I paused in the tiny town of Anselmo (population 145 in 2010) to peer through the windows of the historic sod house and jail.

Anselmo jail—at least it’d be cool
Anselmo sod house
Cool public art in Hastings

Continuing eastward, I drove and I drove. I was still in Nebraska as nightfall approached. I was in no mood for a shadeless campground so sprang for a motel again, this time in Hastings.

Next morning I headed south for that elusive border. My eyes perked up as I drove through Red Cloud and saw a sign pointing to the house Willa Cather called home for 13 years of her childhood. There wasn’t much to see since the building is being restored. As I continued south on Highway 281 I realized I was driving on the Willa Cather Memorial Roadway and then came the Willa Cather Memorial Prairie with walking trails through restored prairie that inspired so much of Cather’s works. Ironically, I was within sight of the Kansas border at this point. Nebraska had saved it’s best for last.

There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or tree, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.

Willa Cather