VERONICA KUFFEL

Departure Log 2:

Boah and the Road – Black Hills, SD

OCTOBER 27-28, 2022

“Unshaken” – D’Angelo, 2018

*Popularly known in Red Dead Redemption 2 as Arthur’s theme riding back to camp.

I’m a big Red Dead Redemption fan. At least, the second one.

It all started at my friends’ house, which I dubbed “The Lemon Tree.” As a writer, I have this cringey need to give things names that don’t necessarily need them. Why? I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

The reason for the name was my friend Lennon, or “Lemon” by his socials. One day, I was hanging out at their place and happened to turn the Xbox on. I stumbled upon RD2, and the rest was history.

Lennon and I would spend hours playing the game, dreaming of our own Arthur Morgan adventures in our separate “boahs” (Arthur-speak for horses). Every time I went home to MN I would play on my family’s Xbox. I was properly obsessed.

I reminisced as I drove through SD in my van, patting Walie and coaxing him with an occasional “you’re alright, BOAH.”

I wasted a little too much time writing in Wall and decided to camp out in the Black Hills. The Wyoming state parks were alluring, but not enough to drive in the dark.

Construction on I-90 narrowed the roads. With the rain, semis going the opposite way bashed me with waves of water, so thick I could see it coming. I braced as it shook my car and threatened to spray me off-road. I chewed through my nails to pass the time.

As the rain cleared up, I saw trucks hauling everything from plane parts to houses and industrial sewer pipes. Birds spiraled in the fields and sky, making random yet complete patterns that resembled an animated point-by-point drawing.

I finally hauled Walie out of the fields and through the winding highways of the Black Hills. It was nice to be out of the plains for a bit, and I noticed my poetry writing had dwindled a little as the landscape grew into forest and rock.

Not that it wasn’t inspiring–I think I was too taken aback by it; no need to create beauty when it’s right in front of you. The poetry EP will have to wait, along with my other consuming projects.

While I would have to drive much longer the next day, I wasn’t too torn up about it. On my route, I found the largest Smokey Bear chainsaw art in the world (allegedly) and it had me grinning ear-to-ear in pictures.

The drive was gorgeous, with black-pined trees and white rock on both sides. Walie chugged along the hills like The Little Engine That Could, a loving reminder to avoid the mountains. The poor guy is not a lover of altitude, as we learned last summer in Colorado.

I settled in the free Comanche Campground and made a dinner of Kevin’s sous-vide Korean BBQ Chicken with rice and vegetables. After that and a bowl of protein cereal, I wrapped through a book my grandmother gave me, “All The Light We Cannot See,” by Anthony Doerr. Very good read, thank you, grandma.

Some men with a truck camper settled in a spot a few yards away from me, and I was reminded of my focus on safety. I have a fanny pack on me at all times with pepper spray and a large knife, but luckily, I never had to use it. Still, it’s a comfort.

The night was cold, but compared to the 6 a.m. frost, it was practically cozy. I woke up shivering with my two layers of heated and thick cotton blankets. It was pitch black, and with the dark forest, all I could see were the stars.

As I drove out with no phone connection, I could see everything. Everything. I’ve never witnessed a clearer dawn sky. I pulled over, cranked my window and just gaped at it all. I was nervous being alone on the road, but frankly, these stars were so big and bright they brought me to tears. They gave me dim but warm company as I made my way out of the Black Hills.

With no GPS, I wheeled Walie blind for about an hour, looking for connection to pull my map up. I eventually saw a sign for a Wyoming town 24 miles ahead, so I assumed I was going the right way.

I was scared for that first hour or two, but also mesmerized by the area around me. The silhouettes of the trees were haunting but in a beautiful kind of way. As the sun slowly rose, they lit up and I could see more and more definition in branches and leaves. I saw the cracks and dirt of bone stone cliffs gradually shimmer in the waking light.

I drove slow and steady and took it all in.

It reminded me of another unsteady night drive a few years back. In 2019, my friend Joey and I flew to Las Vegas for the Area 51 Raid, more to document than participate. We had just gone to the big Bud Light -sponsored festival and we were driving towards the gift shop where it was all supposed to take place. As you may know, it didn’t really.

I wasn’t bothered. The greatest part of the trip was that drive.
Joey had conked out in the passenger seat, and I was alone on the road. No cars, no street lamps–not even a gas station. Anything could’ve happened to us. And I was infatuated. I felt like a spaceship gliding through the stars as I listened to David Bowie’s “Space Oddity.” Maybe I’ll repost the article from that adventure, but at another time.

Fast forward to dawn in the Black Hills, and I am in a similar place. Except this time, I am entirely alone. It’s just me and my little shuttle, my steel boah, driving through the foothills of South Dakota and all of the galaxy with it.

The sun rose and each star disappeared in blots as I crossed the Wyoming border. In my mirrors I watched the sun rise behind me while heading West, red foothills of the South peaking up from the grassy plains.

Like Arthur Morgan, and hopefully Lennon to some extent, I was riding into the desert, my boah at my side, and my will unshaken.