By ERNIE NEUFELD
It is a rule of thumb strongly advocated by frequent highway travelers, and one I zealously embrace: always drive on the top half of your gas tank. It needs no complicated explanation, but in the remote event you are one of the unconverted or unconvinced, it is a simple reminder that it is best to fill the gas tank when it is still half full, not when nearly empty.
When I confess I occasionally ignore that rule, I hasten to protest that I'm not ignorant. Stupid sometimes? Yes!
The latter unfortunate trait came into play after visiting Mount Rushmore in South Dakota's Black Hills, with its unique carvings near the crest of a mountain, more than a mile above sea level, of the visages of United States presidents Washington, Jefferson, (Theodore) Roosevelt and Lincoln. The undertaking occupied 14 years of the life of sculptor Gutzon Borglum, so don't try it yourself if you are near pension age.
From Rushmore it is only 10 miles or so to another high and huge sculpture in progress since 1948, by several members of one family, the Crazy Horse Memorial in tribute to the North America Indians.
Since my gas tank was about half full when we left Rapid City, this little trip did not really diminish my fuel supply, and the town of Custer - with lots of services - was nearby. And not too many miles south lay Pringle, clearly marked on our map as a town. At least it looked like a town to me.
Unfortunately, I missed a right-angle turn required for my planned route. I drove 20 miles before I realized I was heading for Wyoming, and not Pringle. Like the rest of the Black Hills area, however, the drive was stunningly beautiful. So what was wasted, except a gallon or two of gas and less than an hour of an easy afternoon?
The return to Custer to correct my mistake put me back on track to Pringle, where definitely - but definitely - I ought to stop for gas.
The desired destination could not be missed, for a sign clearly marked "Pringle" greeted us as expected, but with the discouraging subscript that the population was 87. If there existed a gas station, it was well hidden.
At this point it struck me as advisable to take the next direct route to our Rapid City motel, which I proceeded to do. Inadequate marking cost me a few more miles when Highway 87 deliberately eluded me. Backtrack again!
Route 87 took us through Custer State Park on a road so twisty and curvy that the driving distance must have been double or more that of a straight line. It was once again a most picturesque route made exciting when we came upon a giant buffalo plodding along the berm in the direction we were headed. On our side of the roadway, natch!.
When he finally moved a few feet into the ditch (in spite of rather than because of us), we raced by with bated breath. There was no more excitement until we came upon a fairly large herd of bison crossing the highway. (There were probably no more than a few dozen, but an area brochure later revealed that the park is home to some 1,600 of the huge beasts.) We were able to slip through a gap in the procession, and went on without hindrance, except if you count an antelope eyeballing us, a romping herd of the species demanding our eyes, and a large bear sprawled beside the roadway.
In less time than it seemed we were on Highway 79 and headed for reasonably near Rapid City and blessed gasoline.
Once again, a great trip, despite the reminder that travelling perfection still eludes me.
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