Saturday, April 19, 2025 – This will sound like a parable, and it may be. But I’m going to describe it exactly as it happened.
I was driving towards my destination in southern California along U.S. 85 (the shortest route between North Dakota and Denver). It has been an exceptionally beautiful day, and I am joyful to be back on the road. Again.
I drove slowly through a small town north of the Black Hills, with a population of about 5,800. I’ve always liked the town. In fact, as I drove slowly through town, I wondered if I could live here. This town has much to offer: the sacred Bear Butte is off in the distance to the east. The Black Hills are still a shallow green dome off to the south and west, with some snow still on the higher peaks. It’s close enough to Rapid City to offer occasional amenities and a good regional airport. In addition to that, I like the idea of living near “Indian Country,” the fabled Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, just south of Badlands National Park. You can see how it would appeal to me, a child of the plains.
I was drifting along when I saw a protest demonstration in front of the courthouse. To my surprise, it turned out to be an anti-Trump rally. There were 60 or so people there. Most were holding signs. All of those signs were homemade, which filled me with respect because the demonstrators were not carrying canned or pre-printed signs.
What surprised me most was that this country was about as red as it gets in America. One of the demonstrators told me that Trump won 80:20 here in 2014 — a deep red region of one of the reddest of states.
I wanted to know more, so I turned left and drove around the block to find a parking spot on a side street. I sauntered along this main north-south drag’s uneven sidewalk and approached the demonstrators. I was smiling. I walked along the entire line of protestors on the sidewalk behind them and exchanged friendly greetings with half a dozen or so. “Where you from?” they asked. “Care to join us?” “Thanks for stopping.” I said to a tiny cluster, “Hey, I thought this was a red country.” “It is,” said one woman, “but enough is enough.”
After I had run the gauntlet from behind, I edged my truck back out on the busy street and waited for a brief hiatus in the heavy traffic.
This, too, is America.
See you down the road.