Wall, South Dakota

Not much to say about Wall. Tiny (818 pop.), dusty, one street town, with little more than motels, gas stations, and a tourist trap. After finding a hotel, we settled for a very unremarkable greasy spoon, the Red Rock Restaurant. More crap for me, more wilty salad bar lettuce for the vegetarian [Ed. note: Pescatarian (with the very occasional sprinkling of locally-raised bacon), if we're gonna get technical. And you know how I like precision.]. Finished with some very respectable peanut butter pie, cuz we deserved it.

Started with a jolt. Big plans, high hopes. After packing/etc. we drove to Wall Drug, not wanting to deprive ourselves of the experience (and we needed propane). The visit proved me both right and wrong.

Right: The place is unbelievably kitschy and gross. Plenty to be cynical about and dismayed by.

Wrong: It's also kinda fun. We took lots of pics and laughed a lot. I also realized that many/most of the Wall Drug signs seen along Rt. 90 are put there not by the store/company, but what our (heretofore useless) guidebook calls “enterprising individuals.” That the phenomenon is propagated (at least in part) by artists/ironists makes it much less nefarious.

Perilously close to gas station coffee, Laura saw “Espresso Bar” printed in block letters across a stand-alone building that looked very much like a typical auto-repair shop (car garage doors, Penzoil signs, etc). We had to check it out and were rewarded handsomely for our trouble. A grandfather-aged auto mechanic bought an industrial strength espresso machine and turned his waiting room area into a coffee shop. Two “Americanos” to go. Watching him effortlessly work the machine is one of the highlights of the trip so far. Big regrets: not ordering something that would have allowed him to use the milk steamer. Dammit. Still, this remains one of our favorite moments thus far.