Chapter 19: The Return of Crazy Horse

Chapter 18: Wounded Knee

Chapter 16: Champagne for Breakfast

A whiff of campfire smoke awakened me from my astral slumber high atop Sheep Mountain Table, in the Badlands of South Dakota. I lay awake for several minutes, alone on the communal mattresses encircling the smoldering bonfire. The morning air was cool and refreshing. The sun had already risen above the horizon, so I got out of my sleeping bag to avoid overheating. I lay there for a while watching and listening to the sounds of Green Tortoise camp. Passengers were moving about in all directions, busy with breakfast tasks, packing gear, seeking privacy with shovels, loading mattresses on the bus, sipping Cowboy Coffee, collecting trash, and conversing happily. The orange juice looked especially appealing.

I heard Little Josh yell, “I got it!” He was playing Frisbee along the cliff with a couple of passengers from the other bus. The other players were playing keep away from him because he sucked at throwing. He kept running from side to side trying to catch the Frisbee, shouting, and pushing the other players as they snatched it away from him.

I stood up, stretched my arms over my head, and took a deep breath. Only a few passengers remained on the massive circle of mattresses surrounding the smoldering bonfire. Juliano was still in bed but he was not sleeping. To my dismay, he was making love with one of the girls from the other bus in plain sight of more than fifty people. The South American stud was really going at it, grunting, and huffing like a snorting bull pawing the earth. One of the other girls Juliano had been entertaining the night before lay beside them less than three feet away, resting on a bent elbow, watching them intently.

I looked around to see who else might be watching. The Irish girls, Fräulein Vera, and Flip-flop were staring right at them, casually sipping tea while they enjoyed the show. Judging from the telltale strings dangling over the rims of their mugs, they were drinking Ireland’s finest. Their relaxed postures and jovial conversation made it clear that the shock had already worn off on them. Apparently, Juliano and present company had been going at it for quite some time.

An errant throw floated the Frisbee into the camp kitchen where it skipped across the food table on which people were cutting fruit salad with sharp knives. There was a burst of laughter, but no one seemed to mind. Little Josh tore into the crowded kitchen area at top speed, bumping into people and creating a stir. Driver Chris picked up the Frisbee and gave Little Josh an unspoken look. He threw the Frisbee so far that the game moved away. He was aware of the South American’s fireside free show, and he had been watching the boy to make sure he remained unaware of the double backed beast.

The girls drinking tea giggled as Mountain Girl walked straight up to them. She picked up a sleeping bag and draped it over them, and shouted, “Get a room!” Juliano lifted his head with his back arched in surprise. The girl beneath him looked horrified. She glanced at Mountain Girl, then her voyeuristic friend, then she pulled Juliano back down on top of her and hid beneath the blanket. The teetotalers held their bellies laughing and Driver Chris guffawed.

I stepped off the mattress onto the cool dusty ground close to the still-smoldering embers in the fire pit. I was conscious of the Earth beneath me, as if my bare feet penetrated the soil, rooting me into the land. The fine dust between my toes was like a conduit of heightened awareness. I could sense my place on the earth like I was looking at myself from space. I was standing on the same land where the hooves of Buffalo and the feet of Indians had certainly passed. It was then I recalled my vision. I had seen myself out of the eyes of a Buffalo.

Chapter 12: Scenic, South Dakota; Population:12

The passengers on the front platform were sitting with their heads close to the open windows trying to get some relief from the heat. Guitar Johnny strummed and sang softly, putting in the least amount of effort possible. After a while he started taking requests and reluctantly increased both his volume and effort. He had to wipe the beads of sweat off his nose to keep his guitar dry.

British Sue reached her arm out the window and rested it against the dark green skin of the Tortoise. “Ouch!” she winced. “The bloody thing’s as hot as a tea keddy!” Her English friend took her by the hand and inspected the red mark on her forearm. “Let’s get some cream for that,” she recommended.

I took a seat next to Mountain Girl at the dinette. She was playing rummy with Big Dave using the big man’s deck of naked lady playing cards. Mountain Girl took a break from the game to recoat her lips with her bright red lipstick. She looked simply delightful in the afternoon light. She certainly did not need makeup. She must have known I was looking because out of nowhere she said, “Everyone’s been complaining about dry lips, but mine are perfect, eh.” She asked me, “Are your lips chapped?”

“Yes,” I told her nodding. “It’s awful. I’ve been using Chapstick, but it’s not getting any better.”

She jokingly offered me her lipstick and said, “This stuff works wonders, eh.”

I declined with a smile and a wave of my hand.

Across from her Little Josh hung his head out the window panting like a dog with his tongue out.

Mountain Girl warned him, “That hot wind just gonna make your lips worse. Then you’ll be miserable, eh. Now, get your head in here, please.”

Josh yelled into the wind. “It’s fun!”

“Trust me, eh. If you keep your head out there long enough, you’ll wish you hadn’t,” advised the Canadian. Having realized it was useless, under her breath she said, “Don’t blame me, eh.”

To rub her nose in it and make things worse, the boy knelt on the seat so he could get his shoulders through the window and stuck half his body out.

Little Josh was often disrespectful to his mother and he frequently disregarded her advice, so many of the passengers tried to help her reel him in. After she tried once, it was understandable that Mountain Girl could not be bothered to keep trying. She turned in her seat so that her legs were in the aisle and whistled a tune.

Ten minutes later, Little Josh removed his head from the window and sat back in his seat looking distraught. I nudged Mountain Girl and motioned toward the boy so she would look. “Is something wrong?” she asked the boy with concern.

He was holding his hands over his face, “Nothing’s wrong.” He removed his hands and winced in pain as he touched his lips with his fingers. His lips looked seriously chapped and his cheeks were bright red.

“How are your lips, eh?” the Canadian asked.

“My lips hurt,” he said quietly. “How could they get chapped so fast?”

“It appears that you-know-who was right,” I commented.

He sneered and touched his lips again and squeaked in pain.

Like the evil Nurse Ratched in the Cuckoo’s Nest, Mountain Girl offered help to the wounded boy. “I have something that will help you moisturize your lips, eh. If you want to try it, eh?”

“Yes please.”

“Here, let me put it on for you. I’ll be gentle, eh.”

“Sure,” he said.

When I saw her pull the red lipstick out of her pocket I gasped, breathing in quickly through my nose. I closed my eyes and held my breath for a second.