Not Even Not Traveling 47: North Dakota II

North Dakota II

Thursday, June 27

We headed out early, relieved to say goodbye to the motel. Finally, we were back to our original plan. We aimed for Theodore Roosevelt National Park. We had read a lot of good reviews of it and they made us eager to hike the North Dakota badlands.

The drive was long. The hiking was nice, enough. However, it is reasonable to say no badlands are as beautiful as those one state lower on the map in South Dakota. The North Dakota version suffered by comparison, maybe because it is relatively green. It is home to more insects, birds, and lizards than other northern badlands (plus maybe we saw a chipmunk or a weasel). 

After our hike, we hit the road again and arrived at an AirBNB in Dickinson, a town we chose mostly because it is nearby-ish to the park. Our apartment looked nice-sized, old, and in a state of repair that results from the renovation strategy of "maybe we'll try to get away with doing nothing."

On our first night, because parks aren't exciting enough, we hosted a tornado. 

My first clue to the situation was a "TORNADO WARNING" alert. Diane slept through the blare of both our phones, which was impressive and also gave me the feeling of having received a "SHARK ATTACK IMMINENT" alert while she was in the bath. I didn't want to wake her but I also wanted to make sure the sharknado wasn't actually upon us. Absence of imminent disaster would be my justification for letting her sleep, which she probably needed. I stalked along our apartment windows, checking the dark and swirling skies for funnel clouds. 

I noticed the building was whining at me. This was not a metaphor, nor a comparison to my kids nor work nor even our pets. Amidst the roar of the wind, I heard a distinct, high-pitched sound. It could have been a siren but, unlike one, it held steady. The tone didn't vary much - a little, maybe, with the rise and fall of the winds. 

Finally, I headed downstairs for a better look. The apartment door opened to the south, where I could watch for flying debris and witness Dickinson as it changed briefly into the Venice of North Dakota, like it was trying on a dress and deciding on whether or not to add gondolas. I stood there for a while, getting drenched despite hiding in the shelter of an aluminum awning, and I saw that the greatest darkness in the sky lay in the swirls farther south. 

As I lingered, I felt the whine in the air begin to subside. It tapered off to merely the sound of strong winds. The situation seemed less urgent. I grew conscious that was the only person visible on the streets of Dickinson. 

So I trudged back upstairs, feeling I'd made the right decision to let Diane sleep.