Badlands National Park

Last night I pulled into a dispersed camping spot just outside Badlands National Park after dark. I had found it on iOverlander ahead of time, and when I arrived there were already two other camper vans parked there. Normally I enjoy a little more privacy, but in this case I was just looking for a place to sleep. I had already showered, changed into pajamas, and was ready for bed. All I really needed was a safe place to park.

The drive there had been an adventure of its own. The wind was absolutely insane. At times it felt like I had somehow wandered into Kansas and was about to get swept away with Dorothy's house. The speed limit was 80 mph, but between the darkness, the crosswinds, and the fact that I am still learning how this van handles in different conditions, I took it slow.

Because of the other vehicles already occupying most of the good spots, I ended up parking on a slight slope with the left side of the van lower than the right. It wasn't much, but apparently it was enough. I woke up around 5:00 a.m. after a night of poor sleep and spent some time lying there watching the sunrise.

As I sat there, I found myself thinking about how strange the human body is. My van wasn't dramatically tilted. It was barely noticeable. Yet somehow my body recognized it all night long and never fully relaxed. It constantly felt just slightly off balance, like I might slide out of bed at any moment. I'm sure if I stayed there for several nights I would adjust, but it reminded me how sensitive our bodies are to even the smallest changes.

That thought carried into something else I had been noticing over the past several days. I've had headaches, been much thirstier than usual, and when I donated plasma my blood pressure was significantly higher than it normally is. My blood pressure usually runs fairly low, so seeing those numbers caught me by surprise. It wasn't until this morning that it finally clicked that I had slowly been gaining elevation throughout this trip. At roughly 2,500 feet above sea level, I'm nowhere near an elevation that causes major issues, but apparently it was enough for me to notice some of the smaller adjustments my body was making.

There's something fascinating about actually feeling yourself adapt to a new environment.

Once the sun came up, I headed into the park. The forecast called for temperatures near 100 degrees, and I wanted to get any serious hiking done before the heat settled in.

I started with what was supposed to be a short, easy hike, but of course, your boy had to explore.

There were side trails branching away from the main route, rock formations to climb, and plenty of opportunities to investigate things that were definitely not part of the official trail. Before long I was scrambling around on the Badlands formations, which have a strange texture somewhere between rock, sand, and ash. Going downhill on that stuff is surprisingly slippery.

Naturally, despite owning trekking poles, I had left them in the van because this was supposed to be a short and easy hike.

This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I either overprepare or underprepare, and regardless of which one I choose, I somehow end up wishing I had made the opposite decision.

At one point I slipped and fell, scraping up my hand. It wasn't serious, but it was bleeding enough that I decided I should head back and clean it up.

That's when I managed to get lost.

Not dramatically lost. Just embarrassingly lost.

I somehow wandered off onto a collection of side trails and couldn't immediately find my way back to either the main path or my vehicle. What struck me was how easy it was. We hear stories about people getting lost in wilderness areas and it's easy to assume they made some huge mistake. But all it took was following a few unofficial paths in a relatively small area before I found myself completely turned around.

Thankfully I found enough cell service to pull up AllTrails and navigate myself back to the van and my first aid kit.

After patching myself up, I moved on to Saddle Pass Trail.

Now that was fun.

The trail is short but incredibly steep. At several points it felt closer to climbing than hiking. I was using my hands and trekking poles almost as much as my feet, and I absolutely loved it. Standing at the top looking back down, I couldn't stop smiling.

From there I connected to Medicine Root Trail and then Castle Trail rather than turning around. Since I knew the heat would shut down most of my hiking later in the day, I wanted to take advantage of the cooler morning hours.

Medicine Root felt alive. Prairie grasses, wildflowers, cactus, and wide open landscapes stretched in every direction.

Castle Trail felt completely different. Walking through those formations felt like wandering across another planet. At one point I came across several rock formations that looked exactly like elaborate sandcastles built by children at the beach. Whether that's actually where the trail gets its name, I have no idea, but it certainly felt fitting.

As I walked, something else became clear.

Nature doesn't just make me feel good.

It makes me feel alive.

For the past two months I've been spending more time in town. I had perfectly valid reasons for it. I wanted to spend time with family, especially my sisters and nieces and nephews. And I did. I loved every minute of that time.

But if I'm being honest, outside of those moments, I felt lethargic.

I joined a gym, wanting to stay active. Yet most days I simply didn't feel inspired to do much of anything.

Today I was hiking my third trail of the morning with a busted toe, a scraped hand, and a growing collection of dirt and sweat stains, and I had more energy than I've felt in months.

It made me realize something.

Even when a city has parks and trails nearby, something about living in that environment drains me. It becomes harder to go outside. Harder to explore. Harder to move.

Out here it's the opposite.

Open grasslands, forests, mountains, deserts, rivers, oceans—it doesn't really matter which version of nature I'm standing in. They all seem to breathe life back into me.

This is where I feel most like myself.

By late morning the heat was becoming impossible to ignore, so I traded hiking boots for driving and began exploring the scenic loop through the park.

I stopped at the fossil exhibit and learned something that completely changed how I looked at the landscape around me. Millions of years ago, this entire area was underwater. There aren't dinosaur fossils here because this wasn't dinosaur territory. It was once part of an ancient sea.

The more I looked around, the more it made sense.

Some of the formations reminded me of underwater landscapes I had seen while swimming and diving along the rocky coastline of Turkey. There was something oddly familiar about them.

Later, while driving through the park, I came around a bend and found myself face-to-face with a bison.

Well, not exactly face-to-face.

He was resting comfortably beside the road, completely unbothered by the vehicles passing nearby. I looped around him slowly and continued on my way.

For a brief moment I considered getting out to say hello.

Fortunately, even I have limits.

The rest of the afternoon brought more overlooks, more bison, and more reminders of just how beautiful this place is.

Around 4:30 I stopped at the visitor center to refill every water container I owned. Between the heat and the elevation, I felt like I had been drinking water nonstop all day. While I was there, I stumbled across a special solar viewing setup and got to look directly at the surface of the sun through a protected viewing device. I could actually see a sunspot.

It was fascinating to get a closer look at the giant fiery ball in the sky that had been trying to kill me all day.

As I write this, I'm sitting in the van with all the windows open, waiting for the worst of the heat to pass. Later tonight I plan to watch the sunset from one of the overlooks before heading to a ranger presentation and a stargazing event.

Tomorrow I'll make my way toward Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Since I'll be passing through Rapid City anyway, I'll stop at Planet Fitness for a workout, a shower, and a plasma donation before continuing west.

Tonight, though, belongs to the Badlands.

And despite the heat, the scrapes, the wrong turns, and the lack of sleep, I think this place has been exactly what I needed.Read more