Sundance, Wyoming

We had decided we would drive from Wyoming to an unknown destination in the Black Hills, with a detour to Devil’s Tower, as portrayed famously in Close Encounters of the 3^rd Kind. Our hosts in Sioux Falls, Ed and Gay, had kindly showed us this film to help us prepare for the “DT Experience,” as Ed called it (note: Ed did not actually call it that).

We arrived at Devil’s Tower, and spent a pleasant afternoon. We explored the Visitor’s Center, hiked around the Tower, and took way more pictures than we needed. Randy and I walked around without our shirts on, generally looking awesome. After spending several hours exploring, we returned to our car and commenced our drive to the Black Hills (note: at this point, Matt threw a bunch of pine cones at Elizabeth because she deserved it).

I should mention one more thing, because it’s key to the story. Mark has been talking about Sundance, Wyoming since the trip began. He wakes up in the morning and the first thing he asks, “Can we go to Sundance?” And the last thing he says before he goes to bed, “Can we go to Sundance? You know that’s where the Sundance Film Festival takes place. You know that’s one of the top independent film festivals in the country?” (note: Mark has not talked about it twice a day, every day. He’s talked about it three times, max)

After leaving Devil’s Tower, the road plopped us out on I-90, eleven miles east of Sundance. We all knew how excited Mark was to see Sundance, and so we voted to backtrack. We drove back towards Sundance, and the energy level of the van rose noticeably as we got closer. Mark was so excited that he was bouncing off the walls (note: Mark was not bouncing off the walls).

We exited off the freeway, and immediately ran into a minor detour for two miles. There were orange cones everywhere; the road surface was milled; and we needed to drive five mph to keep the trailer from bouncing like a basketball. Our poor little trailer does not like bumpy roads. Eventually we coasted to a stop. The road to Sundance was completely gone. Disappeared. The pavement had been completely ripped out of the earth, and a dirt “path” was all that was left. “It’s only for ¾ of a mile,” said the construction worker soothingly. “We’re waiting for a flag car, then you can follow ‘em through.” (note: there was no sign of a flag car for thirty miles)

I was driving at this point, and the thought of following the flag car through dirt path as I dodged large road graders…well, as you can imagine this was not terribly appealing. Trying to make small talk, I asked the construction worker if she had ever attended the Sundance Film Festival. “Oh no,” she said confidently. “This is Sundance Kid territory, not Sundance Film Festival. People often make that mistake though.”

I turned around and looked at Mark, who had turned a deep reddish purple. At first I thought he had quit breathing, then I realized he was just thoroughly embarrassed (note: Mark’s face did not change colors).

Thankfully, the construction worker let us turn around, and we narrowly averted disaster on the unpaved road. However, while Mark still did not get to see the home of the Sundance Film Festival, he did get within ¾ of a mile of seeing Sundance, Wyoming, home of the Sundance Kid. If that’s not ¾ of a success, I don’t know what is.

Matt Troyer-Miller