I Escape!

My host family on Pine Ridge has been more than hospitable the past few days. Not only did they spend many hours trying to help me fix my car, but they also let me stay at their home instead of the construction site so I wouldn’t be stranded there. That means I haven’t been able to do any work for them since Thursday. It made me feel like something of a freeloader, so when Shannon went shopping I pitched in for the cost of some groceries.

That being said, I made my grand escape from the res this morning! No, the car hadn’t been fixed yet. It did, however, start and run (albeit without taillights, turn signals, a charging battery or a working speedometer… amongst other things). I charged the battery overnight with Gerald’s wall charger, then loaded up early this morning and took off for the mechanic-laden town of Chadron, Nebraska.

I knew Shannon and her family would have let me stay longer, but I didn’t want to be any more of a burden and I was going stir crazy just sitting around the house for the past four days. I also concluded that it was time to seek some expert help on the car, and Chadron had a foreign car repair shop. I figured my Infiniti wouldn’t look to them like it came from another planet as it did to my mechanic friends on the res. I love and trust my res friends, but their experience was more or less limited to Fords and Chevies. At one point, Gerald spoke to his brother on the phone and told him about my electrical problems. I heard him say “I don’t know what kind of car it is… one of those expensive Japanese models.” Expensive? My ’93 Infiniti? Maybe 17 years and 130,000 miles ago…

Another perk of Chadron was that it was within range at 70 miles away. I estimated I could only drive about 150 miles before running out of gas because—get this—the electric button that opens the gas tank cover also didn’t work.


The drive was tense, to say the least. Fortunately, I only had to make a few turns on the whole trip. The scariest part happened about two minutes after I first started out because it was a cold morning and my whole windshield fogged up from the outside. Wipers were kaput, so I had no way of cleaning it off and I couldn’t see the road in front of me until I rolled down the window—one of the few electrical things that did work—and stuck my head out. That’s when I noticed a car behind me. There was no shoulder, just a steep ditch, so I couldn’t pull over. To make things worse, driving with your head out the window makes it really tough to stay right of the center line. I was swerving like a maniac, so I just stopped on the road and waved the other driver by. No doubt he thought I was completely wasted. At least, that’s what I read from the look he gave me.

I got out and wiped off my windshield from the outside before continuing. Without a speedometer, I decided to play it safe by driving a bit below what I guessed was the limit. Lower speeds are easy for me to gauge by the feel of the road, but faster speeds are much more difficult; I could have been going anywhere from 60-80mph and the last thing I needed then was a ticket (at a time when I probably really deserved one for operating a vehicle that shouldn’t be anywhere near a road). The funny thing is that at one point, a tribal cop pulled up behind me and followed me for a couple miles. There was a turn coming up and I was sure he’d pull me over when I didn’t use a turn signal (I knew I could use hand signals, but I guessed he still would have pulled me over if he saw that). At the last minute, he swung into the other lane and passed me. Guess I chose the right speed.

So I made it off the res and into Chadron, which felt like coming back to civilization after crawling through the dessert. Chadron was a hip little Nebraska town with a lot to offer. The guys at the repair shop were super friendly and directed me to a coffee shop down the road where I could hang out until they had news. I was warned that if it wasn’t an easy fix then it could take days for them to trace all the wires to the problem. Honestly, the prospect of being trapped in Chadron didn’t worry me one bit; I was bracing for the worst and had already arranged to stay the night at the house of a very cool old guy named Buffalo Bruce (thanks couchsurfing.org!). And the coffee shop not only had my favorite tea, but a very mouthwatering selection of gluten-free and pumpkin flavored treats. Could have stayed there all day in total bliss.

Chadron, NE

As it turns out, I barely had time to finish my pumpkin strudel before the mechanic called to tell me my car was done. We’re talking 20 minutes, tops.

In the end, it was a blown fuse. A big fuse, and one hidden deep inside the engine compartment, but a fuse nonetheless. I gladly paid the $20 labor fee and refused to feel bad about missing that fuse when we checked the others, or about buying that new alternator. Hey, I followed my friends’ advice—which was very sound given what we knew at the time—I grew a lot closer to them and I saved a ton of money by learning to change that alternator myself instead of paying a garage to do it. And there was no way I was going to spend another four hours removing that new alternator or drive all the way back to return it. I already cashed in the old one to be rebuilt and resold, anyway. For what it’s worth, the mechanic told me that fuse was a rare part and I wouldn’t have been able to find it in any auto parts shop in the area. They were only able to replace it because they had another broken down Infiniti with the same part and they pulled it for me.

So, with a big weight off my shoulders and a big smile on my face, I gave my best to Buffalo Bruce and hit the road. It took me over 12 hours to cross Nebraska and most of Iowa, but I finally arrived at my uncle’s house in Cedar Rapids. I decided to cut out the Chicago visit to save time and more than make up the cost of that alternator, and now I’m back on schedule to arrive at my next farm in Mississippi in two days. And while I was on the road, the Mississippi farmer called to ask what kind of beer I liked before he went shopping.

Life is good.

Sitting Bull Sez "STAY!"

I finally replaced the broken headlight from my deer attack after finding a great deal from a salvage yard in Minnesota. The same day I fixed it, I had to plug a flat tire, which was my second on this trip so far. The next day, I had to redrill bolts that hold mounts that keep the radiator fan in place (that one was kinda my fault—a mishap while putting in the new headlight). A couple days after that, I started my pretty little car and none of the electrical systems came on. Dash lights, dome light, radio, turn signals, fan, odometer, tachometer, speedometer, the button that opens the gas cap cover—all dead. The only things that did work were the headlights, power windows and locks. After driving a couple minutes, everything came back on, but then the same thing started happening every time I turned the car off and on. Lousy timing, since I was planning on leaving South Dakota tomorrow.

I bought this 17-year-old Infiniti last year because I wanted a car to drive on weekends to visit my folks 20 miles away, and for an occasional surfing trip. It was an affordable clunker with 110K on it, and I never imagined I’d be taking it cross-country. I’d like to be back in Oregon for Thanksgiving, so I’m hoping and praying it will pull through just one more month.

I asked Shannon if she knew a good mechanic and she told me auto shops were scarce around here. The good news, she said, was that just about every Indian on the res grows up working on cars. She referred me to Adam, Gerald’s son and her boyfriend.

Adam diagnosed my issue as a bad alternator. Since my battery light came on after the second day of the problem, I readily agreed. And I felt extra fortunate that Adam not only had experience changing alternators, but was happy to help.

Unlike most normal cars, my alternator was buried deep behind several engine components. It took us a while to figure out that we had to remove the AC motor and several hoses just to get to it, and I slashed my hand open across a knuckle pushing it loose (I could actually see my knuckle bone, which was a new experience for me). Eventually, we got the new alternator in and I took the car for a test drive down the street with my neatly bandaged hand.

Two minutes later, I got pulled over by tribal police for not having working taillights or turn signals (for those of you keeping track, that’s about the fourth South Dakota traffic violation I’ve picked up in the past month). Fortunately, the cop knew Shannon and her family, and he believed me when I told him about my electrical problems. He even escorted me back to the house where he, Shannon and Adam had a good laugh about me and my invisible car. It turns out Adam ran after me when he saw I had no taillights. I was oblivious.

So I’m still stuck with a potential car problem. The battery is charging overnight and that may solve everything, but now Adam thinks there could be a bad cable in the harness somewhere. It’s too late to work on it more tonight, so we’ll have to check it out in the morning. And by “we,” I mean Adam while I hand him tools as my mechanic experience is mostly limited to replacing headlights and plugging tires.

My intent was to leave the res early tomorrow morning, visit my uncle in Iowa for a couple nights, visit some old friends in Chicago, then arrive at my next farm in Mississippi by Wednesday evening. Right now, that whole plan is in limbo. I hate to say it, but all these recent car problems are making me feel more than a little helpless. I’m completely dependent on my car right now, and the money I saved for this trip is draining fast with car repairs. I find myself imagining what I would have to give up if I had to travel by bus or train (or foot) and could only carry a couple bags.

I like to think things happen for a reason, so maybe I’m supposed to stay on the res longer, or learn a lesson about patience or money. Maybe God or the universe or the spirit of Sitting Bull is trying to tell me something. I will say that this car issue has brought me a lot closer to Adam and Gerald over the past two days, and I really like those guys. They’re both mellow and down to earth, but also incredibly sharp and friendly. Adam is taking full-time classes in ranching, and is carefully planning his career. I love hearing him talk about what he's learning in cattle care and marketing. I’m also a little envious that I didn’t learn more practical skills in school, or at least something that would have taken me outdoors more. My dual major was in film studies and philosophy. I always told my parents that if the film thing didn’t work out, I could always fall back on the philosophy career. Ha ha.

It’s kind of a crap shoot to see if I’ll be leaving South Dakota tomorrow, so place your bets now!

Whitey on the Res

The house now is nearing completion, although running water is still in the works. It’s a cute little one-bedroom cottage with a spacious loft area and earthen floors and walls. Our work here includes a variety of projects, like collecting and drying herbs, helping build a cob storage shed and fixing and installing loads of little things in the house. My biggest task is to build a fence around the property to keep horses and cows at bay (their residue is everywhere and shoveling it is on neverending project in itself). Once again, I’ve found myself spending most of my days digging holes. With all the skills I’ve developed, I’m now thinking about starting my own hole-digging business when I’m done WWOOFing.


This permaculture project is very low/no budget, so most of the building supplies are donated and most of the tools are borrowed. Resourcefulness is a necessity, and we often find ourselves scrounging through heaps of construction junk to find a post or sheet of plywood just the right size. The race now is against the season, and we’re rushing to get done with everything that has to be finished before winter comes. The first snowfall can happen anywhere in the next 2-6 weeks, and not much can be done after that.

So far I’m liking it here. Two more volunteers, Chip and Alexis, arrived the day after I did. We stayed in our tents only the first two nights. After that, the temp dropped dramatically so we all moved into the house. Gerald, Shannon’s father-in-law, will eventually move in here, but he prefers to stay with Shannon in the next town until it’s finished.

With no running water, we have to fill up coolers at the neighbor’s garden pump. There’s an outhouse, an outdoor mirror and sink (no pipes) and a camp shower, although dinner is served at Shannon’s house a few miles away so we tend to shower when we go there. Like Utah, ambient light is scarce out here, so on a clear night you can see a zillion stars in the sky. And if you stare long enough, you’re bound to catch a few shooting stars.

I heard plenty of horror stories from my friends about coming here. They ranged from “all reservation Indians hate white people” to “everyone on the res is a kleptomaniac alcoholic and they’ll steal anything you leave unwatched.” I can’t say everyone here is immaculate, and alcoholism is definitely a big res issue, but so far everyone I’ve met has been very friendly. Shannon is Jewish and from California, and she’s been completely welcomed into this culture.

Gerald quickly became one of my favorite people here. He’s a skinny guy in his late sixties, although he can wield a sledge hammer like nobody’s business. He has a strong Lakota accent and tells great stories about growing up with his grandfather in these hills before anyone else settled here. He also has some sad stories, like being slapped on the knuckles with a ruler anytime he spoke the Lakota language in public school. Overall, he’s totally mellow and very happy about his new house. I have to be careful leaving clothes lying around because he’s likely to grab my jacket or hat and walk to the next town with it. It’s not theft, it’s just his way; he lives minimally and is used to sharing everything with his family and neighbors. And he always returns what he takes.

So far, I only had one awkward moment. A few nights ago, I stopped by a local quickie mart—the only store for miles—to pick up some food for Shannon. Two Indian children were sitting outside when I walked up with the two other volunteers, who are both white. Once kid kept saying “Where are all these white people coming from?” while the other just shouted “Hey white people! Give us money!”

Oh well.

Res Life

After all my days of cruisin’, I finally arrived at my destination on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation!

I arrived a bit later in the day than I expected, partly because I took a scenic detour through the Badlands and partly because I got horribly lost. At any rate, Shannon, the woman in charge of volunteers, directed me to the construction site and told me I could set up my tent anywhere on the property. It was late, dark and cold, though, so I opted to snooze in the car for my first night. My car’s back seat, believe it or not, has given me some of my best nights of sleep on this trip.

I should probably explain this reservation project. Although it’s part of the WWOOF network, it’s not exactly a farm. A house belonging to Shannon’s father-in-law burned down over a year ago and she’s spearheading the project to rebuild it. Not only is it being rebuilt, but Shannon is turning it into a large permaculture project to help the community. This includes straw bale exterior walls, cob interior walls, a composting toilet, a solar heater, a rainwater catchment system and several permaculture gardens that will hopefully produce veggies and medicinal herbs that can be sold for profit.


The Pine Ridge reservation is the poorest Indian reservation in the country, and this construction project is smack dab in the middle of its poorest area (by the way, I’ve learned that “Native American” is not kosher by most Indians). Shannon is using this building project as a way to reach out to the tribal community, teach them to do their own sustainable projects and hopefully generate some revenue for locals who are willing to help out with the garden and get involved with selling its goods. She is currently encouraging people to turn their old refrigerators into worm farms/compost bins—as just about everybody out here seems to have an old refrigerator lying around the yard.

I knew most of this info before I arrived, but the area doesn’t look as impoverished as I expected. It may be low income by national standards, but I quickly realized that it’s a close-knit community where everyone habitually pitches in to help each other out. For example, Gerald, the father who will eventually live in the house, needs to travel 10 miles every day from his daughter’s house to the construction site. He doesn’t have a car, so in the morning he just starts walking until someone passes by and picks him up. His sons do the same thing, and I’ve learned most people in the community get around that way.

There is barely anything out here other than lots of small houses. The region consists of several small towns each about 10-20 miles apart, and it’s rare to find even a gas station in most of them. I’ve been in rural areas with gas stations and stores further apart than this, but never among so many towns with such dense populations. The poverty level probably has something to do with lack of businesses, and therefore jobs, but it seems like nobody here is really interested in money-making schemes. I’ve heard a few comments to verify that many Indians here hate how capitalist white people just want to make a buck.

Well, I chose this place because it seemed like a radically different project than what I’ve been doing and I wanted variety in my farms, as well as a cultural experience. So here I am…