We spent the night at a Quality Inn in Rapid City, South Dakota, a first for us and, unfortunately, not one we are likely to repeat. It is always a bit of a gamble when you pull off the road after a long day and try somewhere new, hoping for that small sense of comfort that comes with a decent room and a reliable connection to the outside world. In this case, the room itself met the basic expectations. It was clean, which always matters most, and the bed was comfortable enough to invite a good night’s sleep after hours on the road.
But the WiFi, or lack of it, quickly became the underlying theme of the evening. It is funny how something so seemingly minor has become such an essential part of our daily routine. Posting, staying connected, even just looking up the next stretch of the journey, all depend on it. When we realized it was not working, I resorted to using my phone as a hotspot to upload yesterday’s post. It worked, but slowly, and with a level of patience that felt hard to summon after a full day of travel.
The real frustration came when we tried to resolve it. The hotel had advertised free WiFi, yet there we were, disconnected and improvising. When we mentioned the issue at the front desk, they handed us a phone number for their provider, as though we were expected to sort it out ourselves. We called, hopeful that it might be a quick fix, only to be told they had no record of that hotel at all. It felt like we had stepped into a strange little loop where no one quite knew what was going on. After spending far too much time chasing a solution, we gave up and settled back into our makeshift hotspot connection, shaking our heads at the absurdity.
Thankfully, the evening improved once we left the hotel for dinner. We went to the Colonial Inn Restaurant, and from the moment we sat down, everything shifted. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, the kind that invites you to relax without even realizing it. I ordered a shell-free taco salad that turned out to be one of the best I can remember. It was fresh, flavorful, and exactly what I did not know I had been craving. Tom chose a burger along with chicken and wild rice soup, a comforting combination that seemed to suit him perfectly.
What stood out most, though, was the service. It was impeccable in a way that feels increasingly rare. Attentive without being intrusive, friendly without feeling forced. We left feeling genuinely cared for and made sure to reward our server accordingly. It is those small human interactions that linger long after the meal is over.
Back at the hotel, we settled in to watch the NHL playoffs, focusing on the Vegas Golden Knights. I have followed them for years now, ever since our son Richard, who lives in Nevada, first got me interested. There is something comforting about that connection, watching a game hundreds of miles away and feeling just a little closer to him in the process. For a while, we forgot about the WiFi and the earlier frustrations and simply enjoyed the game.
The night itself was uneven. We slept, but not deeply, and we both woke at different times, coughing uncontrollably. It is an unpleasant reminder that this lingering virus is not quite done with us yet. Tom, in particular, does not feel as well today as he did yesterday. There is a heaviness to it, the kind that makes even simple things feel like an effort. Still, we are hanging in there, doing what needs to be done.
We were back on the road by 9:00 in the morning, determined to keep moving forward. There is something about travel that encourages that mindset. You adjust, you adapt, and you continue.
Halfway into the day, somewhere along the long stretch of highway that seems to define this part of the country, Tom suggested we stop for the night. There was no drama in his voice, no sense of defeat, just an acknowledgment that his body had reached its limit. We had been aiming for Eden Prairie, Minnesota, still holding onto the idea that we might make it in one long push, but neither of us had booked a hotel. We had left it open, as we often do, trusting the day to tell us what it needed.
The logistics made it easier to say yes. Our rental car isn’t due back until Sunday, when we’ll pick up another in Minneapolis at a better rate. We’ve learned over time that dropping a car off at a different location comes at a cost, and swapping vehicles mid-journey has become one of those small, practical decisions that shape how we travel. It made sense to stretch this drive into one more day.
We found a hotel in the little town of Tea, South Dakota, a place we might never have noticed if not for this moment. After checking in, it became clear just how unwell Tom was feeling. There’s a look that comes over him when he’s sick, a kind of deep exhaustion that no amount of determination can mask. As soon as we carried in our few bags and plugged in our equipment and chargers, which now feel as essential as anything else we travel with, he slipped under the covers and fell into a much-needed sleep.
Next door, there’s a restaurant where we may have dinner tonight. It feels comforting to know it’s there, simple and close. If he’s up to it, we’ll go together. If not, I’ll walk over and bring something back. For now, I’m sitting in the lobby, hoping rest will do what it can, and that tomorrow will feel just a little bit easier for him.
It is a strange balance, this life on the road. There are moments of frustration, unexpected detours, and nights that do not go as planned. But there are also small joys, a good meal, a shared conversation in the comfort of moving forward together. And for now, that is enough.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, May 15, 2016:
