Our first outing was for ice water. Free ice water and sixty miles away. We giggled the whole way there. My pal, Donna, and I had arrived in Rapid City, South Dakota and on our first morning we decided it was too overcast to rush over to Mount Rushmore. We would go to Wall, SD, first and stop in at the drug store for some free ice water.

And cheap coffee.

And donuts.

Last December I found myself with some airline credit that had to be used up so Donna and I headed west to make up for a driving trip we had cancelled during COVID. I had a package to mail, so I brought it with me, and we headed to Wall Drug, with intentions of mailing that package, seeing what all the fuss was about, besides ice water, and then to head into the Badlands.

Well. I have to say, kitsch though it may be, Wall Drug was a favorite, starting with the Burma Shave-like signs that began showing up, twenty miles out. The story goes, Ted Hustead and his young family bought the l drug store in the tiny town of Wall, population 326, in 1931. Giving themselves five years to make a go of it, the timeline was almost up, when his wife, Dorothy, lay down for an afternoon nap one hot and miserable Sunday.

She got up fairly quickly, with an idea of how to entice all the travelers rolling down highways 14 and 16, just outside Wall. Those people are thirsty, she said. What do they want? Ice water!

She had even dreamed up the little jingle that would bring the travelers in. 
 “Get a soda…get a root beer…turn next corner…just as near…free ice water…Wall Drug.”

And that, my friends, is how you do it. After the homemade signs went up out along the prairie roads, the cars started coming and they haven’t stopped since.

Now, Wall Drug is just about what you would expect. A sprawling enterprise that takes up an entire city block, one can envision an Old West wooden sidewalked city block, and it has so many little shops and emporiums it is hard to locate the original Wall Drug store. But it is in there somewhere, and I bought some fancy sea salt lotion, just to prove it. They have old timey picture studios, with hat and bonnet props, gem and rock shops, any one of several souvenir shops, and stations out back for all that free ice water.

On the day we visited the water was dispensed from a regular soda fountain, but it was very cold. I know I am suggestible, but I defy you find colder water anywhere. Donna generously treated me to that five cent coffee, which I couldn’t drink, but she enjoyed because, you know, a nickel. I would have gladly paid a dollar for someone to take it from my lips.

But the donuts!

Oh, my, the donuts were wonderful. And I don’t usually like this kind of donut, but these were warm and cakey, but also a little yeasty, and I have no idea why we didn’t buy an entire bag of them–they were sitting right there on the counter–but now I want to see if they can ship them.

It is a roadside attraction of the most American kind. The coffee and donuts were added to the tradition when they installed the Minuteman missile silos in the area. The Husteads figured the military personnel would want cheap hot coffee and donuts on their travels to and from work. And, it turns out, so did we.

We spent an hour wandering around like good tourists do, and headed out for the Badlands, a place I have heard of forever but couldn’t have described to save my life. There is much to say about them, and I will, but for now, two words: prairie dogs. Okay, three words: prairie dog villages.

Ask anyone and they will tell you, I am not much of an animal lover. But, you all. I have never seen anything cuter than those little praise dogs. And they really do live in villages, and they, along with my donuts and ice water, were my first introduction to South Dakota and I was smitten.