The town of Interior, population 76 according to the sign, is just south of the park’s upper unit. I asked the host of the campsite (the lady that told me about the showers) if there was a restaurant in Interior and she said “All they got is one grocery store, two hotels, and three churches.”
I drove down to the Budget Host Inn to buy a shower. It turns out that there is also a bar in Interior with a sign that said “pizza and buffalo burgers.” It also said “Bikers Welcome.”
The bar was decorated exactly as you would expect a biker bar would. Bras hung from steer horns over the bar. Dollar bills were stapled all over the walls and ceilings, signed by the bikers that passed through. Formica-top booths, a pool table, a crooked low ceiling, etc.
There were no burgers so I got the pizza, which ended up being a frozen pizza that the bartender, the daughter of nearby ranchers, stuck in an oven for me.
On the far left of the bar sat two Australian girls. Their rented ’65 Cadillac was parked out front, their apparent car of choice for their American road trip. They were yapping it up with the bartender, who was sick but decided to work anyway since there was no one else to do it.
A little while later, after the Aussies were a bit drunk, three Lakota men walked in, seemingly high but who knows. Two sat between the girls and I. The small talk that followed somehow led to a discussion of race. “What do you prefer to be called, Indians or Native Americans?” one asked. “Lakota.” She followed “Are there any stereotypes about your people? Like in Australia we have the Aboriginal who are drunk all the time.” “Like us” said the man next to me. “Yeah” she said. We all got a good laugh at that one. I chatted a little with the guy next to me as his two friends continued to try to have a conversation with the girls. His name was Leon Little Killer.
We turned to listen in on the other conversation only to hear “Like, in our country, ‘porch monkey’ isn’t so bad.”
