I arrived in Fort Thompson just after sunset. I had spent the day in awe of the prairie, zipping along I-90 blasting Billy Joel.
The campsite was right next to a dam on the Missouri River. I set my tent up next to the water and ate a bagel while I watched the sky get dark. Mine was the only tent at the camping area, I was surrounded by RVs. Their generators whirred late into the night and their lights bothered me. Throughout the night, a foghorn blared from the direction of the dam. But I slept anyways.
I woke up early. The sun had just risen, and with it came the wind, which made my tent fly flap. I brushed my teeth, watched the orange sun reflect over the river, and then continued my drive west.
