Deadwood - "More like Alivewood!"

We were staying in Deadwood for two nights at the Historic Franklin Hotel. If you ever imagined what a haunted, Old Western hotel might look like, this was it.

Built in the early 1900’s, the hotel’s white-columned entrance led to a historic lobby filled with antiques, huge chandeliers and original features. Thick crimson carpets spiralled up the grand staircase and the walls were covered in eerie paintings. The guest rooms were named after famous people who had stayed there, like Theodore Roosevelt and Babe Ruth and some had grand pianos and ornate bathroom features. The hotel had a casino and the female bar staff sauntered around wearing skimpy outfits and too much makeup. It honestly felt like we had stepped back in time, and I loved it.

Deadwood was a fascinating little place in itself. Notorious for the murder of Wild Bill Hickok and the resting place of Calamity Jane, throughout the 1800’s Deadwood was a lawless town with high levels of crime, prostitution and gambling. The main high street looked as though nothing had changed, with wooden-fronted saloons, casinos and drug stores crammed in side by side. Not a single McDonald’s in sight

After an early night, we were off to see Mount Rushmore. This required driving up a steep hill and I’ll never forget the trees parting briefly to reveal the four famous faces from a distance. It was strange to see something with my own eyes that I had seen so often in films.

The sculpture represents the first 150 years of the history of the USA and features George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln.

I was impressed by Mount Rushmore, obviously, but I was much more intrigued by the story behind the Crazy Horse Monument, just a few minutes drive away.

Sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski and Lakota Chief Henry Standing Bear officially started the Crazy Horse mountain monument in the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1948. Crazy Horse, an Oglala Lakota warrior, is riding a horse and pointing into the distance. The monument’s purpose is to honour the culture, tradition and living heritage of North American Indians.

Ziolkowski's sons grew up helping him on the mountain while the girls assisted their mother, Ruth in establishing the visitor centre. Since 1947, the construction has never stopped.
Ziolkowski died in 1982 but his children, wife and granchildren remain involved in the project.
To give you an idea of the memorial’s size, when it is finally finished, the whole of Mount Rushmore could fit inside of Crazy Horse’s head. And the family haven’t taken one penny from the Government in order to fund it.

It’s sad to think I probably wont live to see the sculpture completed.


“Crazy Horse is to be carved not so much as a lineal likeness, but more as a memorial to the spirit of Crazy Horse - to his people. With his left hand thrown out pointing in answer to the derisive question asked by a white man, "Where are your lands now?" he replied, "My lands are where my dead lie buried."

Korczak Ziolkowski, 1949

After soaking in all that culture, a good night out was definitely called for. I have to admit, I had my reservations about Deadwood. Although it was a Friday night, the town was quiet and the main street was dominated by casinos. After I dabbled at Black Jack and promptly lost $20, a big group of us headed out and proceeded to take over a small karaoke bar halfway along the strip. It was a brilliant night. There was absolutely no shyness about getting up on the microphone, everyone was buying rounds of drinks and conversation flowed easily. On the way back from the bathroom I felt a rush of emotion when I looked up to the stage and everyone was singing our tour song, ‘The Anthem’ by Good Charlotte. Then something that only ever happens in the movies happened...

Steph and I were stood at the bar and I ordered two glasses of wine. The barman poured the drinks and as I went to hand over the cash he shook his head and smiled before saying, “The guy at the end of the bar would like to pay for those.”

Our gaze was directed towards the sleazy looking, podgy bloke propping up the bar, who gave us a cheeky wink as we caught his eye. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the next thing I knew somebody was slinging a shot of whisky down the bar for me to catch as the barman wiped tops with a checked cloth.

It was cool and very Wild West but we avoided the ‘generous’ man like the plague for the rest of the night.

As the bar started to fill up a little with hairy cowboys wearing vests, the girls and I dazzled the audience with our rendition of Britney’s, ‘Im not a girl, not yet a woman’, danced to hip hop classics and fell into bed just after midnight in preparation for another long driving day.