Donna's Main Street Diner — the classic knotty pine-and-deer heads Western cafe.
What did I eat? Some kind of scrambled up eggs-potatoes-meat combination.
Coal trains rumbled past the motel all night, but whereas highway traffic bothers me, trains do not so much. When I was a college student, a friend and I rented a house in Portland, Oregon, of which we said, "The Southern Pacific runs through the kitchen."
The trains kept me awake for one night, but never again thereafter.
Nourished at Donna's, I set out for a day poking around in the Black Hills.
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