It was a 104-degree late June day when I pulled into Hot Springs, southern gateway to the famous Black Hills. South Dakota, I kept muttering, 104 degrees. I had come to see buffalo roaming the prairie hills, granite presidential gazes, Crazy Horse emerging from a mountain, and historic Deadwood, with its colorful past—the primary color being gold. I had not come for the kind of heat I could find on any summer day in Phoenix. Locals confirmed that it wasn’t usual and, as they started to suspect that I had brought the withering weather with me, I stopped asking about it.

I understandably skipped the opportunity to steep in the steaming springs of Hot Springs—a charming, 1890s town of rosy sandstone buildings fronting a year-round warm creek—preferring the cooler climes inside The Mammoth Site, where you can tour a working paleontology dig full of fearsome bones and meet eyeball to kneecap with a mammoth. From there I headed up the hill to the consistently cool corridors of Wind Cave. Discovered due to a telltale wind that exhales from its entrance, Wind Cave is, at 124 miles of passageways, the seventh longest cave in the world. It is topped by nearby Jewel Cave, the fourth longest at 138 miles. Though neighbors, the two share little. Jewel Cave is bedecked with beguiling amethysts, while Wind Cave, bereft of ornaments, sprouts a unique formation called Box Works; like a thousand limestone boxes, perhaps to put Jewel Cave’s valuables in. There are so many caverns in the Black Hills it’s a wonder the ground doesn’t ring hollow; nine are open for tours. Cave in and try one.

I spent the night at the pleasant Wind Cave campsite: RVs welcome. “If I tell you where the buffalo will be,” said the ranger, “they’ll be somewhere else.” The next morning, on the highway to Custer, I found myself in the middle of a herd. 1,500 bison roam the rolling park prairie. You’re the one in the cage. Glowering moms stood guard by calves and I kept a car between me and the very big bull who maneuvered his tonnage towards me, uttering a guttural belch that seemed to come from a hundred feet below ground. Suddenly, I understood bisonese: “That’s close enough, buddy.” Tatanka, the Lakota people call him. I called him, Sir. Both Wind Cave and Custer Parks are wildlife-watching havens, from the pop-up prairie dogs that materialize suddenly to sit and stare to bighorn sheep and pronghorn antelopes.

Interspersed between the fauna-filled forests, prairies and mountains of the Black Hills are outposts of civilization: Custer, Hill Town and Keystone in the southern part. I’m happy to report that they all receive my coveted cappuccino award, meaning that no coffee seeker need suffer long in search of a cup. I’m doubly happy to say that I found a relaxed and friendly atmosphere everywhere I went. No hustle, just a lot of help and how-are-yous. You’ll find curio shops aplenty, local art galleries and, of course, plenty of Black Hills gold. This official state jewelry incorporates the traditional motif of grapes and leaves in combinations of green, rose and yellow gold. Looking for fewer precious rocks? The Black Hills abound in minerals; visit a rock shop to discover the amazing array of semi-precious stones, from Fairburn agates to the delicately-tinted state mineral, rose quartz.

Of course, the Black Hills are famous for rocks carved on a grander scale by men with grand visions and even greater patience. In 1939 Korczak Ziolkowski, a self-taught sculptor, received a letter from Chief Standing Bear: “My fellow chiefs and I would like the white man to know the red man has great heroes also.” Thus began the monumental carving of the Crazy Horse Memorial. Ziolkowski spent the next 36 years dynamiting over 7 million tons of rock to rough out the figure. In 1998 the 88-foot high face of the great Lakota chief was unveiled. Today, Ziolkowski’s children continue the work on the statue, which is as long as a cruise ship and as tall as a 60-story skyscraper. Now that’s thinking big! Visit the extensive visitor complex to gain insight into the sculptor, Chief Crazy Horse and the Lakota people, whose ancestral lands you’re standing on. Nightly from May 26 through October 8, see the “Legends in Light” laser show projected on the mountain itself.

“Great Places, Great Faces” reads the South Dakota slogan, and there are no greater faces here than those of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt. We have all seen pictures of this best-known monument; however, to stand beneath Mt. Rushmore and gaze upwards is to be awed by its scope, similitude and the sheer audacity of its undertaking. A 13-minute film in the visitor center introduces you to the irrepressible sculptor, Gutzon Borglum who conceived the monument and, against opposition, spent the final 14 years of his life directing a crew of drillers and dynamiters. What I found most amazing was the skill of the explosives experts who could blast solid granite to within inches of the final carving. I just never thought of dynamite as delicate. Rangers give guided tours, or you can guide yourself with an audio tour wand. For a dramatic view of the monument, come for the spectacular evening lighting program at 9:00 pm.

Rushmore lies in the heart of the highest peaks east of the Rockies, the monumental mountain is topped by 7,242 foot Harney Peak. You can hike to the top and view the entire area from the old stone fire watchtower. Or dip your feet in beautiful Sylvan Lake at its foot. The nearby Needles Highway is nature’s sculpture garden; its most famous piece is the Eye of the Needle Rock. Low tunnels carved through solid granite render this route impassable for RVs: if you tow a smaller vehicle, however, don’t miss it.

Keystone, just down the hill from Rushmore, is packed with things to do. I could hear the cowboy barker bawling, “Get your tickets now for the cowboy comedy show, folks, ‘cause it’s fillin’ up fast!” all the way from the Gutzon Borglum Museum where you can admire the other work of Rushmore’s sculptor. You can fill up at a number of restaurants, take the historic 1880s steam train round trip to Hill Town or indulge your sweet tooth at the Taffy Shop, where the mesmerizing taffy pulling machine will lull you into such a state of suggestibility that when they intone, “You are getting hungry…you will come in and purchase taffy…” you do!

Next I headed north, dead set on Deadwood, though I detoured for a bit at placid Pactola Lake, where you can park your RV for a bit of relaxation, boating and fishing. The Black Hills have so many recreation sites that accept RVs that I can’t list them all here. You’ll find them at: www.rvresources.com/rv-parks-campgrounds/southdakota-rv-parks.php.

“Take that!” With this inelegant utterance, Jack McCall ended the gambling, gun slinging career of Deadwood’s most famous denizen: Wild Bill Hickok. I seen it with my own eyes, and you can, too, because every evening poor Bill meets his dastardly demise again and cowardly Jack gets dragged up Main Street to a trial that would make a kangaroo cower. It’s a hoot; you can hiss and boo Jack with Calamity and Miss Kitty, plus you could end up being one of the witnesses (script supplied). You can also relive the dangerous old days on Main Street, with gunfights at 2:00, 4:00 and 6:00 pm. Then go find some of the results of those fights, along with other notable folks who died peaceable—such as Calamity Jane and the town’s famous sheriff, Seth Bullock—in Mt. Moriah Cemetery.

Deadwood’s early history is best described as, ah, tarnished. For starters, it was an illegal settlement on Lakota treaty land, populated by gold-hungry pick- and pan-wielding pioneers who spent off hours in the less than meritorious pursuit of gambling, girls and drink. Lying outside of the territorial U.S., it was a town without law—other than that which issued from the barrel of a Colt 45. It was officially born as a ramshackle mining camp in 1876, but the town flooded once and burned down twice; each time the wooden structures were rebuilt in stone. Today the entire town is a registered National Historic Landmark, with a Historic Preservation Commission that meticulously presides over its restoration. I’ve been to other wild west towns and I have to say, Deadwood does the best at transporting you back to another era the minute you set your boots on Main Street’s bricks or step onto the sawdust covered floors of Saloon #10.

There is a kind of delicious irony in Deadwood, a settlement whose rough and tumble history has yielded a thriving town with a golden future. When the Homestake mine closed, Deadwood bet its future on gambling and won. It is the only place in the state, outside of reservation casinos, where gambling is legal and the proceeds for the town far exceeded anyone’s expectations. I’m not much of a gambler, but if you like to try your luck you’ll find slots everywhere; or saunter into a saloon and pick a game of blackjack or Texas hold’em. One piece of advice, pardner: if you find yourself holding aces and eights, watch your back. That famous “dead man’s hand” was Wild Bill’s last.

Deadwood aims to please in many ways. There’s plenty of good eating here; I recommend the Deadwood Social Club. You’ll find it via an inconspicuous little door next to Saloon # 10. Head up the stairs to a delightful menu plus open-air rooftop seating where you can enjoy flights of three wines with matched cheeses. The best way to learn the history of the town is to take a bus tour with a knowledgeable driver recounting what went on behind those well-preserved stone walls. Follow it up with a trip to the excellent Adams Museum, three floors of entertaining exhibits. At the Broken Boot gold mine you can try panning for real gold; or learn about the relationship of the Lakota and the bison at Kevin Costner’s, “Tatanka, the Story of the Bison.” Or, use Deadwood as a base camp to explore the Victorian gold mining town, Lead (pronounced Leed) up the hill, the Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway, Devil’s Tower, and nearby Sturgis.

The Lakota people call this land “Paha Sapa,” the hills of black, because of the dark ponderosa and spruce forests that cloak them. At 6,000 square miles this diverse and mountainous island rising from a sea of prairie is big in size, big on adventure, big on fun and big on friendliness. I’ve only begun to cover the multitude of things to see and do, but I hope I’ve whetted your appetite to come discover the Black Hills for yourself. I know I left feeling like I’d struck gold.

Peter Herring is a freelance writer based in Phoenix, Arizona. He writes articles on travel, food, and assorted lifestyle topics.