Security helped us find a good parking spot at the top of a hill overlooking the Sun Dance. We settled into it, turned off the engine, and disembarked to go see what was happening below. What we saw was a large camp with a few dozen tents and pickup trucks—some of the tents were small overnight sleepers, but some of the larger ones were just large overhangs with tables and non-perishable food underneath. We even saw a couple of massive teepees. In the middle of all the tents was a flagpole flying German, French, Swiss, and Italian flags.

Away from the camp, near the edge of the plateau, there was a ring-shaped pergola beneath which people were gathering. We headed in that direction, beginning to feel a little uneasy. Chet and Bill had described the Sun Dance to us as a festival, with dancing Cheyenne girls and a lot of free food; the image in my head looked a little bit like a slightly tamer Navajo Saint Patrick’s Day. But everyone was quiet and solemn, occasionally shooting wary glances in our direction.

As we approached the arbor, a white woman named Pam approached us and told us the rules. No one was to wear shoes beneath the arbor unless those shoes were moccasins, she said. Everyone was to stay respectful and quiet beneath the arbor. Additionally, no one could wear glasses, bring bottles of water, or wear shorts—we had to go back and change into our long pants if we wanted to witness the ceremony.

She asked us how we had found out about the Sun Dance. I think she, like most of the other white people present, was an anthropologist. We were obviously not. Peter explained to her how we had met Chet and Bill, and how they had told us about this festival where volunteers had their chests bolted to a rope running up to a tree, and remained there for four days without food and water. Chet had shown us the scars from his own participation in the ceremony, Peter mentioned.

Pam shook her head. “That’s not cool that he did that,” she said.

We went back to change into our long pants, suddenly very nervous. We had had no idea that we were stumbling into a solemn ritual with our giant hippie bus. And while we had no intention of leaving before we had gotten a chance to observe and participate, we knew we were going to have to go out of our way to be as respectful as possible.