It was. The fellow Fort Robinson visitors were from Switzerland. I thought they might be foreign, based on the gentleman's clothing, which could be best described as "European hiker."
Eh, close enough. But not blue jeans.
Our server at breakfast the next morning was definitely French, or at least French-Canadian. We'd run into a family the night before that was also French. There were Germans at the Badlands, too, and we were helped by a Russian at an ice cream parlor.
But why were they in Custer, SD? I'd have to imagine it has something to do with the dream of the American West. As close as I can tell, it has something to do with getting away, getting out there, and watching the sky open up. That's been romanticized over the years, but I can see why. There were a few times we just said, "Oh, man," when we looked out at the land. I know Europe has amazing views and everything, but I don't think it's quite like this.
We were driven by the same urge at the outset, I think. "Show me the stunning vistas!" I thought as we meandered up Highway 2. "Let's see some rolling hills and whatnot!"
I've poked fun in the past about people saying, "We have to get you out there on a (insert name here) bike," as if my life won't be complete if I don't. (Though, yes, I would like to have a mountain bike someday. And I'm glad I got a cyclocross bike.) You could probably say the same for going out into western Nebraska and just being there. It was everything we'd hoped.
You should get out there.