This trip involved the following (none of which I have ever had on past road trips): brand new Kia Sorrento, equipped with satellite radio, Bluetooth, AC, automatic rear view mirror headlight dimmer, CD, IPOD/USB (Ok, I don’t use either of these. I can’t buy an IPOD out of principle. Who has the time to sit around downloading music on a computer? Not me. I’ll just stick in a good ole’ fashioned CD, thank you), multiple adaptor outlets (allowing simultaneous cell phone charging and beverage heating travel mug), Skybox 18, Space in General, etc… Okay, I had the Skybox 18 before, but it was ridiculously packed, and I have nightmares of rooting around in it in the dark, being blown by the cold winds of death while looking for a swimsuit in Fargo (which, logically, was not packed on top) and then fighting for about half an hour with frozen fingers to shut it again. That didn’t happen this time. Opening and closing the Skybox was easy on this trip and there was no threat of losing fingers.
So, the 3 dogs and I departed…a little later than planned, at 6:45 am on Sunday, August 15, 2010. I know, this move is a little less romantic than it could be: the reality is that my household belongings are being shipped and I fit whatever was left in the car, but still…it is a road trip, and the feeling of freedom, the anticipation of the unexpected and unknown returns. It is actually incredulous to me that I have this love deeply ingrained into my psyche; why would a rational adult be happier when their life if reduced to whatever fits into their car for a week or several weeks than in a settled home? I blame this love of adventure on my mother’s parents: that couple that traveled to all 50 states, camping, biking and fishing in every single one of them. Arda and Maurice thoroughly planted the seed for a love of adventure in their children and grandchildren. It is a love we share, and a cross we bear, I think.
I had thought that I’d stop at Tudors Biscuit World (oh, the whitewater memories held in breakfast at Tudors) on the way out, but it was hard to judge the spacing of those and coordinate one with my hunger. So, instead, I stopped for bathroom, dog walk, and browsing at the Tamarac (for those who aren’t familiar, this is a huge center for Appalachian arts and is from where NPR broadcasts its Mountain Stage “from the beautiful hills of WEST Virgninia…”); a sort of a farewell to the Appalchians and the Appalachian Culture that I love (and I was specifically looking for a regional children’s book so that Owen would remember his home, which I did find, A is for Appalachia). Then…I saw it… my perfect last breakfast in the South. The Appalachian Biscuit. Featuring: biscuit, egg, swiss cheese, fried green tomato, and red-eye ham. Mmmmm.
West Virginia, again, is full of topography and a complete lack of cell phone reception; though I did look for a building that I was supposed to look for in Charleston, the backdrop of a dark tale told by a friend who supposedly sold his soul to the devil, i.e., was a lawyer representing coal companies, for which he is now still working out his redemption. Kentucky, well, was Kentucky, and I was glad that I had no reason to stop anywhere in the state and run the risk of potentially striking up a conversation with a Kentuckian (as those never go well). Indiana…hmmm…what to say about Indiana? Oh, it suddenly blasted its way in to the running for Places Known As Hell By Jennifer (in league with the following: Danville, Virginia; Mis-er-y (Missouri); The Red Eagle Campground in Montana (later renamed The Wretched Eagle); North Dakota; and Saskatchewan). But, life after Indianapolis became suddenly lovely, as the traffic slowed to a mere trickle of an occasional vehicle and the rolling plains became the rolling plains. Sky, beautiful Sky! The breadbasket of the Nation, all that food growing as far as the eye can see! Lovely!
I watched the sun set on the Mississippi. I have been there and seen that before. It is a spectacular thing about the road. When you watch the sun set, or watch the sun rise after having driven straight through the night, you will always remember that exact moment and that exact beauty and that exact feeling when you pass through that stretch of road again. Years may have passed, but that memory will always remain as beautiful and as starkly vivid as if it were only moments ago. The beginning of hope on a quest for adventure? The simple joy of life as life has always been since life began? (And here, I inject a quote from the book, Peace Like a River: “I have the substance of things hoped for. I have the anticipation of things unseen.” So beautiful a sentiment, so very apropos.)
Illinois, by the way, still has the most fabulous rest stops ever. Playgrounds, nature walks, prairie trails and other interesting things to see (except be wary of rest stop attendants who yell at you for “setting bad examples” for children when you attempt stupid playground trick contests with friends).
I had no plan, when I began the trip, on where I would spend the first and only night of the trip. Ideas tossed around, and I finally settled on the thought that when I got tired, I’d just start calling friends and try to convince someone with internet to go online and find me a place to stay. Ah, the conveniences of modern travel! But, when I mentioned this plan to my parents, they became zealously involved, produced a list of campgrounds along the way along with phone numbers and directions, and finally offered to call my Uncle Merlin, on my behalf to scope out the potential for spending the night there, at the family farm in Waverly, Iowa (which is, at a decent pace, 15 ½ hours). When they called though, the plans became set, and I heard that I was “expected” to arrive there and spend the night. It is a wonderful offer, the kind that only family would make, and so, I staved off sleep and pushed that first day. It took me slightly over 16 hrs, but I made it there, got to chat with Uncle Merlin and Aunt Rhonda, the dogs had a pen to stay in, and I had a bed to sleep in and coffee and a shower in the morning. And in the morning, I got to walk the dogs on the farmroad through the cornfields and in the front of the house, along the row of Grandpa’s Cedars. It was wonderful to be there, where my father and his siblings grew up. That place where that picture was taken of my grandfather holding me as a baby and my big sister, Lori, standing beside in the wheatfield that Grandpa was so proud of (“not a weed in it”, or so the story is told). And so funny too, because after so many years of not seeing the family in Iowa, I have now seen them twice in the span of a month!
The second day was a short one. Roughly 9 hrs in total. But, I was tired, so it was rough. I was very thankful for the phone calls from friends and family helping me to stay awake. Again, uneventful. But, lovely. I wished that I could have slowed down and stopped at so many unexpected places. And taken pictures. Mostly, I wanted to photograph dilapidated barns. They are beautiful and mysterious, and I have no idea what the pull is, but it is and it is strong. Instead, I have a series of photographs in motion, framed by the car, steering wheel, rear view mirror, bugs smeared on the windshield; half of them show mostly the interior of the car, because you can’t be bothered to look at what you are pointing the camera at. I laughed at the silliness of it. But, it is a snapshot of life on the road. That is exactly what the world looks like from behind the wheel and perfectly framed still shots would not do justice.
Eastern South Dakota is flat, dry, and seemingly undernourished as compared to those corn states. But, the world opened up into a stunning landscape of hills and geologic features (that I can’t name, but look really cool) as I crossed the Missouri River. And then, there is the sight of the badlands and then the Black Hills. I had complained that the east was too crowded and developed for me. I will not have that problem here. Here, there are vast undeveloped lands and the occasional sighting of a few cattle was a welcome sign of life from the largely uninhabited stretches.
I gained one hour per day on the road. So, I am again younger by two hours. I felt the 4 hours older when I moved to Virginia and it never really went away. As I have said before, I believe I should stay this way.
I am learning what South Dakota is about. That is all I can really say about that. I was a little overwhelmed and unhappy about the house I had signed a lease for without ever having seen when I arrived, but by morning, the place had won me over. Sunrise does that. Changes what we see when we look at the same scene. Life dawns again and the next adventure begins to unfold and take shape. At 5:30 am, I got up to check on the dogs and found a flock of wild turkeys in the yard. And Spirit, now half blind, mostly deaf and mostly lame, chased the hell out of them through the fields and treed every one of them more than once. It was an inexpressible joy to see the return of that Spirit that earned The Girl her name in her younger days. An unexpected glimmer of something beyond life. Then, we walked down to the river and she immediately dove in and swam. South Dakota will be good for her, I believe. And good for me.
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