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Published: August 10th 2020
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I'm so tired my teeth hurt. I can feel my eyes move in their sockets. Even my hair has regained its sensation. We just got into the Medora Campground in the North Dakota badlands in the SW corner of the state. Thirty straight hours on the road, save for the stop at the Big Chief Cafe for breakfast and an hour spent not-resting at a rest stop in Minnesota.
The plan was simple enough. Keep going until we decided to stop. Make it to our first property if possible. Trade off driving and sleeping. Head straight up to the North, where the air would be cooler and dryer, and the skies are not cloudy all day. And it was a good enough plan. But it did not account for the fact that I would find it well-nigh impossible to sleep in a moving car, or in a rest stop. And so save for one sleepless stint on the futon while Sally drove last night, and that hour at the rest stop at 4 AM, where, while Sally said she did hear me snore, I had no conscious experience of having slept at all, and then a second 45-minute stint this
morning where I actually dozed a bit, I just drove. And drove. And then drove some more. And Sally hit the futon for long stretches of time, and got some sleep, because it made sense that at least one of us be rested.
The thing is, in those 30 hours of driving, not once did I feel particularly drowsy. My eyes were wide open, red-rimmed, and sore, sure, but not once did they get droopy. And I think most of that was sheer willpower. We really wanted to put this long drive behind us as quickly as we could. We wanted to get someplace beautiful. We wanted to get away from the eastern version of this American life's surreal state of national affairs. And I wanted Sally to get as much sleep as she could. So I did some long bouts of fake-it-til-you-make it smiling, to see if that would keep me from despair. I thought about things to be grateful for. I ran most of Jethro Tull's
A Passion Play through my head, and parts of
Jesus Christ Superstar, and a smattering of classic rock tunes. And for a while there, and don't ask me why, I found myself chanting in my head, over and over, the simple phrase
allahu akbar, getting my inner muezzin on when I didn't even know I had one. It was something I could do for Sally. I could drive through the night. So I did.
So now we're in this beautiful campground on the Little Missouri River in the ND badlands in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, with dry, low-80s air, a sweet breeze, lots of shade, gorgeous views, showers nearby, and 20 pounds of ice in our coolers. Sally's washing the dishes from our car-meals. I'm writing down my thoughts before I forget them. We're rearranging and reorganizing our things. We're looking forward to a cool night's sleep on the futon, resting in the embrace of Empedocles the Odyssey. Tomorrow we'll go look at a property, then head on into Montana, driving only five hours to get to an Air BnB that Sally has booked.
Observations made while on the drive:
On the whole, the roads in the North are of superior quality to the roads in the South. This becomes clear when driving a mini-van, which is little more than a huge metal box drum on wheels. The road situation didn't used to be this way, but I think improvements in road-surfacing in recent decades have solved the problems associated with the winter freeze-thaw cycle in the North. Recent decades of tight budgets in the South have apparently not helped things on that end.
Did I mention how so many of the Interstate ditches and medians have gone uncut? It's looking pretty unkempt out there.
As a Mothman aficionado, I was sad to hear that it was during my first attempted nap that we crossed the river at Point Pleasant, Ohio, a place I've always wanted to visit. I missed it. Sally didn't see any cryptozoids.
In Dayton, on the ramp from one Interstate to another, a large red rubber ball, about the size of a basketball, rolled across the road right in front of us. I swerved to miss it. Anyone able to divine the meaning of said red rubber ball is invited to leave their interpretation in the comments. I can say that I had Simon and Garfunkel singing in my head for some time afterwards.
North of Indianapolis I found, hands down, the largest array of wind turbines I have ever seen. They stretched into the distance on either side of the road (at least a couple of miles in each direction) and went on for at least twenty miles. We passed through them as the sun set and the sky darkened. Each was fitted with a blinking red light, and they blinked in unison. It was like being in the woods filled with huge, red fireflies. With long, rotating wings. And one giant leg. It was a bit creepy.
Over forty years ago, living north of Chicago, I had reason to drive the Chicagoland Interstate system. It was a nightmare even then. It's a nightmare still. "Oh," we said, "it shouldn't be a problem late on a Sunday night." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....
There are bugs in this part of the country. Remember bugs? The little creatures that smashed into your car windshield and grill and made a mess? They've still got them here. Who knew? I had to clean the windshield twice. And Empedocles' grill looks like a paintball barricade. I'm so glad to learn this. I'll happily wash my windshield if it means having bugs to pollinate plants and feed the birds and such. For his part, Empedocles is feeling a bit embarrassed, and is hoping for a car wash soon. Vanity plates, that one.
Twice I had to hit the brakes. Hard. Squeal the tires hard. Once was near the Chicago loop. Guy veered into my lane as if intending to hit me. Moving quite slowly. Squeal number one. The second one was my fault, due, no doubt, to my exhaustion. Had to hit the brakes and swerve to the side as I came too quickly on an unexpected construction slowdown. Kids, don't try this at home.
As we drove westward from Minnesota and into North Dakota, we saw fewer masks, and laxer mask rules. Finally, at a gas station in central ND, I went inside to find masks on no one, not even the employees, save for a really old couple who were getting gas. This, in my view, is how it should always have been, where it's the at-riskā¢ and vulnerableā¢ who were protected, and the rest of us allowed to make our own choices in the matter like adults, and to just get our herd immunity on without all the attendant kerfuffle. This, of course, is one reason amongst many for scoping this area out. In general, as regards the alleged thingy, the mountain states handled things far better, in my view, than the rest of the country. I like that.
Okay. Enough for now. The cleaning crew has re-opened the showers and I'm off to brush more aching teeth. Pax, love, and allahu akbar to ya'll. T
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