Drive Time

Wednesday, August 12, 2015     Trip odometer 2,648 miles          Evanston, Wyoming

            Let me state for the record that I agree with my dad 100% that breakfast should be filling, with plenty of protein, and except for very, very hot weather, served hot. I don’t need traditional breakfast foods, leftovers are fine. But a sickly-sweet pastry or a bowl of cold cereal are not good enough. I should have skipped the Econolodge’s continental breakfast and gone out, but the coffee smelled good, and WAS the best motel coffee to date. An English muffin slathered with “Country Crock” and a banana, however, were not a good breakfast. That set the tone for the whole day.

            I admit that, when I pulled into the rest stop ten minutes after hitting the road, it was pleasantly deserted, and it was a pleasure to smell the sagebrush I trod on to find the well-made cache in a clump of cottonwoods. However, fifty-eight years ago I was prescribed my first allergy meds for an allergy to sagebrush. I’m not sure if that’s what had me coughing and congested all day, or I’m just underhydrating for a dry climate and a high altitude.

            I admit it was a nostalgia trip to see road signs for suburbs and outlying towns around Denver, and to see the Rockies rising abruptly out of the high plains beyond the city. The traffic was unbelievable, though, crawling bumper-to-bumper half the distance to the Wyoming border. The first thing I saw upon crossing that border was a herd of bison. As the day wore on, I spotted Lone Tree and a small herd of pronghorns, in addition to cattle and horses galore. Apparently, however, Little America has expanded from its original building east of Cheyenne on Rt. 30, because a detour (the on-ramp for I-80 which I wanted to take was closed) led me past Little America but this was a posh golf resort. I gassed up at Sinclair and got out of there fast. Another Little America 200 or more miles west was an entire town of tourist traps. I’ll wait and look for the original, thank you.

            Wyoming makes Kansas look populous. Hundreds of miles went by on I-80 with absolutely nothing to see. An occasional exit invariably was marked “No Services.” Nervously I made sure to top off the tank at each of four towns we passed large enough to have a gas station. At one of these I found myself starving, and the only place to eat (and not drink beer) was MacDonald’s. Not my favorite place, but at least I convinced them to leave the cheese off my quarter-pounder. As I ate, I gazed across the street at “The Wagon Wheel Liquor Store and Fly Shop.” I kid you not; I swear that’s what the signs said.

            So this nearly four-hundred mile stretch was very boring indeed, despite frequent lane closures for construction that sometimes had us slowed down to as little as 30 MPH. At one point we passed a sign that said “Continental Divide. Elevation 7,000 feet,” which was exciting out of all proportion to its significance. I do well at high altitudes. My only symptom has been foot cramps, and that could have been from driving. Heck, my hands are sore and the skin in some spots is tender. I’ll be glad to get the forced-drive part of the trip over with.

            Storms hit in the worst stretch of construction, those Rocky Mountain thunderstorms where you think you could touch the bottoms of the clouds with a stool and a good stretch. The lightning is all cloud-to-ground because, let’s face it, the ground is closer than the other clouds. I was almost to the Utah border. Could I get through Utah, grab two caches there, and get to Oregon in a little over an hour? No, it turned out, because Idaho is in the way. I chose to stop for the night, even knowing that there is no way I will make it to Seattle in time for the Meet-and-Greet tomorrow. I may not even make it to Seattle until Friday, and feel I’d better call the hotel there and ask them to hold my room until I get there.

            It was a grueling, nerve-wracking day of driving and not much else. A few twinges of fifty-year-old nostalgia, and otherwise all traffic and boredom. I had hoped for more from the two states I think of when I ponder my roots. Perhaps, on the way home, when I have time to linger in the more esthetic parts of them, I’ll feel less conflicted.