Oh man, I love a road trip.
What that means to me is at least one night in a strange town and getting as close to nature as possible. Almost-empty two-lanes in the wide open spaces are best. I used to think that driving as fast as possible on the Interstates was the way to go, but now I generally avoid divided highways if I can. I’ve found that not only is this almost just as efficient time-wise (I’ve almost never seen a cop on back roads anywhere), it’s also hugely refreshing to the soul and much less physically demanding. You know how you feel all squirmy with road shake while you’re standing there in the “rest” area trying to pee after five or six hours dodging trucks and troopers on crowded Interstates? Doesn’t happen this way, and you can find relief in the boonies, restrooms in little town parks, the occasional mini-mart, or like we did this time, the third-floor jury room johns in the county courthouse in Harlan, Iowa.
I realize many of you can’t do this because you live where it’s just impossible, or where there are no such things as clean public restrooms in quiet towns in the country. Can’t say that New Mexico really has any of the latter either, but Nebraska and Iowa sure do. Sometimes you have to hunt, find the business district, poke around a bit, but then you discover things.
Sunlight on Mardi Gras beads when we got back
We did use about 300 miles of Interstates 80 & 76 today because sometimes you just need to. Seems like western Nebraska and northeast Colorado don’t hardly count as freeway driving, though. Very little traffic, obviously, and from the big road this time we saw turkeys, sandhill cranes, and Canada geese.
It was hot in eastern Colorado this afternoon, not to mention bleak, but then came Huerfano County. Let me tell you, altitude makes a difference: the sun was still a blazing furnace, but suddenly the air was cold. Back in the land of dry underarms, just like that, and the scenery was simply unbelievable.
From there all the way back to Taos is one long terrible beauty freak show that always thrills and scares me. The sight of the ribbon of road undulating miles ahead across the high desert in that cathedral of emptiness makes something in me want to scamper back to neverland, hang in a hammock underneath the apple tree, have grass clippings to rake, that kind of thing. It’s so intensely powerful, you can’t be comfortable at all at first. Interestingly, today I noticed that Taos felt almost normal by comparison — but lurching into el Norte after three days in Iowa was still a serious shock, like being force-fed hallucinogens on another planet.
This is another planet, and here I am, again.
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