This is part 3 of my spontaneous trip from Minneapolis to Denver and back. I headed out of Cheyenne traveling north until I left the interstate. I struck east for Northwest Nebraska. The day was enormous and blue and the road dipped and rose through it. I saw a sign coming at me, here I was on some state highway and a rest area pops up, my trip was so interstate heavy that one off the interstate was a new experience. I stopped and looked around. The area I had been driving through all morning was mostly treeless rolling hills and fences. The rest area was situated on the top of a hill with a winding driveway to the parking lot. I pulled in and it was silent of human sound. There was an RV parked off to the side with some mountain bike billboard on the side but no movement whatsoever. The breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees and it could’ve been 200 years earlier.
I hadn’t seen a town since I’d left the interstate an hour earlier and the temperature was pleasant but climbing higher. I thought it wise to go fill up anything I could find that would hold water. After rummaging in the trunk, I discovered the made-in-China promotional water bottle that I received from the company where I’d just quit my position. I then proceeded to have a a bit of a one-sided water fight with the hose spigot but I came away with a grand total of 2 liters of water.
I mused as I drove away from the rest area. Almost every person on the Earth would never have reason or opportunity to visit this area of Wyoming. I was driving past the tiny towns that make the region tick. I was witnessing something that so few people would ever see or even think about. It’s special in a way, in other ways it is mundane. Ask the people that live there and I would bet you would hear many different answers. If I were to hazard a guess, teenagers are never quite happy with where they are. The generations of folks that can move from where they are have a myriad of reasons for staying. What keeps us where we live; loved ones, money, opportunity, and security are probably some of the most common anchors. It strikes me that these are also reasons people migrate too.
My entrance into Nebraska was marked by something I am sure, but it was decidedly forgettable. I went east until I finally took a left at an intersection marked only by a sign and the sky. The landscape had changed in that the rolling hills were dotted by enormous buttes rising from the prairie. I’ve always been attracted to tall things; be they buildings, hills, or mountains; all I want to do is get to the top and look at the view. Some of this fantasy is rooted in Romantic period of art. Seeing sublime paintings of the enormity and power of nature is fascinating to me. It was very hard to pay attention to the road with these beauties staring down at me.
I finally passed a sign for the Wildcat Hills Park I pulled off to learn a little bit about my surroundings and maybe have a walk to pass the time. They have a very large interpretive center and there was a very nice woman running the place. I walked around looking at several taxidermic animal until I circled back to the counter and asked the attendant what I should go and see. She told me I should go to Scotts Bluff National Monument. I had no idea what that was but it piqued my curiosity with history, geology, tall things, and hiking. I looked around a bit at the Wildcat Hills and I am excited to go back someday but I wanted to move on to Scotts Bluff.
Scotts Bluff is a big hill as well as a town next to the hill, the town decided to be Scottsbluff in an unsuccessful attempt to be less confusing. The town is very flat. I stopped at a pharmacy to pick up some sunscreen. It seemed a lot like the small town that I grew up in. Me passing through may have been the most interesting thing that happened that day for some residents. The National Monument is a mile or two outside of town. I waltzed into the visitor center and bought some park day pass for less than ten bucks. The ranger told me about the trails and road that go up the hill and they have a large collection of drawings and paintings by William Henry Jackson. Jackson was an important documenter of the migration along Oregon Trail which is why Scotts Bluff deserves to be a National Monument.
The views were spectacular and I had a generally wonderful time traipsing up the Saddle Rock Trail to the summit. The area was silent but for insects and birds, and the occasional car passing by on the highway. It was easy to imagine someone’s great-great-grandparents moving past and looking at the same views that visitors see today.
After a exhilarating afternoon at Scotts Bluff, I decided I had better move along. My path took me through Alliance, a seemingly bland little Nebraska town teetering on the edge of obscurity. I didn’t stop in the town but I did turn my direction North there. A few miles down the road, to my surprise, I passed Carhenge. I did a double take, pulled over and backed up to the parking lot. I found a new highlight of my trip.
The wind was picking up and I thought it might rain as more and more clouds blotted out the sunny day. I was able to walk around and only one other car stopped to take some pictures. I am happy to say that I inspired my sister’s family to visit Carhenge on a road trip they took. If you like seeing roadside attractions check it out in Alliance, NB.
I drove on North and East, heading for Interstate 90 in South Dakota. The wind kept blowing and it seemed to be getting harder the farther I went. When I finally went over the border it was blowing East really good. I thought it might pick my little car up and toss me off the road a couple of times. As if the wind wasn’t enough my chosen route was undergoing a major overhaul. It wasn’t as much a road anymore as a gravel field with trucks and earth movers driving around. I was in a caravan behind a follow me car for about 5 miles, it was surreal. I should’ve taken the recommendation to use another route more seriously. When I finally got out of the road construction I saw one of the best sunsets though and I snapped this picture through the car window.
In the middle of the wind I finally drove into Murdo, South Dakota. I was very relived and excited to make it to an interstate it validated my choose-your-own-adventure route. I only saw the police car as I passed it. The cop quickly pulled out and flipped on his lights. The police officer sat in his car a few minutes obviously running my plates to see if I was a crazed fugitive. When he finally walked over to my window I had to feel sorry for him because the wind could’ve blown his pants off at that point. He told me I was driving too fast because the speed limit dropped to 30 a few hundred yards ago. To be honest, it was hard to tell the difference between the open road and the gas station and motel that make up this side of Murdo. He asked what I was doing off the interstate in South Dakota, I bet 80% of the people not on the interstate in South Dakota are drug smugglers or unibombers. As I struggled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t land me in jail or future urban legend, my entire trip flashed through my mind. What was I doing? Where was I going? I just talk the officer that I was heading home from a trip to Denver. That seemed to satisfy the cop, he told me to watch the speed limit. I told him I would remember next time I drove through Murdo, South Dakota without laughing or smirking. I think he just wanted to get out of the wind, anyway.
I hopped on the interstate and drove on. I was getting late and I wasn’t in tip top driving condition, though. I called my wife and following her wise counsel I stopped at a motel. It was luxurious after sleeping in the back seat of the car at rest areas for the past few nights. The next day I woke refreshed. After I got some continental breakfast in my belly I took off for Sioux Falls and some espresso. The wind calmed down as well.
A college friend of mine used to live in Sioux Falls and I had visited him a handful of times there. I knew a small amount about the city. That small amount was a friend telling me that Mean Gene Okerlund lives there. That information, however, has just been refuted by wikipedia. My magical phone knew there was espresso there so I pressed on. I found my way to Black Sheep Coffee where I had the most amazing Breakfast Burrito (even though it was lunchtime). As I ate I was treated to the sight, sound, and smell of there in-house coffee roaster working on a batch. I spent some quality time with my phone on their wifi and as I left I picked up a Dry Cappuccino for the road. I watched Sioux Falls recede into the horizon and continued east to my home, wife , and cat.
Now, months after this trip is in the books, I wonder about that police officer in Murdo. I should have a better answer for the where are you going question. Not for the police officer, for myself. Where am I going? I’ve managed to scuttle my delusionally made career plans I had stumbled into. My wife and I are certainly not aiming for kids and the suburbs. I hope this blog will become a chronicle of my traveling adventures and whatever else comes to mind.