Sociable Sunflower #3
My mother and I were driving to Washington – the state, not the city. I was about to start an internship in Seattle, a little dream that happened to come true just a few months prior.
To get there, we decided on the scenic route. Coming from Missouri, we decided on a little bit of Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana before our final destination, the Evergreen State. Or as my uncle Don calls it, the state that politically never came out of the ‘70s.
Our trip was going as planned thus far. Over the course of a day, we made it from Kansas City to Rapid City, South Dakota. We awoke the next morning not quite refreshed, but ready to get the hell out of there. Our next destination was Yellowstone National Park, where the bears and buffalo roam, or so they say.
We planned to stay in a room at the Old Faithful Inn, and it wasn’t one of the revamped, luxurious ones. We were in a room without a toilet or shower. Sure there was a small sink, but essentially just two beds and crappy heat waited for our arrival.
As we headed for our space that resembled a bad college dorm room that day, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Until the sun set, that is.
We drolly drove through Montana on Interstate 90. While the mountains and the epic landscapes are wholly enjoyable to look at for a little over an hour, after awhile it all looks the same. But of course, it wasn’t worse than Kansas. Nothing’s worse than Kansas.
I drove through most of Montana, only stopping twice, once to sell a book-on-tape back to Cracker Barrel and once a simple gas and piss stop.
As we headed south into Wyoming, toward that famous national park, the sun began to droop down, obscured by giant green mountains. We had three reasons to get to Old Faithful before it became too dark. One, we’d never been there before and didn’t want to get lost. Two, we didn’t want to hit any brazen critters that enjoy cold concrete under their feet, paws or hooves. Three, we wanted sleep. But reason two worried us the most.
The 2-lane excuse for a highway leading into Yellowstone from the western side has a speed limit of 60 MPH. This drops to 45 MPH once the road winds wildly about and an unnervingly high amount of small white crosses lines the side of the road.
We were about an hour from our destination when the sun said good-bye and the moon welcomed us. We didn’t greet it kindly. My mother was driving, and I could read the worry on her face. But I didn’t let it get to me, the navigator. We are not going to end up as a pair of crosses on the side of the road, I thought to myself.
We caught up to a white truck that had passed us earlier and were grateful for the extra headlights. The landscape before us became unusually light, and we realized snow covered the grass. In May.
Suddenly, the truck in front of us stopped and in turn, my mother slammed the brakes, cursing. “Why the hell is he doing that?” she asked. Then we looked ahead of the truck to see an awesome sight.
A mile ahead of us, among the snow glittering under the fresh pale moonlight, was a multitude of moose. A few of them were crossing the road in front of the truck.
We waited patiently and stared at their majestic beauty. Although we couldn’t see them in full detail, we could make out their scarily large antlers and massive brown bodies. We’d never seen anything like it. Dozens of wild creatures, playing in the snow. Free, unafraid of man and machine. Not like the kind at the zoo, I thought.
We drove for close to ten miles through the same splendid scene. Along our sides, moose. And in my heart, my mind – happiness. At my direct side – my mother, my creator. And just beyond me – light snow, wild animals, jagged mountains, and thick conifers.
One could argue that these elements are unremarkable, common. But together, they create something deeper and more meaningful than one might imagine. In a tiny car, a mother and son’s bond edges closer as they see the staggering beauty of nature, the kind you can’t get on Discovery channel.
To get there, we decided on the scenic route. Coming from Missouri, we decided on a little bit of Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana before our final destination, the Evergreen State. Or as my uncle Don calls it, the state that politically never came out of the ‘70s.
Our trip was going as planned thus far. Over the course of a day, we made it from Kansas City to Rapid City, South Dakota. We awoke the next morning not quite refreshed, but ready to get the hell out of there. Our next destination was Yellowstone National Park, where the bears and buffalo roam, or so they say.
We planned to stay in a room at the Old Faithful Inn, and it wasn’t one of the revamped, luxurious ones. We were in a room without a toilet or shower. Sure there was a small sink, but essentially just two beds and crappy heat waited for our arrival.
As we headed for our space that resembled a bad college dorm room that day, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Until the sun set, that is.
We drolly drove through Montana on Interstate 90. While the mountains and the epic landscapes are wholly enjoyable to look at for a little over an hour, after awhile it all looks the same. But of course, it wasn’t worse than Kansas. Nothing’s worse than Kansas.
I drove through most of Montana, only stopping twice, once to sell a book-on-tape back to Cracker Barrel and once a simple gas and piss stop.
As we headed south into Wyoming, toward that famous national park, the sun began to droop down, obscured by giant green mountains. We had three reasons to get to Old Faithful before it became too dark. One, we’d never been there before and didn’t want to get lost. Two, we didn’t want to hit any brazen critters that enjoy cold concrete under their feet, paws or hooves. Three, we wanted sleep. But reason two worried us the most.
The 2-lane excuse for a highway leading into Yellowstone from the western side has a speed limit of 60 MPH. This drops to 45 MPH once the road winds wildly about and an unnervingly high amount of small white crosses lines the side of the road.
We were about an hour from our destination when the sun said good-bye and the moon welcomed us. We didn’t greet it kindly. My mother was driving, and I could read the worry on her face. But I didn’t let it get to me, the navigator. We are not going to end up as a pair of crosses on the side of the road, I thought to myself.
We caught up to a white truck that had passed us earlier and were grateful for the extra headlights. The landscape before us became unusually light, and we realized snow covered the grass. In May.
Suddenly, the truck in front of us stopped and in turn, my mother slammed the brakes, cursing. “Why the hell is he doing that?” she asked. Then we looked ahead of the truck to see an awesome sight.
A mile ahead of us, among the snow glittering under the fresh pale moonlight, was a multitude of moose. A few of them were crossing the road in front of the truck.
We waited patiently and stared at their majestic beauty. Although we couldn’t see them in full detail, we could make out their scarily large antlers and massive brown bodies. We’d never seen anything like it. Dozens of wild creatures, playing in the snow. Free, unafraid of man and machine. Not like the kind at the zoo, I thought.
We drove for close to ten miles through the same splendid scene. Along our sides, moose. And in my heart, my mind – happiness. At my direct side – my mother, my creator. And just beyond me – light snow, wild animals, jagged mountains, and thick conifers.
One could argue that these elements are unremarkable, common. But together, they create something deeper and more meaningful than one might imagine. In a tiny car, a mother and son’s bond edges closer as they see the staggering beauty of nature, the kind you can’t get on Discovery channel.
posted by Sean Ludwig at 11:09 PM
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