I left Colorado on August 10, headed for the East Coast. The idea of driving east from the Front Range is often met with a groan or a sentiment of pity. I get it. Those of us in the West are in love with our topography: the mountains, desert canyons, cliffs, and river valleys are enchanting and addictive. But as the mountains gave way to the high plains, I started to feel the deep history of this continent open up to me.
The rocks of the Mid-Cretaceous Seaway were supporting the wheels of my car as I sped across Eastern Colorado and into Nebraska. Deep layers of interbedded sand, mud, and clay rich in fossilized carbon from more than 65 Million years ago. That carbon was being brought to the surface by oil and gas pumps so that our desperate hunger for energy can be fed -- but never satiated. Interspersed with those pumps, towering over us all were massive wind turbine fields. Some turbines were still while others were spinning slowly.
Overlying those dinosaur-ridden rocks were grass covered, low-rolling hills of wind deposited sediments. Those not-so-ancient dunes are the outwash remnants of multiple glacial advances and retreats of the Pleistocene Ice Ages. As I speed through them, I am listening to Jason Grasl read Robert Moor's book, On Trails: An Exploration. 10 hours and 37 minutes of stories about lots of different types of trails: animals, people, neural, digital, ... as I cross the 100th Meridian via I-76 and I-80 and on and on...
Nebraska has more trees than I remember. Only the rest areas have trails and pathways for walking. I guess people don't walk in the towns. After dark, Iowa is truly beautiful in the summer. Those little twinkling lights are fireflies.
Day 2: There are a lot more people on the roads. Last time I came this way, I was with my mom and my two kiddos, ages 3 and 7. They were good company. This time my company is Seri (the American Male version) and today's Audible selection: The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown.
I cross the Mississippi -- the longest river in North America. I feel a bit of giddiness coupled with trepidation. That water came from Montana, and other places-- I was just in Montana and I went fishing on the Missouri. Did I fish that water? How many people has that water passed through? How much more water would there be if there wasn't any agriculture? What did that river look like in the Pleistocene? What pharmaceuticals are in the water?
I snapped a couple of pictures:
Illinois: there is so much corn and lots of roadkill. I am thinking about how this land might have looked 250 years ago with roaming bison, game birds, deer, elk, wolves, bear and cougar. Cougars -- the mascot of Evergreen High School -- the football, soccer, softball, and cross-country teams are practicing right now. It is fascinating how the mind wanders, how the thoughts flow and tumble, like water over rocks and down canyons and valleys.
Indiana: the air has changed. I have the AC on and there is moisture condensing on the outside of the windows. According to the Subaru's thermometer, the temperature outside is 94°F and inside it is 68°F -- the dew point. I wonder if other people think about that relationship? There are beautiful cumulonimbus clouds building all around me. When I finally stopped and opened the door, I was stunned by the other unmeasurable qualities of the air. Yes, it is humid but it is also soft and smells like earth and plants and fungus and decomposition. Still no paths or sidewalks. I walked along the road to find a place to eat dinner and got that beautiful shot of the sunset at the beginning of this entry.
Tomorrow: Ohio, Pennsylvania's NW corner, and upstate New York...
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