Somewhere Beyond the Great Divide
o/` "He’s heard the call of the wild
He’s heard the call of the wild
The mountains callin’ to him like a mother calls her child
He’s heard the call of the wild
Livin’ in the city oh it gets to be a grind
Puttin’ in his hours workin’ overtime
Waitin’ for the day he can leave it all behind
To go somewhere beyond the great divide
"He’s got to get away from the city for a while
He’s gotta answer the call of the wild" o/`
----- "Call of the Wild" performed by Chris Ledoux
I finally, after almost two months, got the courage to look at the photos we took when we went back to Colorado for my grandmother's funeral. I've come to the conclusion that I will never remember most of that trip. We drove so hard and so desperately, trying to spend as little money as possible and get there as soon as we could (they were waiting the funeral arrangements on us and couldn't leave Denver until we got there), that it's a sleep deprived blur. I know I most of the route out, stopping only when it got too dark to see so that we could switch drivers, and that we took only a couple of short naps at rest stops. On the route out, it had gotten too dark for me to drive. It was left to Simtra to get us safely across the desert and back into Texas where we could finally rest. I remember nothing of of the time we spent in Colorado save for the short trip up to Mesa Verde and the horrifying realization that I'd let the GPS dictate the route home...which took us through the Chaco Canyon area after dark, without shielding or protection, and had us traveling the sacred desert through the reservations at night. At one point, we simply slept where we stopped, out on the desert in the middle of nowhere. I recall that there were a few fat flakes drifting down from the skies, that I could hear the howl of the coyotes --- for the first time in years --- and that even with the cloud cover we still had a sky crowded full of stars. I remember waking up somewhere around dawn to find us in a ghost town in northwest Texas and switching drivers again as we limped Lone Star toward civilization. I remember stopping at Childress, Texas to buy clothing because I'd brought only summer clothes and we'd packed so quickly I hadn't brought enough of anything else. I vaguely remember reaching the hotel in Dallas.
Of the trip home, I remember nothing except anger: anger that I had to come back here, to leave the plains and the prairies behind. I climbed mountains --- two of them ---- while I was out there. I still wake up missing that freedom and wishing my damned lungs would expand enough here to allow me to hike...or at least to walk without turning blue, gasping for breath, and looking like I'm gong to expire.
The pictures tell it better than I ever could; they're all that's left of that madcap trip across our great nation and back to the frontier where I was born. I've said it before, I'll say it again: the West isn't tamed nor is it dead. You just have to know where to look for it...and you have to be brave enough to face it when you find it.
Dawn in the Tennessee hills outside of Chatanooga. We left Florida the first of November and I had expected the autumn leaves to be long gone. Imagine my surprise and delight when I woke up and saw those ancient hills, still shrouded in mist, with the morning rays just beginning to touch the golden red tops of the trees.
Somewhere in the heartlands --- it might have been Arkansas or Missouri. The only thing I remember about this stop was seeing that small town in the distance rise up out of the prairie. Everything else was either prairie or farmland for as far as the eye could see and very little evidence of human settlement. We stopped there at a McDonald's to grab something to eat. We'd long since used up the jerky and cracker rations we'd brought with us. I wanted to disappear out onto that prairie with its bright autumn flowers and scented breeze but we had to keep going. It was harvest time; wherever we went the winds were scented with the first snows of the season and the last harvests of the year. You have not been properly humbled until you have traveled across the Midwest and seen the food you eat long before it ever reaches the processing plants or the grocery shelves. It was one of the most beautiful and touching sights I'd ever seen. In most places the old wagon and cattle trails had become either the railways or the roadways but in some places, like this one, you could still see faint traces of the trail and walk upon it. The further out we went, the more I felt as though I'd taken this journey before. It's in the blood, I think --- so empty, wild and free.
St. Louis, the gateway to the West. Every time I've had to travel this route, I always manage to hit the city of St. Louis in the early morning hours during rush hour traffic. Even though Simtra was driving, that didn't change anything. We actually got much closer to the Arch, but this was the best exposure we got. We were driving into the sun and I didn't relish hanging out the window in rush hour traffic (I was afraid I'd drop the camera). I have no memory whatsoever of driving between wherever it was we stopped for lunch the previous day and getting into St. Louis.
Crossing the Mississippi River at St. Louis. As you can see, it was a glorious sunrise. I'd never had the chance to see the river commerce before and I saw everything from the old paddle steamers (yes, I did see one on the river, moving) to the big barges being pulled by fat little tug boats.
We had to take Anubis, the big black lab/shepherd mix, with us because I couldn't trust him not to bite the people taking care of the rest of the animals. Freyja doesn't like sharing the back seat...and it shows.
An old stage stop on the prairies of Kansas. This is one of the places we simply pulled over, hid the truck as best we could, and crashed for a few hours. It wasn't terribly hard to imagine Marshal Dillon on his big buckskin riding out across this prairie. You can barely make out the fencing; that's standard practice now but once upon a time it might have caused a range war. Note what is fenced in: it's the only source of water for miles.
This old farmstead apparently used to house passengers on the stage stop. If you look closely, you can still see the limestone and waddle building next to the more modern barn. The farm, by the way, is still being worked. Simtra had never seen hay being baled before. Aside from the farm itself and the watering hole, there was nothing else but prairie for miles. I don't imagine it's changed much over the years.
Wind generated electricity farm in the badlands. That area really isn't good for much else. There's no water and the soil is alkaline, rocky, and barren. No, I didn't tamper with the colors. That's the way it looked. I tell you, standing under those skies it sure made a body feel small.
More tomorrow, perhaps. My ancestors had a point about the whiskey; it does wonders for the lungs and greatly reduces aches and pains. Time to hit the sack, I have a long trail to ride tomorrow.
He’s heard the call of the wild
The mountains callin’ to him like a mother calls her child
He’s heard the call of the wild
Livin’ in the city oh it gets to be a grind
Puttin’ in his hours workin’ overtime
Waitin’ for the day he can leave it all behind
To go somewhere beyond the great divide
"He’s got to get away from the city for a while
He’s gotta answer the call of the wild" o/`
----- "Call of the Wild" performed by Chris Ledoux
I finally, after almost two months, got the courage to look at the photos we took when we went back to Colorado for my grandmother's funeral. I've come to the conclusion that I will never remember most of that trip. We drove so hard and so desperately, trying to spend as little money as possible and get there as soon as we could (they were waiting the funeral arrangements on us and couldn't leave Denver until we got there), that it's a sleep deprived blur. I know I most of the route out, stopping only when it got too dark to see so that we could switch drivers, and that we took only a couple of short naps at rest stops. On the route out, it had gotten too dark for me to drive. It was left to Simtra to get us safely across the desert and back into Texas where we could finally rest. I remember nothing of of the time we spent in Colorado save for the short trip up to Mesa Verde and the horrifying realization that I'd let the GPS dictate the route home...which took us through the Chaco Canyon area after dark, without shielding or protection, and had us traveling the sacred desert through the reservations at night. At one point, we simply slept where we stopped, out on the desert in the middle of nowhere. I recall that there were a few fat flakes drifting down from the skies, that I could hear the howl of the coyotes --- for the first time in years --- and that even with the cloud cover we still had a sky crowded full of stars. I remember waking up somewhere around dawn to find us in a ghost town in northwest Texas and switching drivers again as we limped Lone Star toward civilization. I remember stopping at Childress, Texas to buy clothing because I'd brought only summer clothes and we'd packed so quickly I hadn't brought enough of anything else. I vaguely remember reaching the hotel in Dallas.
Of the trip home, I remember nothing except anger: anger that I had to come back here, to leave the plains and the prairies behind. I climbed mountains --- two of them ---- while I was out there. I still wake up missing that freedom and wishing my damned lungs would expand enough here to allow me to hike...or at least to walk without turning blue, gasping for breath, and looking like I'm gong to expire.
The pictures tell it better than I ever could; they're all that's left of that madcap trip across our great nation and back to the frontier where I was born. I've said it before, I'll say it again: the West isn't tamed nor is it dead. You just have to know where to look for it...and you have to be brave enough to face it when you find it.
Dawn in the Tennessee hills outside of Chatanooga. We left Florida the first of November and I had expected the autumn leaves to be long gone. Imagine my surprise and delight when I woke up and saw those ancient hills, still shrouded in mist, with the morning rays just beginning to touch the golden red tops of the trees.
Somewhere in the heartlands --- it might have been Arkansas or Missouri. The only thing I remember about this stop was seeing that small town in the distance rise up out of the prairie. Everything else was either prairie or farmland for as far as the eye could see and very little evidence of human settlement. We stopped there at a McDonald's to grab something to eat. We'd long since used up the jerky and cracker rations we'd brought with us. I wanted to disappear out onto that prairie with its bright autumn flowers and scented breeze but we had to keep going. It was harvest time; wherever we went the winds were scented with the first snows of the season and the last harvests of the year. You have not been properly humbled until you have traveled across the Midwest and seen the food you eat long before it ever reaches the processing plants or the grocery shelves. It was one of the most beautiful and touching sights I'd ever seen. In most places the old wagon and cattle trails had become either the railways or the roadways but in some places, like this one, you could still see faint traces of the trail and walk upon it. The further out we went, the more I felt as though I'd taken this journey before. It's in the blood, I think --- so empty, wild and free.
St. Louis, the gateway to the West. Every time I've had to travel this route, I always manage to hit the city of St. Louis in the early morning hours during rush hour traffic. Even though Simtra was driving, that didn't change anything. We actually got much closer to the Arch, but this was the best exposure we got. We were driving into the sun and I didn't relish hanging out the window in rush hour traffic (I was afraid I'd drop the camera). I have no memory whatsoever of driving between wherever it was we stopped for lunch the previous day and getting into St. Louis.
Crossing the Mississippi River at St. Louis. As you can see, it was a glorious sunrise. I'd never had the chance to see the river commerce before and I saw everything from the old paddle steamers (yes, I did see one on the river, moving) to the big barges being pulled by fat little tug boats.
We had to take Anubis, the big black lab/shepherd mix, with us because I couldn't trust him not to bite the people taking care of the rest of the animals. Freyja doesn't like sharing the back seat...and it shows.
An old stage stop on the prairies of Kansas. This is one of the places we simply pulled over, hid the truck as best we could, and crashed for a few hours. It wasn't terribly hard to imagine Marshal Dillon on his big buckskin riding out across this prairie. You can barely make out the fencing; that's standard practice now but once upon a time it might have caused a range war. Note what is fenced in: it's the only source of water for miles.
This old farmstead apparently used to house passengers on the stage stop. If you look closely, you can still see the limestone and waddle building next to the more modern barn. The farm, by the way, is still being worked. Simtra had never seen hay being baled before. Aside from the farm itself and the watering hole, there was nothing else but prairie for miles. I don't imagine it's changed much over the years.
Wind generated electricity farm in the badlands. That area really isn't good for much else. There's no water and the soil is alkaline, rocky, and barren. No, I didn't tamper with the colors. That's the way it looked. I tell you, standing under those skies it sure made a body feel small.
More tomorrow, perhaps. My ancestors had a point about the whiskey; it does wonders for the lungs and greatly reduces aches and pains. Time to hit the sack, I have a long trail to ride tomorrow.