Thursday, April 12th, 2012
As with anything in life, adhering to a rote pattern for its own sake does nobody any good, especially me. After nearly a month away now, I feel compelled to write. However, I do not feel compelled to write daily, as was my mandate before. To be honest, it seems kinda hard to top my experience in Saint Louis. I am still trying to burn that image out of my mind. In the meanwhile, I've returned back to Sumner, then out again, but this time, exploring the back roads of the heartland, which I'm sure is called that not because of geography, but because people here have hearts. I think.
I've seen all sorts of things this past week. Driving from Superior, CO to Golden is a wonderful drive, especially if you are not pulling any weight. This drive takes you abreast the Rockies themselves for a short span. The further south you travel from Boulder / Superior the more it becomes foothills, with less splendid views of mountains. For those interested, Superior is where Boulder has located all of the big box stores like Costco, where you can buy 100% recycled (80% post consumer) paper towels in bulk, because really, there is no irony there. Speaking of which, I wonder if this town has a complex by being so close to an awesome place to live?
“B-Double E, Double R, U, N, beer-run!” Traveling from Boulder to the middle of freakin' nowhere Montana was more amazing than I thought. The trip through Wyoming along WY-59 certainly made pulling 45,000 pounds worth it. This road is fairly lonely, but not as lonely as one may think. Along the way, There are all sorts of industries. A number of tanker trucks passed me going the other direction. Most bore hazardous materials placards, number “1267,” and a couple with the number
“1203,” both flammable liquids; crude oil and gasoline respectively. I was wondering where this all came from, then an answer presented it self in the form of myriad pumps. Even better, I passed a site calling itself “Peabody Energy Mine.” Wait... I've heard of Peabody before.. oh yeah! The coal guys who wanted to mine coal under the Navajo reservation and use fresh aquifer water to sluice it over to Vegas! Then I passed another 2 “energy mines” along with miles of train cars, either filled or waiting to be filled. That and empty wind swept miles of ranch land, which cna be very breathtaking to behold, especially now as we head into spring.
Up to Montana and back into Wyoming for the next load. Unbeknownst to the entire world, except for a select few, the North East corner of Wyoming holds a massive deposit of bentonite. I'm sure you are all waiting with bated breath, “what the hell is it?” It is often called bentonite clay, but it is in reality a volcanic ash. Light gray in color, it cakes very much like clay and is slippery as all get-out when wet. Or so I am told. The principle use is to make cat litter, the clumping variety. Talking to a local in the nearby truck stop, I learned of myriad uses for the slippery grey dust. It goes into cosmetics. It is used in steel production. It was, at one point used to create molds for engine blocks (single use molds), it goes into all sorts of food products, from hot dogs to all this other stuff I wonder about (as a binder). Yes, this little area of the world produces something like 70-80% of the world's cat litter. No shit!
Then Off through South Dakota and Nebraska. The town of Mission, SD is buried in the heart (well, upper heart) of one of the Sioux Reservations. The town itself is not much to look at. Lots of squat buildings, some nicer than others, a few boarded up, graffiti along the perimeter of a steel building on the main drag. A shiny C-store on the west end of town, a university I've never heard of Sinte Gleska, but most of all I noticed the people. This town had more people on the streets than I had seen in mid morning Bellevue, WA, a place certainly 100 (perhaps even 1000) times larger. People of all ages walking around town going about their business. I'm not sure how to convey my amazement at this simple thing.
Then there's Nebraska. Ever hear of Sandhill cranes? Well Google it if you haven't. Ever wonder why they are called this? I sure did. Turns out that there are endless miles of sandy hills pocked with marshes in north central Nebraska. Seems the cranes breed here. Muskrat lodges by the dozens!
Fast forwarding to today, I got to enjoy quite a lot of the back roads here, almost driving off one of them just contemplating the landscape. Passing through the town of Farwell, NE (home of the largest Polish Catholic Church in Nebraska, a surprisingly specific sign) I got the sense that I was, in another place. Poland specifcally, even though I've never been. The land is flat, green, windy and probably cold as heck in the winter. Further along the road, is Loup City. The self proclaimed “Polish Capital of Nebraska.” I'm sure there's a tasteless joke in here some place.
Back through Broken Bow and down to Lexington, to pick up an empty trailer. I learned that I was going to IBP, or Iowa Beef Processors, which it seems Tyson had bought out at some point. On the way down, I had driven past a number of expansive feed lots. Cows standing in complacency for want of a place to go and graze. Air so foul with manure and urine that I gag as I drive the 2 miles past one of these places. Yes, right to a “processing plant.” Waiting in line to get my empty trailer, 4 cattle trucks pass by, sending more cows to their doom. Yet I still eat chicken, and I know their fate is no less worse. Ah morality. That said, I apologized to the cows as they gazed out of their mobile metal prisons, only to be prodded into the jaws of death, and prayed that they have a better life in the next incarnation. What else could I do?
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