If you’ve ever driven through Nebraska on Interstate 80 you know where I’m coming from when I tell you that time and reality do not operate on the usual continuum for the 455 miles of this transcontinental highway.
Maybe it was the buzz of the tires on the pavement or the test pattern of endless plains
on a wrap around screen bigger than any Omnimax Theater, but both seemed to blur
as America’s heartland stretched with maddening monotony in every direction.
Maybe it was the buzz of the tires on the pavement or the test pattern of endless plains
on a wrap around screen bigger than any Omnimax Theater, but both seemed to blur
as America’s heartland stretched with maddening monotony in every direction.
This is what time looks like when it stands still.
Dozing, immersing myself in a book or listening to my iPod were not an option given I’d come along for the ride from Chicago to Denver specifically to keep my 87-year-old father company. We’d chewed on the gristle and savored the prime portions of the past between us. We’d listened to Willie’s Roadhouse on XM Radio until a twang crept into my bland Midwestern dialect. Otherwise, I simply watched the crops grow ever so slowly alongside America’s second longest interstate as dad broke in his almost brand-spankin’ new Prius (2000 plus miles, 56 miles per gallon) and relived his youth (boys and their toys!). Can you blame me when I confess my vision began to blur and my imagination grow?
I began to see giant caterpillars pillaging the plains, methodically laying bare all the Corn- husker’s fields of grain. The hungry centipedes foraging for food were multiplying like locust on the surface of America’s Heartland.
I'll take centipedes on the interstate over snakes on a plane any day.
Colossal armies of mechanical scarecrows stood guard as far as the eye could see, emitting high frequency sounds we humans blessedly couldn’t hear, sounds designed to paralyze the pests and stop their hungry rampage.
I felt like Dorothy lost in my modern day version of Oz.
The giant scarecrows had somehow failed, leaving a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the fog of the still morning air.
Strange things often happen whenever fog creeps into the picture.
Up and down the highway, legions of truckers carried new hybrid pesticides, their deliveries shoring up the last line of defense against these new millennium menaces.
It's the Bucket of Bolts parade to the rescue.
The truckers had come from all over the country: Utica, New York;
I could go for a one of Utica's famous Halfmoon pastries right about now.
Waco, Texas;
If anybody can handle BIG centipedes, Texans can.
Hampton, Virginia;
Graduated high school in Hampton, Virginia.
and Hershey, Pennsylvania.
Let's stop for some chocolate!
Nebraska’s silos sat empty in the wake of the feeding frenzy that had decimated most of this year's crop.
Some call it art, others call it silos. I call it a clever break in the monotony.
The disaster was reaching epic proportions even I, master of my pseudo universe, could no longer handle.
I broke the cocoon of silence fueling my imagination for the last hundred miles or so with a chorus from the musical of the same name. “Are we there yet?”
Few refrains spoke so dearly to those special childhood memories as this particular one in this particular moment.
My dad chuckled before returning my volley. “We’ll be there when we get there.”
I broke the cocoon of silence fueling my imagination for the last hundred miles or so with a chorus from the musical of the same name. “Are we there yet?”
Few refrains spoke so dearly to those special childhood memories as this particular one in this particular moment.
My dad chuckled before returning my volley. “We’ll be there when we get there.”
My dad is a kid again whenever he gets behind the wheel of his latest car.
I smiled with the comfort of knowing some things never change. Some things should never change.
“We’re close to crossing the state line into Colorado,” dad added. “We can stop and stretch our legs at the welcome center if you like.”
Truth be told (after all the half-truths that got me to this point, I owe you that much) just like that, the centipedes and scarecrows disappeared and some cowboy riding for the Pony Express escorted us over the state line (oops! old habits and half-truths die hard) as Interstate 80 morphed into Interstate 70 and Colorful Colorado filled the wide screen of life flickering across the windshield.
“We’re close to crossing the state line into Colorado,” dad added. “We can stop and stretch our legs at the welcome center if you like.”
Truth be told (after all the half-truths that got me to this point, I owe you that much) just like that, the centipedes and scarecrows disappeared and some cowboy riding for the Pony Express escorted us over the state line (oops! old habits and half-truths die hard) as Interstate 80 morphed into Interstate 70 and Colorful Colorado filled the wide screen of life flickering across the windshield.
Hi, ho Silver!
The northeast corner of Colorado wasn’t really all that colorful, but it was probably time I quit day dreaming in Technicolor anyway.
Uh, oh, are those Transformers lurking in the sagebrush of Colorado?
Besides, riding shotgun it was my responsibility to keep an eye out for trouble. Interstate or not, Nebraska was finally behind us, which put us deep into the wild, wild west and that much closer to our destination.
Next exit, stick em' up!
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