Driving alone for six days is entirely different than flying there for six hours. Of course you end up in the same place, but on the road you have time to acclimate, to ease your way into a sense of place, to see the sites, and interact with a variety of new people. The best part? You get re-acquainted with yourself.    Not at all like being air dropped into a new location.

I had decided to drive eight to ten hours per day–not pushing it if I was tired and not driving in the dark. I also wanted to stay off deserted roads, (Did you see Nocturnal Animals? Chilling.) but I didn’t follow all of those rules. It proved to be both impossible and fortuitous. What I would have missed!

It is not my intention to provide you with a travelogue. There are far better sources you can turn to for that. However, each mile or location formed distinct impressions…evoked particular emotions. I have to tell you where I’ve been in order to tell you how I feel about it. Please be patient,

I promise I’ll get to the point.

Driving through Wisconsin and Minnesota, I was reminded of previous trips and I laughed to myself at some good memories. It all seemed quite normal, until I crossed over into South Dakota. I had never been there before and I was jazzed. Crossing the state line brought the promise of something new.

When the Badlands emerged up ahead, I was sure that Scottie had beamed me up to another planet. The otherworldly terrain, desolate and barren, was very different than the green, rolling plains surrounding them. I explored a few of the craters, then pressed on.

“Hello, boys!” The greeting left my lips as I rounded the curve. There they were, up in front of me popping out of the mountaintop before disappearing out of sight as I took the next turn. George, Abe, Teddy, and Tom. Mount Rushmore! I visited Sitting Bull, as well, but it was the Black Hills themselves that took my breath away.

The Yellowstone Road

The next morning, the GPS kept telling me it was unable to determine a route to Yellowstone Park citing “road conditions.” Thank God and Linda for my Rand McNally Road Atlas because even the Wyoming Travel Information Bureau couldn’t help. I spotted the new facility as I crossed the state line and head over to get their take on what lie ahead. Ha! Hours of operation: 9-5, Monday –Friday. It was Sunday. What about weekend or evening travelers? The absurdity made me think I was still in Illinois.

So I took it one town at a time, heading west toward Cody, Wyoming. The name of the town just jumped out of the map at me and I knew I had to get there. It was more intuition than knowing, although it happened to be the town nearest the east entrance to Yellowstone Park. Perfect.

“Oh my God!” I screamed and had to stop the car. I obviously wasn’t the first person to do so, as a turnoff was right there waiting for me. I got out of the car, as well. I had to feel what I was seeing and couldn’t do that from inside. This was my first introduction to BIG SKY.

It went on forever– “from sea to shining sea”.  So broad that I could perceive the curve of the earth. So vast that I felt tiny and insignificant. So exposed that I was frightened. So moved that it made me cry.

The enormity of it all.

It may not sound like a big deal, but as I continued west following my map or the road signs advertising, “The most scenic route to Yellowstone” I lost count on how many times I experienced an “OMG!” moment. Each one evoked the same action and response. Lucky me to have seen and felt all of this.

Checking in for the night in Cody, I asked how long it would take to get to Yellowstone in the morning. The girl behind the desk sheepishly handed a piece of paper to me. Her most apologetic voice told me, “Usually about forty minutes, but the east gate is closed until next week. This map will guide you to the north entrance. It’s about four or five hours from here.”

Now I knew why the GPS couldn’t get me to Yellowstone Park. Disappointing? Yes. Tragic? No.  In fact the opposite. Had I known that the east gate was closed, I would have taken a different road further north, missing “the scenic route” (and all the great self-analysis that came with it) completely. I had all night to contemplate what the additional hours to the north gate would reveal.

The drive up through Montana was gorgeous, so by the time I arrived, I was ready to be really impressed. Everyone from Yogi Bear to Ken Burns had made Yellowstone Park sound like heaven on earth. I drove down the road next to a buffalo, waited to see Old Faithful erupt, (right on time, btw) and mentally checked these items off my bucket list as I realized that while magnificent, none of those things had knocked my socks off as much as I thought they would.

None of them.

Not the Badlands, not Mount Rushmore, nor Yellowstone Park could remotely compare with the beauty and wonder of the terrain that I covered (on the road and in my head) to get to them. It was what lie in-between that made this trip awesome.

The journey surpassed the destination.

It made me wish I had done this sooner…by about fifty years. I wonder how different my life would have been if this spirit of hope, discovery, and adventure had been instilled in me at an early age? Traveling cross-country to see what our ancestors had discovered and the perils they overcame couldn’t help but inspire. It profoundly impacted me now. I can only imagine what it could do to a ten-year old.

For those of you who did do it when you were ten, tell me. Did it infuse you with pioneer spirit or just annoy you because your brother was pulling your hair from the backseat and your father would stop only to sleep or refuel and not even consider pulling off the road for an “OMG!” moment?

The climate inside your immediate environment–be it your vehicle, your home, or your head–eclipses whatever is happening outside of it. Alone, in my spiffy little sports car, was the perfect incubator for discovery, inspiration, and analysis.

Imagine…

and I still have days to go before reaching California.

to be continued