Discovering Middle America.

I have never felt as American as I did when driving through middle America mountain states.Through Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, there were long stretches where I was not only the only car in sight, but I was the only evidence of human life. No buildings, no power lines, no billboards. Just green, grassy hills, turqoise rivers, snow-capped mountains and wildflowers.

I can understand how "the Western Frontier" has captured the imagination of so many Americans. There's something that does make you feel free when you see that kind of open space--more free than you'd ever feel in damp, killer-bee and slug infested basement apartments or with cramped legs sitting in classroom desks or even just weaving through traffic on Capitol Hill. Nothing even looks busy or congested out there. It's impossible to feel that way.
Now, I'll never give up my affinity for concrete and urban congestion. I'll love city sprawl until my dying day. But I did fall in love with America a little bit in these past few days, helped along by Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and Bright Eyes--my essential American mix.

Now, when there was other evidence of human life...it was an education unto itself. As I was pleasantly driving by a countless number of fruit/antique combo stores (for those who prefer to shop for old furniture while eating peaches), past fireworks stands and the occasional dirt devil or tumbleweed (both spotted in eastern washington), I was occasionally confronted with cultures as different from my own as I'm sure to find in Egypt.
Examples:
* Just past the continential divide in Montana, I had to suddenly slam on my brakes to let an elderly couple in a horse-drawn cart cross the freeway

*I pulled over to use the bathroom at Uncle Buck's bar in Warm Springs, Montana. Population: 3. They were all in the bar. Smiling and acting politely dumb, they let me use the Gal's Room. Inside, I was bombarded by yet another inspirational saying! This one was scrawled on a chalkboard, which advised me to "Take life one day at a time. Don't hold grudges. Move on." Inexplicably, Warm Springs (nearest town 15 miles away, hours away from any major city) was home not only to Uncle Buck's, but also to the Montana State Hospital.

Update: I was recently informed by a friend with kinship ties to Montana that the "Montana State Hospital" is code word for the Montana state insane assylum. Apparently this friend's grandfather always used to threaten to send him to Warm Springs when he was acting up. This story, of course, makes Uncle Buck's all the cooler. Sort of like, whatever doesn't heal you at the Warm Springs State Hospital can be healed at the bar across the street. 

*Outside of Bozeman, Montana, I passed a billboard with a masked man pointing a gun menacingly at the drivers on the road. The sign read: "If he doesn't care about God, will he care about you?"
Unlike in the Midwest, where highways are sprinkled every 25 miles with admonitions to turn to Jesus who loves you and unborn babies, this was the only billboard I saw about God in the 2,000 mile drive. That's it. The one billboard representation of Christians from Washington to Illinois, and it has to do with masked gunmen. I wonder how many people in that 2,000 mile stretch are actually in danger of confronting a masked man with an assault rifle? It would probably make more sense, if, say, the billboard went for wider appeal. Like the good ol' "Jesus Loves You." Classic.

*I stopped for lunch in Buffalo, Wyoming. Population: 3,900. It advertised itself as "Not a One Horse Kind of Town." True to form, there were two women riding their horses into town. It was actually a great looking place-- the city center clearly dated back to the turn of the century, with these brick building store fronts and a big "Occidental Hotel" that looked like the Sundance kid had stayed at or held up once. It was also totally ordinary, too: Soccer mom-ish looking women were taking their kids to the community center pool. A goth girl was going into the bakery. It could have been Palatine, IL, minus the horses as transportation...

*Wall Drug, South Dakota. Amped for the chance to finally go to the place of the mythic bumper stickers "Have you Dug Wall Drug?" and dying a chance to stretch my legs from a 10-hour day of driving, I happily limped out of my car (legs had cramped) and into the 7-building complex that makes up the Wall Drug general store (est. 1928). It turns out that people in South Dakota actually walk slower than any other humans on the planet. This wasn't helped by the fact that it was PACKED from wall to wall with kids rummaging through personalized key chains, women trying on turqoise jewelery and buying bags of saltwater taffy, old couples straining to read the sign by the soda shop counter ("Is this hard ice cream or soft?" "Soft, sir." "What, son? You'll have to speak up. Now, what flavors do you have? And is this hard or soft?"), a man videotaping these mechanical puppets who played bluegrass behind a glass display case, and dozens and dozens of RV-traveling families stopping to eat from their country-style buffet. It was like trying to wade through a sea of melted gummy bears.

Now, as many of you know, my dad collects Roosters. In a store composed entirely of country kitsch, I figured I would be able to find something good. Oh yes, it was good. I found a life-size papier-mache rooster with real rooster feathers glued to it. Awesome. I went to the counter to buy my saltwater taffy (ok, so I was also one of those women) and the rooster, only to discover that it had no price tag. The elderly sales woman calls the back room. This will just take a moment. Another elderly women arrives in about 10 minutes. She inspects the rooster. No price tag. Right. She tells me that she's going to have to search the basement for another one. Another 10 minutes. I need to get back on the road to make it to Sioux Falls before the sun goes down...I start to get a little agitated. Can you just make up a price? Well, she sighs, I'll have to call a manager. It's clear that this could repeat the half hour process, so I have to leave without the rooster. I almost forgot my Saltwater Taffy at the register, too.

So my 2,000 mile trek to Chicago was pleasantly eventful and insightful--and greatly improved by the wonderful hospitality of the Zimmer family as I passed through Billings, MT.
It was good to get in touch with my inner American a bit before I head off to the Middle East next Friday.
Days until Egypt: 8.