Saturday, July 10, 2004

Saturday, July 10, 2004

***I must apologize for the lack of proper updates throughout the trip. It seemed that when we were near a phone line we were all quite tired. I do have a few notes from the trip though that never got uploaded, so I will attempt to finish out the trip posthumously over the next few days.***

Matty W.

Loveland, Colorado

6-28-04

Snead is sleeping on the floor, Dave is ambling his way through the streets of Loveland, and I am still trying to fully recall everything that we’ve seen of America. Sorting through these various experiences, while earnestly trying not to give in to weariness, has left me with a paradoxical desire to write and to sleep.

I sit in the living room of Kelly Harry and Dwila Sorensen, a pair of friends I met two years ago through the recently married Christa Neeley Mullins. To say that the road may have caught up with us is an understatement.

Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons were amazing. It seems that at times in life I see experience glimpses of the childlike wonder that infused everything in life when I was younger. I felt almost foolish marveling at the wondrous creation that breathed and sang about us in a way that I’d never seen before. It took us nearly six hours to drive straight through the two parks, an unplanned addition of at least three hours to itinerary, but a worthwhile detour to say the least.

We stopped to view Mammoth Springs, a set of horrifically putrid, scandalously incredible hot springs that bubble their way across a good stretch of land. Soon after, we came into our first contact with a bear. Viewing a bear in Yellowstone isn’t all that hard. You just look for all the cars that are pulled off to the side of the road. An enthusiastic woman scampered up to our car and mouthed the word “bear” to us with great exaggeration through the window. No kidding, lady. Now get a hold of yourself.

While I appreciated the easy accessibility to creature-viewing, the incessant crowds began to wear on my nerves and seemed to cheapen the experience for me. Praise God, I think the most satisfying experience came near the end of the park.

We had seen nearly ever animal that we desired to see with the exception of the moose. I think we must have come to the unsaid conclusion that the beast would not cross our paths, when we rounded a corner and Snead began to shriek “What is that?” Sure enough, there grazing on the side of the road was a female moose, grand and surprisingly intimidating. We were the first to catch a glimpse of the moose, but soon after we stopped, another five or six cars began to gawk and cause a scene. The moose began to retreat into the woods, but I made my way across the road with camera in hand and plunged into the woods about 40 yards north of the moose. I had noticed that Yellowstone tourists are predictably lazy and scared to venture off the road, so I figured this might be the best chance at some real nature photography.

After fighting past brush some 75 yards I found myself within about 25 feet of the moose. I guess I expected her to charge or run or something, but instead, she simply hid behind a tree. I maneuvered around and took a few shots before Snead and Dave joined me. It was truly remarkable watching it. The moose has some very regal quality about it, as if it should be smoking a pipe in front of a fire while reading Lord Byron.

Around the moment Snead noted that a deer was roaming to our right, the moose let out a series of grunts that sounded less than inviting. Moments later, we realized the reason for the grunts and for her failing to run from us when a calf (I guess that’s the correct terminology) emerged from the woods to respond to the mother’s call. The five of us stood and stared at each other too briefly before the mother and calf turned and moved further into the woods.

We drove through the Grand Tetons after our moose experience. “Awestruck” might by the most appropriate word to describe the experience. The geological make-up of the range bears little resemblance to that of those in Yellowstone. Jagged, snow-topped mountains seemingly burst from the base of a crystal lake, reaching skyward to ridiculous heights. Funny enough, the mountains don’t seem incredibly large at first glance until a car or bison appears in the foreground to provide perspective.

We drove the interior road of the park Sunday morning after leaving Tom Holton’s, but soon enough I found the park to be less appealing on a second look. I chalk it up to weariness, which lasted long into the afternoon, but the animal life is at least less apparent in the Tetons. However, given proper rest and ample time, I’m sure I could have spent another week in the two parks.

Perhaps suffering from wanderlust, we ditched the original plans for another night in Jackson and set our sights on a night of camping at Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area in the town of Green River in southwest Wyoming.

For some reason, the other two thought it funny to pronounce the town in an “Eppinger accent” (congratulations Beth)…I’m still trying to figure this one out.

With some time to kill, we caught the only movie that half-way interested us at the dollar theater, Van Helsing. Let me take this opportunity to issue a warning: Don’t ever, ever, ever voluntarily see this movie unless the thought of someone brushing your teeth with sandpaper is appealing. Hugh Jackman, I’m ashamed of you.

A menacing array of black clouds descended on Green River by late afternoon and evolved into a set of impressive storms by early evening, forcing our beloved “Rocky” ( see Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley) back to the road.

We expected a lengthy drive to our next stop, Loveland (6-8 hours), but were unprepared for a malfunction along the way. Somewhere between 10 and 11 p.m. in the middle of nowhere our luggage carrier popped open along the interstate. Thankfully, we had only lost one item from the carrier, but it took us a good hour or so before Dave found the remains of a mangled three-man tent lying in the left lane.

A cop stopped in the midst of the search to warn us that Wyoming is inhabited by folks that tend to try and hit people along the sides of highways in the middle of nowhere. Cheap thrill.

It wasn’t a total loss though…I found a Nevada license plate belonging to a Michael Ashe of Las Vegas, while tramping though the clayish median. It still had the registration attached to the back. Ashe, if you’re reading this, you’re not getting it back.

You’d be amazed at the things to be found on an Interstate median if you took the time to stop and look. I guess Ashe’s plate was out there for at least a year, but some things I saw must have been jettisoned years earlier. I began to muse about the various previous owners of the material I ran across, wondering who they were and where they are now. What circumstances brought them along that particular road.

Car bumpers. Over a mile stretch I saw three different car bumpers. A television set. A woman’s dress. A Nascar-like signaling flag….

Somewhere along the way, probably around 2 a.m., Dave and Matty drove golf balls into the “Welcome to Colorado” state line. That part’s not very clear to me.

I was unable to contact our hosts throughout the day, and consequently, we weren’t sure if we’d have a place to stay when we arrived. As it turned out we didn’t get to Loveland until around 3 a.m. and Kelli and Dwila, both nurses, were working 12-hour shifts until 6 a.m. at the hospital in Greeley. So we made the best of things in their driveway. Matty sacked out across Rocky’s meager back seat, Dave pulled out his sleeping bag and crashed on the pavement and I did my best not drool on myself sitting up behind the wheel. Pavement never sounded so appealing, but I feared that two strangers with Alaska license plates sleeping on the driveway belonging to two girls who work nights might look suspicious.

I must have woken up twenty times in the three hours we “slept”, thinking that I saw Kelli’s truck pull into the driveway, but each time the vision passed with a cold realization. Eventually, an old man entered my dreams and started making fun of my hallucinations. I lambasted the old man with a bevy of retorts before I realized that I was arguing with a figment of my imagination…and then Kelli drove up and ended our “day.”

Currently Playing Liturgy a Legacy & A Ragamuffi By Rich Mullins see related