For those of
you have been following the saga of my recent move from the suburbs of
Minneapolis to the sunny shores of California, I thought I’d share some of what
we saw along the way.
The afternoon
of Good Friday, after the movers had finished loading the van, we packed our
trusty Honda Pilot and set off on the first leg of our journey, driving to
Sioux Falls, SD. Unfortunately, either OG had misread the mileage or Google
maps lied, but the trip turned out to be an hour and a half longer than anticipated.
The motel room was sweltering, and between the heat and our fatigue, neither of
us slept more than a couple of hours. Not an auspicious start. Fortunately, we
had a very well-protected breakfast the next morning next to three of Sioux
Falls’ Finest at the Denny’s at the Flying J truck stop.
About an hour
out of Sioux Falls, we drove into the thickest fog I have ever seen—the kind of
fog that causes hundred-car pile-ups. Even OG was moved to caution, and his usual
response to poor road visibility is to blast through it at the highest possible
speed (in hopes of getting out faster?). I’ve always assumed it to be a guy
thing—an INSANE guy thing. At any rate, several hours later, we reached Rapid
City in time for a short trip to Mt. Rushmore. Since it was early spring and
the day before Easter, we nearly had the place to ourselves except for a few
groups of Indian tourists. The sun came out just long enough for OG to snap
this picture before we were hit by a wild burst of heavy snow mixed with rain.
Thankfully, it stopped by the time we reached our motel in town.
Bright and
early the next day, Easter Sunday, we headed for Laramie, WY. The landscape was
eerily boring, if that’s possible. However, we were passed on a back country highway
by a convoy of six black Porsche Panameras with dark tinted windows and CB
radio antennas, all with Georgia plates, traveling at a high rate of speed. I
know there’s a story there, but I have no idea what it was. Wyoming rest stops
were a real eye-opener for this city girl. The first one didn’t have flush
toilets and smelled worse than the latrines at summer camp. Here I am, standing
beside it. Don’t I look thrilled?
The second,
in the thriving metropolis of Lusk, was buried under a mountain of enormous tumbleweeds.
Chicago pales in comparison when it comes to wind velocity. We couldn’t reach
Laramie soon enough but were surprised by its small size and lack of amenities
considering it is home to the University of Wyoming.
The following
day driving across southern Wyoming was dreadful. Enough said. Apparently I am
not a high plains kind of girl. As soon as we crossed the Utah line, the
scenery changed dramatically. The mountains were gorgeous, although the drive
down into Salt Lake City raised every hair on my body. If you’ve never done it,
imagine a Formula One car race downhill through the Alps. Yikes.
Sadly, I had
the same impression of Nevada that I did of Wyoming. It’s not for me. Vast open
spaces of nothingness make me tired and antsy. We spent the night in Reno in an
airport motel about ten feet from a teeming interstate. Funny, that detail was
not omitted from the hotel’s website. By this time, we were nearly dead on our
feet and couldn’t wait to get to California.
The next day
was our last. The first part of the drive took us through the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, which were spectacular, even swathed in fog. We stopped at the
Donner Memorial, but were disappointed to find the museum closed. However, we
did spy this miraculous
I won’t dwell
on the rest of the drive. The freeway traffic from Sacramento to Carmel was
typically brutal, and we were (physically and mentally) running on fumes—particularly
OG, who had driven the entire trip. It was a blessing to reach Carmel, and by
the next day we were able to appreciate it.
