Western Expansion

The spectacular Black Hills (and their weird, branch-stripped trees) gave way to Wyoming with a vengeance. Here we were, our little caravan, Element first (containing Molly, Jared, Charley, Sadie and Ursa), then the Forester with the U-Haul (containing Matt, Christie, Sophie, Ripley, Fern and Charlotte), puffing around hairpin curves and clinging to the side of hills that were remarkably like those in the Connecticut River Valley. We accidentally cut over to Wyoming early, so the "Welcome" sign was both alarming and paired with an abrupt flattening of the terrain. By the time we were established on our Wyoming highway, the little rise on either side of the road and jutting buttes in the distance were the only elevation changes around. The new green prairie grass, apparently juiced-up with exorbitant spring rains, was blooming with tiny yellow flowers. The dirt had turned red, and we saw a real live (or dormant, I suppose) tumbleweed drift across the road.

A stop at a rest area confirmed the paradigm shift. We were officially out of "water-tower-land" and in "we-don't-have-any-water-and-we-just-deal-with-it-like-real-cowboys-land." The rest area had only one water fountain, all the toilets were of the composting genre, and next to the dribbling automatic faucets was an option we are now familiar with in Western public bathrooms - hand sanitizer. No water, no towels, no electric dryers. Just plain ol' sanitizer. Other than a mile-wide stink, the rest area was commendable for its sustainable nature.

We were in Wyoming for hours, traveling due South, but I could have continued driving for days. 3000 acre ranches, noted by dirt-road turn-offs and an iron die-cut sign, cropped up every 20 or so miles. I remember thinking the Ohio sky was big. Wyoming sky is infinite. Also, the characters we found at a local gas station were priceless.

And we crossed our namesake and inspiration:

The Rockies appeared as tiny, hazy points in the distance as we crossed into Colorado. But despite our excitement, North-eastern Colorado is a rude awakening to a wagon train that just crossed the vast emptiness of Wyoming. Housing developments with identical colors and styles spread as far as the eye could see.

By the time we descended into Denver, the sunset over the mountains replaced suburban claustrophobia with an eye-numbing display.

Jeff (Jeffy), college roomie of Matt and Jared welcomed us with wider-than-open arms. He whisked us to a late night Mexican restaurant when Matt decided he needed a margarita, picked up some party supplies and settled in for a long night of boyness. Christie and I conked out early, and in the morning, it was clear that college days had been relived. A long day of silly movies and naps ensued, until we jetted up to the mountains to see Jeff's boyhood home and barbeque with his family (including Mom and Dad, both brothers, a cousin, 3 dogs (additional to our 2), and a few friends who popped in for a moment each. Hours later, we were sitting with stuffed tummies, listening to Mom talk about Jeff's amazing childhood feats, including getting kicked out of a hippie day school for making the guidance counselor cry. You'll have to ask him for the rest of the story, I promise that he's the nicest guy on Earth and his antics were no more than a well-penned petition (with approximately 26 signatures) expressing his concern that the school had replaced math with team-building exercises. He was 10 years old.

And then, the inevitable happened. In order for Christie and Matt to return the U-Haul, they had to haul on to Portland in one fell swoop. Jared and I had more stops to make in Colorado before venturing Southwest to reunite the caravan in Los Angeles. So sad goodbyes were commenced, and Matt and Christie, complete with six animals (they took on the bunnies so that they could board in Portland and be spared the desert heat), took off.

From what I hear, their trip was long and eventful, but I'll leave those stories to the two who lived them. For now I will just pine until we see each other again.