Dream Jurney Day 2

When I wrote about Road Trip Magic, I was thinking about this moment. We were headed north on I-29 and the setting sun was to my left, the rising moon to my right, and I felt their alignment like an existential laser piercing my head. Orange from the sunlight storm raging in the clouds above me cloaked my mysticism. I would remember this moment forever, a long strange day culminating in an even stranger cosmic event.

At 5:30 AM, Chris got up to make some coffee, drenching the couch I slept on with sharp kitchen light. The light injected me with pre road trip energy, ripping me from the comfort and warmth of the covers.

It was time to go.

Chris’s pile waited in the corner to be crammed into the hatchback and back seat of the Prius. I Tetrised everything together, blankets, pillows, snacks, water, cameras, bags, mics, and whatever else we thought we could possibly need. Every time we were done, there seemed to be something else to pack.

Finally, we left at 6:30 AM.

Our two destinations were Arthur Bryant’s BBQ in Kansas City, MO, and Badlands National Park, SD. After that, we had no idea where the winds would blow us. We would make a decision which way to go once we got to Wall Drug.

As we left the St. Louis arch in our rearview mirror, I felt the strangest déjà vu. Ten years earlier, I had taken a very similar road trip out west that followed the Lewis and Clarke route. I felt that pull of vastness entering the West, the part of America that still holds some mysteries in its empty wilderness.

Arthur Bryant’s is a BBQ joint in Kansas City that has been around long enough that all the original owners are long gone. Purported to be the most popular BBQ joint in America, and the origin of burnt ends, we got an unholy mountain of those, pulled pork, brisket, fries, potato salad, and bread, and ate every single bite. We left in pain.

Rain gushed from the sky as Chris drove us from Missouri, and I mourned the fact that I hadn’t replaced my windshield wipers since I bought the vehicle in 2022. We had a small list of things we needed to pick up, so when we got to Sioux City, IA, we stopped at a Wal-Mart to get windshield wipers as well. The overlord robots at Open AI told us we needed one size, but the greasy book on the shelf told us we needed a different size. We decided the book was more likely to be right. We were wrong and the robot was right.

I don’t fault Chris for not reading the instructions while I was inside changing out the small wiper. It should be intuitive to replace these things, but times are changing. Gone are the simple hook connectors of old. Meanwhile, I was inside where a tall old man (we’ll call him Hank) was arguing with me about what size I needed. My phone dinged with the texts Chris sent me about his frustration as the man said, “The book says fourteen inches. You need this one here,” flat out ignoring the information I fed him.

Chris finally came inside with the long wiper. I noticed the pristine instructions still folded in the wiper case. In a moment I can only describe as cinematic, Chris, Hank, and I unfolded the clean white paper and walked ourselves through how to connect the wiper blades. Hank smiled and laughed at our imbecility, denigrating our manhood with his cutting joviality.

He sure was helpful.

Back at the car, we followed the instructions to a T, but it still wouldn’t work. We did what all good frustrated testosterone fueled brains would do and forced the connectors on, grunting and cussing to emphasize our brawny problem solving skills.

Once the blades were securely* attached to the arms we ate our sorrows away with America’s favorite comfort food, Taco Bell. While we gorged, I got a text from my old friend Jessica who had just gotten off work and was an hour north of us in Sioux Falls. We made a plan to meet at Casey’s for a few minutes before travelling on. Only then did it hit me that, if we hadn’t gone through all those troubles at Wal-Mart with our windshield wipers, we would have been way past Sioux Falls by now.

There is always a reason for the delay.

At Casey’s we watched the clouds begin their prep for a good sunset, coating the sky with textures of wispy grey clouds, a gesso for things to come. Jessica and her fiance pulled into the lot, we talked for ten to fifteen minutes, got some advice on where to stay the night, and then we were off again, a bittersweet departure.

The sky exploded and our eyes melted in the heat of solar poetry. The depths of eternity sang, with high choir voices, chords only our soul could understand.

A coyote ran through the fields beside the road, and I knew her heart raced as she danced under the darkening sky. Dancing with wild canine joy as the full moon rose higher and higher, her muse forever in the South Dakota wheat fields.