redtruckroadtrip

So we did it.  I have never had more fun at short notice than this.  We had a lovely gathering.  First, my sister, my brother and my niece arrived, late on Friday night. Then, my friends showed up, including Carol, my best friend in the whole world (starting when I was 15), and her husband Bruce who drove my mother down from Ottawa.  (She got my mother to go on a road trip!) My other best friend Siobhan and my great friend Mark (who married Siobhan just a few years ago) drove from Toronto.   Our wonderful friends Peter and Dana from Essex Junction where we have the sweat built came, our awesome friends Kitty and Gary from Rhode Island, our amazing friend Gina from NYC, who knew we were in love almost before we did, our great friend Magili from Maine and her husband Ted and our favorite person-under-three, Marisol.  Finally, Lewis’s long time friend Peter, friend through thick and thin, co-teacher, who fortunately was ordained, was able to come to perform the ceremony. We live in Brattleboro, VT., in a small place with no guest room. Down the road from us, right by the frog pond, is the Meadowlark Inn (meadowlarkinnvt.com).    We turned our house over to friends, and moved into the bed and breakfast.

I had a dress.  Well, I had four.  I have fortunately discovered the thrift store in Keene, Sal’s Thrift Avenue, and had picked up a frock or two there for Christmas and New Year’s.  Plus Brattleboro has really good thrift and antique stores, and I happened to find a black and red number that worked well.  I like to get advice on things like this, so I recruited my own personal What Not to Wear group who could advise me. At the last minute, I went to our outlet mall by the highway ramp and found a nice short one-shoulder white dress and a pair of matching shoes.  On Friday night, we had those who had arrived over for a dinner of pulled pork and greens from our local co-op, and then Saturday morning, while I vacuumed and did laundry (why?  I don’t know, just because when the going gets tough the tough do laundry), I also had my sister and niece over to pick the dress.  Excellent advice later, we went with the white.  They helped out extraordinarily, running errands.  I had ordered a chocolate cake from our local bakery, gluten free, and had got little packages of wine and local products (cheese and chocolate) for those who were making the trek, so we put those in the rooms (along with the moose slippers we found for Marisol). A week isn’t long enough for monogrammed balloons or engraved invitations!  Lewis had apparently invited some people for a ‘Christmas Party’ planning to surprise them in case I said yes. Everyone else began arriving on Saturday afternoon, and we all gathered at the bed and breakfast and headed into town for dinner at the Fireworks restaurant.  As we had only made our reservation on Tuesday, they had kindly accommodated us but had only a table for 12, so we squished in the other 4 and had a merry time. Then home to bed early.

On Sunday, we got up early to do more errands, and sent Kitty and Gary and Gina scurrying back and forth to get things we forgot – they were awesome and had an incredible sense of humour.  Thank you guys.  We had come up with a ceremony and we ran it by Peter. We decided to make a bundle and had emailed people on Wednesday to invite them to contribute words or little things. We had also emailed Peter, our friend from Essex Junction, who had once spontaneously played Lewis and I a love song over breakfast  It’s a beautiful song with words from Rumi, and he wonderfully agreed to play it during the ceremony.  Incredibly and again wonderfully Peter Blum, who plays the singing bowls, offered to bring his, so we said yes and thank you.  After cramming my hair into an up-do, dimming with foundation the bags under my eyes and squeezing into the spanx, I threw on my dress and my lovely mother gave me away (or, rather, brought and presented me – we didn’t like the implications that I could be given away).  The ceremony was wonderful, with music and gathering the bundle and prayers and singing and lovely words.  And, when it was over, we all went down to Gillies fish market restaurant at the bottom of the hill.  My sister had prepared a powerpoint presentation with pictures and stories from when we were young, and it made me cry. She was very kind. When we came back, the lovely women who own the B and B had tidied everything up, so we took up a collection to put in the housekeeping envelope at the end of our stay.

The next morning, Lewis had to go back to work!  I spent some time with my mother and brother, my sister and niece went straight back, and gradually we were left gently alone, feeling sweetly sad to say so many goodbyes.

So, we are married.  I am licensed to wife!  We are very happy, though the implications for immigration are dawning on us, and I might not be going to Australia this year.  But that’s for a different story. Meanwhile, we are so very happy, and feel so very loved. Thank you all so much.

Rain

Those last two days. I believe when I left you all I was speeding back down the highway. The night I left Becky’s, I stayed in Buffalo, Wyoming, which is apparently where the ‘hole in the wall’ gang had their hole in the wall, though there is a place called Wall, SD., that Lewis thinks in the place, so I have to weigh the evidence of tourist information with a SD loyalist.

The staff was sulky at Holiday Inn Express, O’Neill, NE,  and the workout room with the bad equipment in it was locked and I was also feeling post-partum depression on leaving the trip part of the road trip, and Becky’s place, and not doing the Inipi and instead heading out to the Irish Capital of Nebraska….

The next morning, I did leave early. It was a day of only driving. In my mind, I had wondered if pushing forward to Council Bluffs would have been a good idea, but it took a long time to get there, and in fact it would have been a detour, so I just headed through to the I80 and enjoyed the good weather.  The truck was handling well, though I was stopping frequently to pump up the driver’s side rear tire, and to pump up the gas. I was back in NPR territory, so I caught up on the speculation about Pakistan and the current tension there due to the recent air strike, listened to an interview with Judy Blum, the legal struggles of the Occupy Movement and increasingly dire reports about The Weather.

It was hard to imagine the bad weather at first, since I was enjoying such lovely vistas and rapid passage, however, by the end of the day I had entered into the Chicago bad weather zone.   I had planned to drive until 1opm, in order to make good time.  I had thought that if I could get just a little further, I could give myself an easy day. Lewis was flying from Hungary, so we enjoyed talking to each other more freely on Skype as he waited in the Budapest airport. I told him that I had booked a room on Hotwire for Toledo and thought I would get there about midnight, and I was soooo excited to see him the next day, on Tuesday night.

Somewhere in there, it started to rain. Really, really rain. Rain so that I couldn’t see when trucks drove by. Rain so that I fishtailed just a little when they went past, just enough to bring back memories of the black ice in Montana. Rain so that I started going slow. So slow, that all my plans, to see Kit, to see Kevin, where starting to look hard to fit in. Finally, I had to stop, being soo tired. I was not yet in Toledo, but I was out of juice. To make matters worse, my tummy, which had forgiven me much, was finally beginning to rebel against the caffeine candies, 5-hour shots, ginseng and good old coffee.  This all resulted in me, sitting in the driving rain, at a truck stop, finally just falling asleep.  I slept a good 4 hours and woke up at 0330.  I was still happy.  I felt incredibly good at 0330, like I could drive forever, but the reality was that as soon as I got going, the rain, dark, slidiness all got to me. I pulled over again at 0630, still in the dark, but having passed through 3 more hours of the brutal conditions. I slept again.

The day continued like this. I drove until it was  bad idea, stopped, started.  I took the I80, to avoid ‘the lake effect’ and because the GPS said it was shorter. The highways were wide and roamed through the mountains and into the Hudson Valley.  The truck fishtailed, the rain poured, the trucks zoomed past and time crawled. It grew dark.  The road went high up, with signs boasting about its elevation. It zoomed downwards, and my memories of Montana came back until I had low-grade PTSD about going downhill.  Only the thought of getting there and seeing Lewis kept me going. And it did get easier. Lewis landed in Hartford and went to the hotel and kept me company for the last little bit.  The rain poured and poured but NPR had a great interview with the guy who wrote the Phantom Tollbooth, with stories about how he met Jules Pfeiffer, the illustrator, and the story behind the book and Lewis got to the hotel and at a certain point when I was getting close he began reading me the menu from the hotel restaurant.  And I finally got there, at about 2130, stopped the truck at the Hartford Airport and got out to a tremendous hug.  We went and had seafood soup and a bison burger and compared stories of the past ten days.

In the morning, we got up and drove back to Brattleboro. I unloaded the truck, went to the storage locker, and contributed to Lewis’s happiness while he re-discovered his bits of life.  I thought about Rocky Crocker at that moment, who had tried so hard to get the things into Saskatchewan.  These things have had much effort devoted to them.

And, when I arrived, and possibly, I suspect, because I nearly fell of a mountain, he brought up again the idea of marriage. Lewis has asked me to marry him three times in the past years (I have three lovely rings, mostly from the Albuquerque airport, all with bits missing because the stones have fallen out).) We had it in mind as something to do one day maybe in the distant future. This night, he asked me to marry him specifically on December 11th. Apparently, he has been doing some planning. Apparently he has planned a party!

So, I said yes.

So Many Bungees

The Winter Count Hide

It was the last day of the road trip before I had to make tracks home, and I probably shouldn’t have, but even though I lost time to weather, I took the time to drive over to the Bear Tipi, the Matȟó Thípila, which is called Devil’s Tower by some. According to one perspective, it’s an ‘igneous intrusion or lacolith’.  It is the first thing to be designated a national monument in the US.  According to the Lakota story, either seven little girls or two small boys were being chased by a bear.  They prayed to creator to save them and he made the piece of land they were standing on rise up.. The bear reached up to try to get them, and his claws raked the sides (apparently the bear eventually came to rest on what is now Bear Butte). I went up to the monument and walked as far as you can go without filing with the park services, and left a little tobacco to say some prayers for father’s and sons. On a side note, there was black ice on the road and I had to go down the hill very slowly and by the way I am never ever ever going to go down a mountain that has black ice on it ever again. Ever.

It was an utterly gorgeous day, sunny and warm and the I90 was bone dry so I drove back through the beauty of Wyoming.  The saddest sight was the truck picking up the road kill deer that were all along the road. I have managed to miss all deer to date, including the dead ones that are often lying on the pavement. I have meanwhile seen a number of herds of deer beside the road, wondering whether to cross.  Don’t cross, deer!

The Road to Becky's II

My next stop was to check in with Becky.   I was feeling confident so I took the short cut that goes down highway 79-44 and somewhere, where the road said go straight, and there was no straight, and I took the paved road, I got lost. Wonderfully lost.  I stayed on the 44 and ended up going some way into the Badlands National Park and the grass range before turning back and finding the right road.  The right road led past Wounded Knee, so I stopped there to pay my respects.

The church at Wounded Knee

The site of the massacre at Wounded Knee

Becky!

I headed across the back road to Becky’s, and found her cooking up a feast for after the inipi that was to take place in her lodge out back.  We had wondered if Becky and Dallas could help teach the workshop on Native American healing at the APA Scientific Institute and she told us that she and Dallas and their friend Patrick, another counselor, would be pleased!  And, she said that she would help us connect with anyone who might be Lewis’s family. On account of losing the day to the ditch and the storm, I had one day less to get back, so I didn’t stay at Becky’s even though the temptation was considerable to stay for weeks and learn from her, but I had to obey the call of the road.  So I dragged myself away, heading east slightly sadly into the lonely night, finally stopped at around 11pm but I made up enough time that I have two 12 hour days instead of two 15 hour days.  So I pulled in at the Holiday Inn Express at O’Neill, Nebraska, the Irish Capital of Nebraska!

A quick post today, just so that yesterday doesn’t feel left out.  I got up bright and early, feeling much refreshed, did a little workout, mostly stretching and yoga, had a little breakfast, mostly scrambled eggs and berries. All they had was buffet. I was very restrained and took it up to my room to avoid temptation, but I did help myself to heaps of blueberries, because you’re allowed at a buffet.  Then I snagged a cart, which turned out to be well timed as when I was coming down in the elevator, with the boxes of sorted papers stacked high, people began asking me if they could come and wait for the cart. One particularly intense fellow was very determined to get it from me as quickly as possible, so I invited him to come with me and help tarp the truck. The reason for the zeal is that they all had to carry out the shopping that they did on Black Friday, the traditional 24hrs post turkey whopping discount offerings, so I didn’t feel that remorseful at holding him up an extra 5 minutes.  I didn’t want to put the boxes on the wet ground, is all.  In any case, I  wrapped the boxes in plastic bags, put important things like books and art in the cab, tarped over and hit the road. I’m going to take a picture of the tarped up truck, because I don’t mind telling you I did a good job.  There was only one flappy spot and after a bit of rope and a couple more bungees bought at the Town Pump road stop that was fine too.  I double tarped, so there are two layers.  I am a gooooood tarper upper.  I’m going to put that on the plus list.

I gassed up, and bought a tire gague and checked the pressure – all was well – and meanwhile, there was some clouding over so I decided now was time to hit the road.  Down the mountain I went. I owe you the names of all these places, these rivers and mountain ranges. I know I drove through Lone Pine State Park to get to Marion, that the Flathead reserve goes beside Flathead Lake, that the junction of the I90 near Missoula is near the Lolo State Park.  I know that the river along there is called the Clark Fork after that Clark, and the Lewis and Clark National Forest is what I drove through up the east side of Flathead Lake. I know that the I90 in that part of Montana used to be an Indian trail. But I need more geography, and more cosmology, so I owe you that. I promise.

Meanwhile, the drive was uneventful and again stunning.  I stopped at one place, the NInepipes Museum in Ninepipes, so named because Chief Ninepipes came from there. Everytime you made a successful coup you smoked a pipe. Four coups made you able to take a leadership position in the tribe, and he had 9.  The place had things that I have never seen, like a winter count hide, a beautifully painted hide with the events of life told on it.  I stopped there because a sign on the community hall said, “Save Our Museum.”  I decided that I ought to make an act of thanks to the local spirits, to thank them from allowing me to leave the mountain alive, and the mountain not keeping me there, so I paid double the entrance fee and visited them, then offered a little tobacco to the land.  I bet we go back there. I know Sheryl wants us to come, and it is a very beautiful part of the world. Another time, I would like to go see the Columbia Falls.

You don’t get much NPR around there.  The part of the dial that usually tunes them in, that bit between 87.1 and 91.5, is mostly songs about Jesus. I don’t mind Jesus, but he doesn’t talk much on the road and beyond his ‘it’s all about love’ message – no problem, I agree – he doesn’t seem to know much about world politics, cooking, gardening or the other things I rely on to feel like I’m being informed.  You get a lot of great country tunes, but after a few hours, say, five, a person might feel sorry enough about lost love, lost dogs, bad habits and dangerous seducers. Luckily, among the treasures I found in the storage locker was an unopened audio book of Star Trek Return!  I had never even seen that movie!  So buzzing down the mountain road in the dark I listened as William Shatner himself read aloud from the novel he wrote.

I had promised myself that I would stop at the battleground at Little Big Horn. It was pitch black and about 8pm when I got there, but I decided I couldn’t leave without a visit, so even though it was ‘closed’ (they shut off the visitor center at 4:30) and even though the sign said something about not going in that I didn’t quite catch because I went past the sign quickly, I drove out to the battleground, which is only a very little way off the highway.  I sat for a while in the dark, and invited the spirits of the area to visit, and told them I gave them respect. About five minutes later I had completely terrified myself in the dark and in the energy of the place, so I jumped back in the truck to find Sitting Bull in the back seat!  He told me he wanted a ride down the highway, because he didn’t get to do that much and it was so much faster than horseback.  He invited a few of his friends along.  We drove down with those guys whooping and hollering, talking about how great it was that every gas station calls itself a casino and they all have at least slot machines. There are shacks with ‘Casino’ written out front along the road all through that part of Montana.  He got a little quiet after that, so I started back the audio book, he liked it so much once he got a taste of Captain Kirk he made me start the whole thing over again from the beginning.

I crossed into Wyoming, and Sitting Bull left me at the border, though he scoffed at the idea of a border.  He said thank you, and gave me a grin and told me to keep my eyes out for signs. Stay alert, he said!

I had decided to drive for 12 hours, which meant that I wasn’t going to make Rapid City after all, but I did make Buffalo, Wyoming, which is apparently historic, though in the dark that doesn’t mean much. Road trip timing means I can’t wait, nor for the free breakfast, as I have places to go and promises to keep.  In any case, I gave myself a hot soak at the Holiday Inn Express ($57.00, thank you Hotwire) had a great night’s sleep and am now awake and about to hit the road, or Frappe la rue, as Sitting Bull said, squished in beside Lewis’s artwork and my suitcase, zooming past the countryside.

What’s a road trip without at least one obstacle. Lewis would comment that no one likes a story without any drama.

Sheryl Eaglewoman

I headed out early in the morning. I’m not a smart enough Vermonter to understand that when in Montana they issue warnings about slipperiness you ought to take heed, and in any case, we have 270 pounds of sand across the axle and studded snow tires.  The road to Marion gradually goes up a mountainside, with some ups and downs but basically up. I was going quite slowly, as is my way in the snow, and being passed by the confident Montana residents, so I sped up a little, hit a patch of black ice, swung around a few times and ended up in the ditch.   I was fine, the truck was fine (but for some bumper damage) and the friendly help arrived immediately. I didn’t even complete the call to CAA before three people had stopped, the last one with the gear to haul the truck out. “Welcome to Montana!” they said, cheerily attaching the tow line.

A little late, I drove (v e r y  s l o w l y) over to where Sheryl was waiting with a big hug.  I gave her the gifts, and we swiftly chucked the boxes into the back of the pick up so she could lock up and get to work.  The day broke, the sun came out, so I spent some quality time repacking and tarping before attempting the down slope.  I got to the top of the hill and stopped, suddenly terrified, but another friendly Montanan stopped and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I was petrified given what had happened and he was completely reassuring.  “The sun is out, it’s 34 degrees now, and they’ve been by with the stuff.  You’re going to be fine, just take it slow.”  Slow I did, but safely down.  Sheryl had invited me over for a cup of coffee, but I went to the hotel first, and ended up speaking with her on the phone to say our goodbyes.  It was a missed opportunity, but it would have meant arranging the stuff in the truck so it was driveable which would have taken a long time.  This is because in spite of the sun shining, the ominous black cloud hanging over the 93 highway, my route out of here, meant that it wasn’t safe to leave yet – the same conditions prevailed out there on the much higher mountains. SO,  I made it my project to go through the years of paper and reduce the load.  It was an excellent project for post-truck-in-ditchness waiting out the weather, and it took the rest of the afternoon.  I threw tons of out of date medical periodicals into the thoughtfully placed rubbish tip in back of the Hilton.  And in among the paperwork of life, I discovered some gems that made the trip worthwhile. Small things, gifts, artwork, research project reports and photographs that get to come home now.  I even found a letter from Sheryl Eaglewoman!  It turns out she had sent Lewis her book, and he had blurbed it without her even asking. She said she has been grateful ever since, and that is why she had no trouble holding those bits of his life together until he could collect them.

Meanwhile, I broke the shredder with documents that weren’t needed any more (2003 was a long time ago) and cut down the boxes by almost half.  I got rid of the very old toaster (we have one) the broken microwave and donated some kitchen supplies, a basket and a cat carrier, but kept anything that might be surprisingly precious to my true love  like his bundt cake pan – who am I to decide about his love for bundt cake and ability to make one at home?  (When questioned he said it was for making Yaqui Easter cake. We had a nice talk, me here and him in Hungary, probably spent more than we ought to have on our expensive long distance plan).

And I had the best Elk meat loaf I’ve ever had for dinner.

Now it’s morning and I’m going to head out.  I have some more prep to go, integrating the boxes of papers into the load on the back of the truck, throwing away the last of the garbage paper and tarping the truck down very very securely.  After that, fill the tires, gas it up and head out.  They say it’s brilliant sunshine today and surprisingly warm.  I have the chains available just in case, and a song in my heart.  Heading home!

Thanksgiving Day.  The roads were empty, but for a couple of trucks. I drove down the I90, dawn breaking behind me, the sky opening before me. Each turn redolent with history. The signs lured: the black hills, Mount Rushmore, caves, casinos, dinosaurs, views.  The scenery astonished me, silenced me. I turned off the radio. It’s just no match for Wyoming.

I was driving along the I90.  Every since I saw the movie Badlands I have wanted to travel in that area so there is something in this which is part of the poetry of life. The day obliges with more brilliant sunshine. There are scatterings of snow, but nothing that’s an impediment to swift progress. I pick up a couple of companions, people who smile and salute as we leap frog down the road. I stop for gas at the top of a mountain pass, and buy out their collection of local apples. The cashier was doing a two-hour shift to help with holiday coverage, and she offered me free maps of South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana. She knew the road and we briefly discussed the route. I went on my way. I stopped a couple of times, just overwhelmed, and attempted to record the glory on my cell phone camera. It can’t even come close.

I didn’t stop much, because I had to make time. I have an inflexible appointment with Sheryl Eaglewoman at 0730 Friday morning. She has been tending to Lewis’s things for the past 5 years, taking care of them patiently. She has to work on Friday so has a small window of time in between feeding her horses and getting to work.  Otherwise, we will have to wait until 6pm, so we select the earlier time. I have brought her some thank you things, nice organic chocolate bars and more maple syrup. I am to call her this evening to let her know that I have made it and can meet her. Meanwhile, it’s just a question of sitting back and enjoying the scenery.

I drove through Deadwood and Sundance, pass Inyan Kara, where the thunder spirits live, wind cave (where the people were lured into this surface world by Iktomi) and Devil’s Tower (better known as He Hota Paha, Grey Horn Butte, or by its casual name, Bear rock (because of the claw marks on its side). Meanwhile, oh my, the mountains and the big, big sky.  Yellowstone/Teton looms before me, and I realize that the Teton people were probably named at least partly because they knew how to negotiate those mountains. There seem to usually be practical reasons for things, and it strikes me, looking at those ridges, that you want to identify folks who are experienced at different terrain, know their way around the geography and cosmology of a certain region. Cosmology is science. It’s impossible to imagine that landscape purely as geology.  I drive past black and red Angus cows, horses and once a herd of deer, scuttling down the hillside to get to a water hole. Hawks and crows soar past and once, and eagle, resting on the up current, floated above the truck for a moment, before swooping off.

I buzzed across Wyoming, leaving behind promises to visit on the way home, and I crossed the mountains into Montana, straight onto the Crow land that boasts among other things free arrowheads to all visitors of the Little Bighorn battlefield (again, on the way back). Lots of horses roaming around the Crow land.

As I zoomed along I debated which road to take. The GPS was offering the sloping road from Helena across to Kalispell, while the map showed a probably saner route from Missoula north through the Flathead Reserve.   I was making such good time that I decided to take the smaller road, which goes along beside bits of the Missouri River, through Lewis and Clark National Park.  Again, the land rendered me speechless.  As night fell, I dug in for the last of the drive through the windy road by the river.  I avoided hitting creatures and fellow travelers, squinting through the windshield. The GPS said 15 hours to get to Kalispell from Becky’s, and that turned out to be true, plus an hour for stopping.  Except for a quick trip 20 miles west in the morning, it’s the end of my road. I couldn’t get any offers on Hotwire, and as I drove into town the first place I saw was the Hilton Garden Hotel. The price was fine ($99) and road weariness made me just plunk down the card (I figured at least I could add to our slowly gathering points).  Lewis and I agreed to speak in the morning, figuring the time difference. I called Sheryl and we made our plan, and I gratefully put in the wake up call for later than usual.  I’ll come back and get in a workout after I collect the gold.

Two days ago now I had the pleasure of meeting Becky Chief Eagle Three Stars.  Chief Eagle, as it turns out, is the last name of her new husband. Two years ago she met Dallas, at the time fixing up and selling cars, and she immediately recruited him to join her health care initiative as a role model and teacher of young men. Women are in hand, Becky days, but the high proportion of single mothers means that men are in urgent need of guidance.  Dallas is driven by his new mission, embracing it with passion. He has been working with the Mankind project, adding a Lakota angle. “It’s going to be big,” he tells me. “Bigger than gambling,” he smiles.  We agree that he better get a billboard, in that case. The billboards advertising the casino on Rosebud tower above the northern Nebraska road I drove in on. After the gps finally let me leave the I80, it was to take the 275, a road that cuts on an angle northwest through Nebraska through Long Pine and Antelope and Valentine until it comes out just south of Martin, SD, the town in between Rosebud and Pine Ridge. Becky lives in Batesland.  After gassing up in Martin I phoned her and she drove down to where the highway meets the gravel road to wait for me. I turned up in the big red truck, and she leaped out of her car to greet me with a big hug.  I began following her, and having assured herself that my big red (gas eating, she said) truck was handling the terrain ok, she took off at 60mph in a cloud of dust.  I tried to drive carefully but she was quickly losing me so I surrendered to the force and floored it.  After the second time I was airborn, the ‘fasten seatbelt light came on and stayed on, which seemed like an excellent command both literally and metaphorically.  After three hairpin bends, some rutted dried mud, we pulled in at her farm, scattering dogs around us, who leaped up to greet us both when we got out of the cars.  Becky grinned widely and ushered me inside.  Indoors were the beginnings of the intense holiday family gathering, with children from her new blended family, grandchildren and nephews, everyone teasing and laughing.  Becky had just been told that day that she is going to get a total knee replacement, but it didn’t stop her taking care of everyone. I gave her the cheese and the gallon jug of maple syrup and she threw back her head and laughed.  We immediately cut up some chunks of Vermont cheese, while Becky told her family about my thanksgiving plan to drive almost to the Canadian border, to Northwest Montana, to pick up Lewis’s long lost things. “What’s he got, gold bars?”  Dallas asked, wondering what was worth all this.  We agreed that we were gathering bits of life, and that it wasn’t a bad idea to do that.  And I was in the mood for a road trip.  Am I ever. The country across Nebraska was finally what I have been looking for. Putting the industrial strip behind me, I was driving through the giant golden landscape, the sky a stunning blue, the temperature a balmy 65f.  Even the officer who gave me the speed warning in Antelope, NB was so charmed by the day, the sun, my story that he let me off (I would have fought it, I was using the cruise control).  Becky quickly solved a problem, inviting me to drive her stepdaughter and local grade 8 valedictorian Delacina to her mother’s place in Rapid City in the morning. We agree to a 5am departure.

Back to Becky’s place.  With her family busy making dinner and Becky finally settled with her legs up on the sofa, she and I got to know each other. First she smudged, and asked me my birthdate.  She told me about the Stone Boy Women’s Society, which has been dissipated of late, with various members scattering to take care of their own health care. They have two groups, however, an 8-week parenting training and a healthy relationship training for young women. They do ceremony for quickening of the infants and her inipi out there at the farm holds 30.  “We’re sweating Friday night,” she said, glancing at me. I’d love to. I brought my dress and some towels, but there’s no way I can get back in time. Half an hour later, rubbing each others feet, it becomes clear that I am coming back through, once I pick up Lewis’s things, not least so we can go through them looking for that gold. I offer Coyote to help her do some research on her women’s groups, starting with MYMOP II (my medical outcomes) which is a very simple measure asking people to identify their worst symptom on a given day and tracking its progress.  It at the least provides some data. We talk for a while, and Becky forms a plan to connect Lewis with some people.

We eat dinner and the family gets down to games with the little ones, balancing monkeys on a tree, divets on a plastic plate, variations on tiddly winks, they laugh themselves hoarse.  Becky’s two daughters work on a name for the older one’s unborn boy, working through some Italian names they like before, they say, ‘we end up getting to Lakota names.” A little later, Dallas offers a treat, and we all go out to the barn, turn off the lights and fire up a new Charger that he has repaired. I hang out in the doorway with the twins, aged 4, who are a little nervous at the deafening roar of the motor but shriek delightedly once they realize that it isn’t heading towards them. We went back inside. I was going to play games, I really was, but I was sitting on the sofa, full of good food, and the next thing I new Becky was tucking in my feet and saying goodnight.  In the morning, I crept down to wake up ‘Cina, said farewell to a sleepy Becky and Dallas as they got up to take out the first of their turkeys, put in at 1am. We took off, avoiding cats and dogs and noting some of Becky’s ten horses posed in the brilliant moonlight. We drove along the short cut that cuts across Pine Ridge, saving some time for the long drive. I left my sleepy parcel at her mother’s and as the day broke in a line of pink behind me, took off across the badlands headed to Montana.

Lewis is in Hungary now. We spoke on the phone several times as he waited for planes, and we got a chance to say goodnight when he landed since we have rented a phone that works in Europe. We are allowed lots of texting but have to take care with speaking, but this first day it seemed ok to talk to each other. I spoke to him as I drove out of Rapid, liking the sound of his voice.

So, I was making really good time, even in a freezing downpour.  I worked out and left at a leisurely 10am after a nice hot bath and a great breakfast.  On the road, I enjoyed conversations with our friend Daniel, and the lovely Kit (who I am hoping to visit in Buffalo on the way back). I got to Chicago about 4:30, only 3 hrs away from my goal of somewhere between Iowa City and Des Moines.  And then, I reached an intersection. I had planned to take the I80, direct, straight, avoid Chicago.  But I suddenly had this deep feeling that I needed to take the I90. I think it was based on some kind of attraction to the landscape that the ‘photo’ option in Google Maps was showing me. The beautiful badlands where I have always wanted to go.  The I80, I reasoned, was going to be an industrial corridor.  Ugly.  So, at the crucial moment, where the I80 veered off to go around Chicago, I continued straight, thinking that if I just followed the signs to the I90 I would be out the other side in no time. I even changed my mind and got off the highway, only to feel the pull still to take the I90.  Lewis was on the other end of the phone, suggesting that less time on the road would be best, but the pull was mighty. So I90 I went. I wasn’t even deterred by the rain that intensified.

As soon as I made the decision, as soon as I was somewhere where there were no easy exits, the traffic slowed to a crawl, then stopped. For approximately 3  hrs.  The local NPR channel, besides informing me that good digestion seems linked to longevity (absorption of nutrition), that the failure of the Super Committee is strategic, that the republicans are divided about Pakistan and that Mick, Dave, Joss Stone and one of the Marley’s had a great time making an album (interview with Keith where he did a great Johnny Depp imitation), also let me know that the Chicago traffic was chaos, unbelievably backed up, up to 2 hrs in some places, 1hr 54 minutes to get from O’Hare, and never mind trying to get out of the city.  I didn’t know where I was, not enough to know alternate routes, and the gps stubbornly refused to lock in a signal.  So there I sat, in the downpour, crawling past 4 accidents  (none fatal) following the I90 signs.  Meanwhile, Lewis finished work and in order to avoid the snow that was coming in Vermont elected to leave to stay the night in Hartford.  He chatted with me while he packed, and then got in the car. This would be my old Camry (1994), where the heater takes about half an hour to begin to push out heat. Lewis is nobly driving that while I have his awesome red truck, (even in town, reasoning that if I am doing the errands I get to be warm).  The snow began falling as he drove so we traveled together through our respective precipitation. The GPS kicked in suddenly, and steered me back on the 294, until I noticed that, weirdly, I appeared to be going south. It then steered me to a road that was at least heading west, the I88, and that seemed right so I obediently followed it.  Lewis suggested that I find, like, a map, so when I got far enough out of the 5-lane rush of trucks, and the rain let up a little, I pulled over at an ‘oasis’ which had MacDonalds, Starbucks, Panda, Subway and a personal favorite, a collection of gumball and other candy vending machines.  I had two handfuls of peanut M and Ms and a banana, put some gas in the truck, then perused the map, only to discover that I was heading south west, and that in one hundred miles or so I would intersect with – the I80. At this point, I knew Coyote was traveling with me, so I stayed on the road, made a Hotwire reservation in Iowa City, (Holiday Inn Express in Coralville for $60).  Lewis kept me company along the way, enjoying a buffalo burger at the Sheraton restaurant at the Hartford airport while I traveled almost alone on the very straight road.  The speed limit around these parts is 70 which quickens things up. By the way, I’m not having a problem staying awake, thanks to the really excellent wake-up technology that you can get these days.  I’m a little hopped up on caffeine candies, 5-hr shots, ginseng tablets and regular liquid coffee, but I’m wide awake on the road.  So I continued.  I realized that the GPS, perhaps excited  by finding itself in wide open country, has gone back to the wild. As we drove, it intermittently found and lost the way, literally swinging in circles, suddenly telling me  to go east, or south, or north before kicking back in. I resisted its sense of adventure,  just stayed on the road, headed west.

I got here 14 hours after I left yesterday morning, and first thing printed out the map to Becky’s.  It’s only a 10 hour drive, but so was yesterday, officially. The lovely directions, filled with smiles and welcomes (“Just come in, if I’m not there someone will be!”) include  turning where I see a blue house, going right on the road with three mailboxes in front of it, and one mile over the hill past the white sign that says cars turn south. Then keep going until I see 10 horses. It’s possible that my feral GPS will be charmed by this way of traveling and will find the way, but I want to have back up. “Just arrive safe,” Becky says, “and we will meet and get to know one another.”

Lewis and I said goodnight. Lewis is off tomorrow to Hungary, so it won’t be so easy to have him hanging around. We are allowed to text and to have a total of 1 phone call per day, but the time difference will be 8 hours and he will be busy with workshops, visiting and working with one of the local farmers who is also a traditional healer. My goal is to get to Hartford by the time he gets back next Tuesday night.