The Summer that time stood still--Part 3 - On the road
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Navigating
The favored way to get to Montana is to drive US 2. This is called the Hi-line. Go North on I 94 to Fargo, then north on I 29. Just before Grand Forks, hang a left at US 2. This goes through some pretty rare counties, which means you will be like the pretty girl at the party—everyone wants to talk to you.
This is made easier by a little GPS unit connected to a cheap laptop purchased on eBay. Add a navigation program that shows me where I am, along with county lines. If you one of these new SUVs or most cars these days, I hear, you can get the same thing for only several thousand dollars.
Putting Counties on the air
So pretty soon you develop a pattern. Look for the next county on the map and watch for the road sign. When the sign flashes by, get on the air and announce where you are. There will be probably one station at least there ready to chat. Perhaps he is looking for a rare county down the road. Then, after information is exchanged (these particular conversations are quite short, consisting of just the basic information), there are likely a couple of other fellows. I suspect that there is an internet chat room at work here, because shortly there are ten, all calling you pretty much at once.
So after sorting through these, perhaps you shift to a different ham radio band, and do the process all over again. After maybe 8 or 15 minutes of intense radio activity, it dies off. Then, you are alone with the sound of road, your thoughts, magnificent scenery. Perhaps you hear another mobile in Upper Michigan, or Alabama, and you chime in there. But mostly the open road.
A certain quiet
No customers are calling, the kids are old enough now to do their own thing, no job hassles (since there is no job), divorced, not yet dating. Pretty quiet. And as a bonus, sometimes the cell phone doesn't work—no towers in sight. And you can see a long ways out there.
Occasionally, a ham will ask you if you are going to go to some nearby county. Nearby is truly a relative term. This could involve, for example, going up to state road 5 in North Dakota. Not a fast road, but some interesting scenery along the way.
In one trip out that way, I had decided to go to a rare county. It required going north on a paved state road for 20 miles. The road looked really quite new. The centerline fairly sparkled, no tire marks visible. At the top of one mild rise, there was a pheasant, sitting exactly on the middle stripe, just as if he owned this particular piece of the road.
The driving is punctuated by stops for food and gas. One thing about the Suburban is that it will go about 600 miles or more on a tank of gas if you drive carefully. My own personal tank requires attention somewhat more often than that.
Chouteau County
Several hours ahead lays Great Falls where Robbie will land. I pull off the highway onto a hill overlooking the road. The dirt road leads back across between fields. A seriously run-down shack sits beside the dirt trail. I face the Suburban back the way I came. I can see just a little stretch of the highway which is between two hills. I finish with the radio, telling the guys where I will be next.
I have driven about 1500 miles over the last few days, not in any particular hurry, choosing roads pretty much by impulse. Soon, I will pick Robbie up and we will drive to Conrad, where our small reunuion will start.
The sky is clear, the air not quite dry. Only an occasional huff of a breeze stirs the dusty road. How often might someone be driving along here? Most times of the year, I bet there are many days that no pickup or tractor goes by.
I sit with the doors open, the engine cooling engine ticking. I remember the end of the day spent on a diesel tractor. There is a particular roaring silence of the prarie that happens when the tractor is finally turned off for the day.
The grass is about six inches to a foot high, not lush, but at least green. Besides the occasional traffic on the highway below, only the occasional buzzing sound of a grasshopper punctuates the silence.
There is the realization that right now, I don't have to be anywhere at any particular time. Not pulled by the demanding schedule of wheat harvest, or software delivery or city routines.