The first night, somewhere outside of the badlands of South Dakota, we found ourselves in the middle of a storm unlike anything any of us had ever seen: Lightning in nearly every direction without the faintest sound of thunder or the smallest hint of wind or rain. The strikes were primarily snapping between clouds as though entirely disinterested in earth, their hues fluctuating between blue-ish white and “red in tooth and claw”, as the poem goes. From time to time two bolts would meet to form a jagged circle, a sort of meteorological geometry that defied all reason.
This continued for nearly an hour before we felt our car shift, pushed abruptly by a sudden gust of wind as the first drops of rain tapped our windshield: A prelude before a deluge erupted all around us. We struggled to see, put on blinkers, and pulled to the side of an expressway while a chorus of hail bounced off of our car.
The next night we found ourselves driving over a 10,000-foot mountain with precarious cliffs just before sunset, and then were safely back to the bottom when darkness fell. We could see little around us on these light-less, mostly empty roads – aside from the herds of antelope and deer that wandered dangerously close to our path. We slowed our pace as the southern sky became pitch black and the northern sky lit up with nature’s fireworks. For the first time ever, somewhere between Bighorn and Cody, Wyoming, we saw aurora borealis someplace other than our usual spot along Lake Michigan. There was zero light pollution: Just a car full of weary travelers and this beautiful gift of sky. Fuel for the soul.
The following night, July 4th, we were once again on unfamiliar roads much later than we’d wanted to be. But this time, as we approached Missoula, Montana, we were welcomed with multiple fireworks shows by the few homesteads that exist along this stretch of highway. And then once in the city, Missoula’s official show danced over our shoulder as we unloaded our car and crawled into bed.
By the next night, we’d reached the Pacific coast and the welcoming home of friends. There were board games and homecooked meals after 3 days of “car food”, and for the first time ever our kid got to see (and dip her toes into) an ocean. It was another couple days before the return trip – and with it another set of adventures – but somewhere in-between departure and return, we each got to spend time with the sort of childhood friends you keep for life. We saw beautiful fields full of bison, moose, antelope, prairie dogs and sheep; and shorelines speckled with seals. We drove into the Black Hills to get a distant view of Mt. Rushmore (unfortunately closed the day of our visit), and in the process met many kind locals – and a man who’d traveled by motorcycle from Argentina to Alaska (and was on his way back down). We explored Devil’s Tower, Seattle, and the wonders of Yellowstone.
We didn’t get to see and do everything on our list, but the roads that cross two-thirds the width of this nation can lead to many twists and turns. Most good, some bad, but all of them prompting our daughter to jokingly state, on repeat, our trip’s most popular refrain:
This will be one to tell the kids.
