Here’s the lowdown on the slowdown.
It’s about a bone-straight country road, flanked by legions of corn stalks grayed and at post-summer rest, their papery swords bent by the winds. It’s about faded metal water towers, all long neck and fat head, proudly mouthing small town names like Sun Prairie, Baraboo, and Jolley. It’s about soft peanut butter and jelly sandwiches assembled on a dusty gravel shoulder that smells of cow and dirt and is kind of nice. It’s about feet on the dashboard and wind in hair; about singing to the radio and sharing apples. John horse-gobbles them down to the core – my favorite part- which I then gnaw into a heart-shaped nub. Zelda studies quietly in the backseat. Weeds tumble across the road like feathers. Windmills tickle the horizon. Watching the views sprawl outside the car windows John says, “America’s just so fuckin’ big.” Z turns down the music and says, “I’m gonna write my history essay.” I say, “Good luck.”
Indiana, Illinois, Iowa. Heartland; hard land. The Wonder Wheels like the long flat roads, but not the occasional strong gusts. Strange how they can make a 5,000 pound trailer wobble and reel while the watching cows stand solid and, uh, un-mooved.
As we head west, chasing the sundown, I can’t help but feel like happiness is a road. Or a cloud. Or an old truck rusting in a field. Sometimes you need some space to feel small. To slice through stillness with a set of wheels and a pair of eyes. Tonight we’ll reach South Dakota. The West with its big beauty dangles like a tasty carrot, and the ache of anticipation is like waiting for a second kiss from the person who knocked you out with the first kiss. A little dizzying, a little scary, a lotta thrilling. I like it.
