The State I’m In

At some point yesterday, I became convinced Nebraska wasn’t a place so much as a mental condition I was experiencing. Like most of my mental problems, I was determined to ignore this one until it went away.

It didn’t, really. In fact, I think it got worse. I’m pretty sure I was seeing signs for Godfather’s Pizza, the chain founded by once-presidential candidate and always-disturbing, Herman Cain. We don’t have Godfather’s Pizza in Pittsburgh, and I’d never encountered any signs of the chain in any of my travels anywhere before. Yesterday I realized that the only logical place for me to finally find evidence of it was Nebraska. The last few hundred miles of the state were pretty much the driving equivalent of watching that creepy Herman Cain slow-smile commercial. In even slower slow-motion.

I told myself I would not try to make it into Wyoming.

Once in Wyoming, I received something I’d not had the entire trip: a tailwind. It was suddenly quiet and a little eerie. After 1500 miles, the winds had finally quit leaning on my windshield and decided to help. At first I figured Herman Cain Nebraska hallucinations had broken me, and I was headed in the wrong direction, but clearly I was still headed west.

Wyoming should really have a “welcome” sign that reads: “Wyoming: Now Harden the Fuck Up.” Literally, the minute you cross the line, the road goes to total shit–some sort of undulating slabs of pavement thing that, in a full-loaded Subaru with five bikes just on the outside, is extremely unpleasant to hit at 80-miles an hour. If Nebraska had toyed with my mind, Wyoming was more interested in wrecking my car.

Trip Advisor showed me a ton of places to stay in Cheyenne, so I figured I’d tough it out the sixty or so miles there, after deciding on a nice looking virtual hotel with great rates and safe-looking parking. Apps are so great. The hotel never showed up on any road signs, though, and you realize you’re past Cheyenne when you’re climbing a mountain in total darkness with absolutely no signs of life, save for the random headlights that seem to be headed toward you. Apparently there are roads that run along the highway at odd angles. I may never know what the mountain just west of Cheyenne looks like, but it was a unique experience to encounter very late at night after something like eight hundred miles of driving.

I ended up in Laramie, which I like a lot. There aren’t many Old West towns with multiple sushi and vegan places, but the guest directory at the Comfort Inn here suggests Laramie is one. Applebee’s was still open and semi-raucous, even, with hip-hop pumping through the whole building.

I wrapped up the day eating a burger and catching up on some work, while the Applebee’s speakers were a bumpin’. Eyes on Idaho. Looking forward to some forests again. Time to load up.