Monday, June 11, 2018
Topic: Landscape
Author: Aaron Collins
Last
September, my wife, my father-in-law, and I drove from Phoenix, Arizona to
Cincinnati, OH. Joe had fixed up a 2007 Volvo “Something” that I’m not sure
where he acquired. The car was ours as long as we could get it over to Arizona,
pick it up, and drive it home. Joe wanted to come with us just in case
something happened with the car along the way. I’m glad that he came with us
because some of the stretches of road were some of the longest and loneliest I’d
ever experienced. Normally, Joe said, he’d drive through New Mexico, Texas, and
then up through Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and into Ohio. But I
suggested we should go a different way so we could see more of Colorado. I was
picturing mountainous vistas, which there were for a minute, but that changed
quickly. Turns out, the bottom left corner of Colorado into Kansas is the
forgotten abyss of America. There were stretches for fifty miles or more that
did not veer or curve in the slightest, where you could see no livestock, no trees,
buildings or people. I didn’t understand this at first, but this caused me a
great deal of anxiety. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe our continent was
like the universe; mostly wilderness and expanse peppered with civilization
here and there. Or more like extremely dense populated areas sandwiching a
great scar of a void in the middle. It was beautiful and scary to me. I suppose
some of the fear was generated from feeling overwhelmed by the lack of stimuli
on the horizon. I just couldn’t fathom the…space. So much space. This went on
for quite some time. At some point we did hit a gas station which was like an
oasis. You had to wonder WHO THE HELL LIVES OUT HERE! There was a hand written
sign for a rodeo party on of the telephone poles out sign and a farm in the
distance with two or three cows grazing. The woman at the counter in the gas
station had this look about her, like she was from the past. They had Keurig though
and I made myself some coffee and then we drove on for most of the day through
similar stretches of nothingness until we reached Missouri which was actually a
relief. There were trees and businesses and people. My anxiety retreated.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I had a similar reaction driving through the Utah salt flats west of Salt Lake City. At least in the Kansas stretch there are corn, cows, and the stuff like the largest ball of twine in America. But in UT, there was nothing. It reminded me of those old cartoons where Bugs or somebody would get lost in the desert and the cow skulls would start talking to them...
ReplyDeleteIt can be quite disconcerting to confront the massive amount of space out there - 4 days crossing the open ocean can do it to - but in the end I find such experiences help me with a proper sense of perspective.
Ahhh the moment when you realize eastern Colorado is really just a 200 mile extension of flat dry western Kansas. All of Colorado’s PR just focuses on the purple mountain majesty of the western part of the state.
ReplyDeleteI had a similar eerie feeling when I witnessed an auto accident (see my account of it on this blog under the topic "An Accident") out in the middle of what seem to be nowhere to me--route 68 near Xenia. Nothing compared to the empty expanse you encountered. When I'm driving somewhere remote I always think to myself what it would be like to actually live there. Good topic too btw, although I've got nothing for "landscape" yet.
ReplyDelete