Posted September 28, 2023: Rebooting my character from a 2017 road trip. I played Granny Furiosa because, in another life, I wish to be Charlize Theron. My trusty steed: Ghost, in 2017 a young Ford Focus, now aged, still running better than me.

And I can’t wait to get on the road again/On the road again/Goin’ places that I’ve never been/Seein’ things that I may never see again/And I can’t wait to get on the road again (I know…I know…I am compelled to share a few lines of road songs and river songs every time I travel this route. It’s been a few years though so perhaps you’ll forgive me. (And, thank you Willie, for the best of road songs!)

I can still recall/The wheat fields of St. Paul…Another tank of gas and back on the road again…(Lobo). Can’t seem to help myself.

Road Trip…Road Trip…Road Trip. One more for the road…so to speak. I actually didn’t think I’d take another long solitary road trip wandering through what most people seem to think is the blandest of landscapes…nowadays also known as MAGA-land. What if I just say, I love road trips…so why not? I’ve been doing a mix of shortish jaunts around Northern New Mexico and over the freeways to Sierra Vista, Arizona and I’m still a confident driver, a good driver actually. Probably helps that I love to drive. Even in a Ford Focus. Named Ghost. Although no 10-12-14 hour days on my agenda anymore, nor driving after dark. Also I am more easily turned around, east, west, that sort of thing. While I’ll happily fly into obscure places around the world and take buses, long-distance taxis and trains to Windhoek or Damascus or Timisoara, I can stay lost for, literally, hours in Rio Rancho, New Mexico.

I desperately need a NORTHERN AUTUMN, haven’t been to Minnesota to hang out in a couple of years, have the vacation and comp time, and need practice being a retired person—which in a few months I shall be.

I am beginning my journey in Albuquerque a short way from what this map claims as the boundaries of the Great Plains, going to South Dakota, smack dab in the middle of them, and then driving out of them when I hit my beloved Northwoods of Minnesota.

SO, you people who drive across the country listening to Siri or her cousin tell you when to turn right or left, this is a MAP. It shows you where-in-the-world you are. And if you peruse these things called maps you’ll see that you can choose your very own road and very own little sad towns to go through and your very own gas stations and McDonalds fish sandwich purveyors. Here’s a map showing the actual roads I’ve chosen. For no particular purpose other than being in charge of one’s destination/destiny/life/environment for a brief few hours here and there is good for the soul.

Here’s the outline of the first three days of my six-week or so Big Trip. Only the pink lines count at first.

Day 1: Leave Albuquerque around 8 am with Fig Newtons, maybe some dried beef sandwiches, two skim lattes. Play “Oh Brother.” I-25 to Springer and then two-lanes all the to Hugoton, Kansas—about eight hours. Never once in my whole life have I said, ‘Boy, I’d sure love to go to Hugoton,’ known for a big natural gas deposit and Bonnie and Clyde being in residence awhile. And now, here I am, all excited about arriving at that very spot this coming Saturday night.

Day 2: Hugoton to Grand Island, Nebraska. About 8 hours. Two-lanes all the way. Grand Island is on the Platte River Valley route of 80% of the world’s Sandhill Crane population.

Day 3: I arrive at cousin Marty’s in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Perhaps a 5 or 6 hour drive. BEST OF ALL, I get to cross the wide Missouri…singing all the way. It really is magnificent, one of those geographic sites I find fascinating and quite moving…in its pioneer history and the sheer beauty of the river, its green and pleasant banks, and the prairie beyond. “For seven years, I’ve been a-roamin’/Seven years I left the valley/Now I live just for my true love to see/A-roll, a-rollaree/Across the wide Missouri…(Kingston Trio)

I’ve upgraded my motel choices so I can be somewhat assured of a clean comfortable room that doesn’t smell like the cheapest of cleaning agents…and bikers aren’t staying there. I think the applicable phrase is “I’m getting persnickety in my old age.”

I don’t listen to book tapes or music, I ponder things. Think deep meaningful thoughts. Count ‘Jesus Saves’ signs. Feel the power of the Focus! I do think about history and geography and even politics a lot on my solitary drives. And take random photos of many-of the same old barns cows windmills abandoned-stuff the-occasional-lonesome-tree I’ve photographed the other tens of times I’ve crossed ‘the Great Plains.’ I really am going to be an environmental geographical historian in my next life.

See you Saturday night from beautiful downtown Hugoton.