Farewell Fort Collins!
Blink and you almost miss it.
The pretty grid of streets becomes farmland in less than fifteen minutes.
Hit the freeway.
The mountains recede in the rear view mirror and,
Welcome to Wyoming!
The land becomes flatter
Until there is nothing but flat green to the distant horizon.
Welcome to Nebraska!
Mother Mary at the border.
Endless fields punctuated by giant horizontal, triangular sprinklers
Large metal silos and water towers
Herds of cattle
The occasional horse.
Trains snake their way along tracks in the distance.
Clusters of trees denote houses. Long dusty driveways trail from the house and run parallel to the freeway.
State-sponsored rest-stops with spotless restrooms and vending machines selling candy and soda.
Funky tasting water from the water fountains.
Outside, wind-blown picnic tables sit empty
Signs detail generic area histories.
The Native Americans...
The white “pioneers” and “settlers” ...
Electricity
“Progress”
Imagine traveling through here before asphalt and gas stations and water towers?!
Drive past Lincoln: Capital of Nebraska. President of the USA. Memorial in Washington. Library block and blue “house” at my high school in Sydney (Sydney, Australia - not Sidney, Wyoming).
We zip down the freeway.
Who organizes these endless fields? Switches on the sprinklers? Surveys the land?
Who creates the timetables of those long trains that chug through the landscape?
Or can sometimes be seen sitting still in the middle of nowhere. Where is the driver?
The network of gas stations. The people who staff them.
The road. The road. The road.
Puffy white clouds create patterns of sun and shade over the fields
Head towards darker clouds, and then, hard driving rain on the windshield.
Pass through.
More road, more fields, more clouds.
Wire fences and tilled land as far as the eye can see
Wide open spaces.
Road kill. Religious billboards. And gas stations.
Signs for Kansas City (everything’s up t’ date in...!)
The bridge with the monument and winged horses.
The bridge with the metal and corrugated iron sailing ships.
Welcome to Iowa!
Immediately after the border, the landscape begins to undulate.
We have been on the road for 9 hours.
We pull into Minden, Iowa.
(Min-den? Or Mind-en?)
Outside the Country General Store, a sun-faded sign
You are stomping into Minden!
With a couple standing in a bucket of grapes. There are cut-out spaces for heads and hands. Touristy. Gimmicky. Hilarious.
Travel down the road.
A cemetery lined with red, white, and blue flags.
It seems almost festive, all that color and movement
Flags waving in the wind.
Follow the road and arrows pointing to the motel and
“Central Business District”
Our road and two others converge on the war memorial
A sculptured
Over-sized American eagle, bronzed and bedecked in stars
Sternly stares down Main St
The one-storey motel, ex-legion’s club, community hall, post office, bank, and
Church
All look on in respect.
Further east down the road
A meat-packing and processing facility is bordered by the drug store,
The grocery store sits opposite.
Neat houses with trim lawns and brightly colored pin wheels stand almost regimentally down the street.
West of the memorial -
The fire station/mayor’s office
And more houses
Beyond Main Street, the world is fields of green and metal silos.
The motel is currently staffed by an obese older man.
He breathes heavily. The manager is at the movies with her boyfriend.
He takes us down to our room.
Here you go. Leave that switch on, it’s connected to the fridge. Shower in there. We have cable. 450 channels. We have wifi, I think. Not sure how to work it. I don’t have a computer. Enjoy your stay.
He shuffles back down the hallway. The effort is immense.
We seek out dinner. The grocery store is closed. The manager has returned. Marin. She is Egyptian. How did she end up in Minden, Iowa?
Marin of Minden offers frozen dinners - Salisbury steak with corn and mash.
The hippies, formerly of Fort Collins, who have cooked farmer’s market meals seven days a week for the past six months, try not to recoil rudely in fear of microwave food stuffs.
One dollar only! I make no profit!
We smile. Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.
She looks at me curiously, processing this foreign term, vegetarian.
Ah! I have olives! And crackers? It’s Sunday. Everything closed! But, gas station, just down the road!
Apologetic thank you’s, and we head back to the car.
I love you! Marin calls out.
I eat granola for dinner. Damn hippies!
In the morning, it’s back on the road.
Count the road kill. Count the religious billboards. Count the gas stations.
The big move east,
We’re on our way.
Lu, this is my favourite post of yours so far. I can't wait to read about the rest of your adventures! :)
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