Wow. I'm Really Doing This.

I was up at 5 this morning at my Dad's house in Bozeman checking the Wyoming road report. When it became apparent that I could not get a new car battery until at least 8am, I got up and started playing the Espana, which drew Dad out of his room almost immediately. We chatted for a bit, and then went outside and spent a half hour shoveling the 8 inches of snow from the driveway that had fallen overnight. I was really glad to get the workout since I knew I had 2600 miles ahead of me yet.

By 7:38 the driveway was done and I was off to Walmart for a battery, trailed by C.R. in the Yoter. I HATE being behind schedule, and I'm not going to miss my date on New Year's Eve. The boys at the shop were all friendly, and I'm sure were glad to have the cookies that I left them. I had four dozen. I can't eat that many before they go bad.

Across town, I stopped at another friend's house to say goodbye and made my way back to Dad's for breakfast and to load up my guitars. It was hard to make room for the newest addition, but it happened.

Dead set on getting to Casper, WY by the end of the day, I hit I-90 East and after I got over the Bozeman Pass, the roads seemed to clear up...or did they?


Above is Crazy Peak, just northeast of Livingston, MT.

Hmmm...it seemed to be getting windy as I approached Billings...


And this next photo is what I was driving through as I-90 turned South. Amazing what one little degree of lattitude can do, isn't it?

It was at this point in the drive that I realized the gravity of this situation. I'm driving across the United States of America, away from everything I know, alone, but armed with the past. It was at this point in the drive that each lesson my dad ever taught me about surviving winter storms in the West became a priceless antiquity among my many memories.
It was at this point in the drive that I felt relieved to have in the passenger seat: water, headlamp, shovel, heavy-duty gloves, matches, food, and an atlas.
It was at this point in the drive that I thought: "Wow. I'm really doing this."

I almost started hyperventolating, but reminded myself that I had everything I needed, that there were other people on the road, and that Hardin was just up ahead. I decided that I could survive the next 15 miles, top off my gas tank, use a ladies' room, and snag a road report before I went on.

As I pulled into Hardin, the 18-wheeler in front of me got stuck and I had to wait for ten minutes while he jeed and hawed, and before he was even clear, some guy behind me was blaring his horn for me to move out of the way pronto. I introduced him to the state bird and pulled into the Conoco to fuel up. I used their restroom and talked to the clerk for a minute or two. She informed me that a semi had flipped onto its side just down the road and that she wouldn't travel if she were me. And I'd have to go across the street to the Sinclair, because their gas was frozen. At the Sinclair, I filled up and got the same story from their Clerk. The woman buying fourteen lottery tickets had just come from Sheridan and said the road might be closing soon.

You know, cell phones, car chargers, and the internet are each pretty awesome, but in a trinity, their powers become priceless. I was able to call my Dad, have him look up the Wyoming road report and storm report online and tell me what the storm was doing.
"Well, it looks like you're right in the middle of where all the cloud cover is."
Great.
I wanted so badly to get to Casper tonight! That "Arrive Alive" slogan kept running through my head though, and I just had a bad gut feeling about getting back out in the whiteout. Nobody seemed to be pulling on to the interstate. The weather was supposed to blow over in the morning, so I booked a room in Hardin and decided to gamble my life another day. I've got too much to do to wind up in a ditch. I know some people already had in the early afternoon. My number had a much greater chance of coming up than that woman's fourteen lottery tickets had of winning. At the motel, they booked me in a room with no sheets, so I chatted with the housekeeper, Lisa for about ten minutes. She had gone to U.M. in Missoula for a couple semesters, and was content to talk Missoula for a bit. As soon as she left, I drew up a bath and unwound from the last couple of days.

When I got out of the bath, I was interrupted by the groundskeeper banging on my door asking me to move my car so that they could plow the parking lot again. It wasn't a big deal, but I was so happily relaxed and less than ecstatic about jamming my feet into wet tennis shoes and shuffling out into the beastly weather again. When I got back in, I started the blog page, and I'm going to restring the Espana now before bed. Hope the roads are better in the morning and I can get out of this storm.

It's 70 degrees in Nashville right now.

Remember that saying about grass being greener on someone else's lawn? I'm definately on the fence right now, and I'd gladly rather be at home or in Nashville than wishing for clear weather in Hardin, but hey, at least I've got guitars...



Thanks, Dad, and Mel, and Claude - I'm playin' for you too!