militia, tornado, antler, child

So now I'm writing from Belle Fourche, South Dakota, only I'm not really writing, I'm more just telling my mother I'm alive.

So if you are my mother you can stop reading now and continue on with your day.

For the rest of you, I want to tell you that I chose to drive the long, empty swath of the North Cheyenne Reservation long after dark, and decided in retrospect it may not have been the most relaxing choice. Bucks with enormous antlers roamed the sides of the road, hundreds of them. They looked slowly up as I passed, so close to my side mirrors that I could see their big lips moving up and down as they chewed. The look on their faces was that of such strong indifference it seemed almost aggressive, although that is a linguistic impossibility.

My fears for this particular route could so far be summed up like this: militia men, militia men, militia men, tornadoes, tornadoes, tornadoes, and certain neighborhoods of Chicago. I'd like to update that compendium to include a curious or perhaps nefarious deer in Wyoming that extends its hoof into the highway, causing a bloody derailment and my swift but agonizing death by antler bone right through the coronary artery.

Also, mysterious night children.

Because as I was thinking about the deer and the antler in the heart, I passed a row of police cars on the shoulder with their lights flashing red and blue and a mob of children, all without shirts, running up the road at full speed, pairs and pairs of brown legs flashing by as I slowed to a reluctant crawl.

Between that and the antlers and the heat lighting shimmering around us in all directions I decided that my parents were right and I should have stopped for the night at a decent hour.

But with no choice now, no gas or hotel, I drove another 150 miles, passed three giant Halliburton factories, white walls, white tubes, white light, white steam churning into the sky, and I finally saw the lights of a sprawling town in the distance, population 5,026. Never has their been a traveler more grateful to be in Belle Fourche, South Dakota.

Especially since I've never been to South Dakota. Now all that's left is the other Dakota, and I'll have been to all of the lower 48 as well as Alaska. As for Hawaii, I've given up on that. Hawaii is where perfectly happy people go on their vacations with their perfectly lovely partners, and I'm too busy yanking the bone out of my chest to get involved with such things.