What a Country!

My Pierre Friends Mel and Jason

Linda Burton posting from Denver, Colorado – It’s my last day in Denver, a day I’ll use to summarize. The Journey Across America is now thirty percent complete! That’s right; fifteen capital cities visited, enjoyed, and lived in. I’ve encountered some surprises that didn’t match my plan, such as temperatures over a hundred degrees – I thought I’d be far enough north to avoid that in August! But the Dakotas did me in: Bismarck 105, Pierre 103. And I didn’t plan for Alex Cat to nearly die on me, or to get sick myself, but hey, our bodies falter, every now and then; we’re better now. I had an interesting thought as I came east across the Continental Divide into Helena, Montana, capital city number eleven. It occurred to me that only nine capital cities lie west of the Divide, and I’ve now been to all of them. I’ve lived in Phoenix, Sacramento, Carson City, Salt Lake City, Boise, Salem, Honolulu, Olympia, and Juneau. And I’m amazed that so much of the land, and the resources, that make up our country is found in a rather small number of states. Think of it. » read more

Going Wild

Linda Burton posting from Helena, Montana – Montana is big. 94,109,542 acres big, to be precise. It is a state of riches, overflowing with nature’s generosity. And since the passage of the Wilderness Protection Act of 1964, signed into law by Lyndon Johnson, 3,443,038 acres of that land (about 3.7%) have become designated wilderness areas. Enthralled by the landscape around me, I’m getting information from the Montana Wilderness Association (MWA). Headquartered in Helena, the organization was founded in 1958 by Ken and Florence Baldwin; it was the nation’s first state organization concerned with wilderness preservation and the management of public lands. This nonprofit’s mission is “to protect Montana’s wilderness heritage, quiet beauty and outdoor traditions, now and for future generations.” The ensuing years have seen coalitions and controversies, lawsuits and victories. In 1964 some of Montana’s best-known wilderness areas were designated – Bob Marshall, Cabinet Mountains, Gates of the Mountains, Selway-Bitterroot, and Anaconda-Pintler. By 1978 the Lincoln-Scapegoat, Great Bear, Rattlesnake, Absaroka-Beartooth, Mission Mountains, Welcome Creek, UL Bend, Medicine Lake, and Red Rock Lakes areas were added; more campaigns continue. » read more

Rocky Mountain Roads

Linda Burton posting from Helena, Montana – Just an ordinary day in the life of a cross-country traveler. I crossed Clark Fork sixteen times, was slowed by orange road-work cones seven times, stopped for gas two times, and observed a smashed-to-pieces motorhome one time. Actually I saw the smash-up twice – once on the freeway at the scene of the “incident” (as the Montana temporary highway markers defined it); later when stopped at the St Regis Travel Plaza (where they serve huckleberry shakes). A truck hauled a piece of it in; I shivered at the sight, a shambles of dangling wiring, a sink poised in the upper corner as it lay pitifully on its side. What happened to the people? What happened to their dishes? What happened to their plans? Were they headed cross-country like me, or did they just want to spend a week parked by the creek, fishing peacefully? I gave a pat to my sturdy Scion, thankful we were safe.  » read more

Times Three

Linda Burton posting from Sierra Vista, Arizona while traveling from Austin, Texas to Phoenix, Arizona— I wake up on Central Daylight Time. Bright sun shadows the face of the Sierra Diablos across the street. The car is loaded by 7:23; I see I’m almost out of gas. One stop, and then we’re on the road. An elevation climb, my ears can feel the pressure change, we’re going through a pass. A sign announces “Mountain Time.” I’ve gained an hour. But I’m still in Texas, will be for a long, long while. The limit is 80 mph, I do not hesitate, I fly.

The Eagle Mountains to my left, the Quitman’s too; the Finlay’s to my right. Peaks are 7,000 feet, wide valleys flatten out between. The GPS begins to show a darkened spot, a thick line very near the little car that mimics me. I stop and check the map; yes, Mexico is just there to my left, I know the Rio Grande is flowing there, the border mark.

Traffic thickens, El Paso drawing near, with Juarez on the other side, a troubled city, always in the news. Murder Capital of the World, they say. I need more gas, but everything is tense, so many lanes, so many curves, I wait, to come out on the other side. A break somewhere past the UTEP sign, a gorgeous mall, set high up in the hills. I’ve been driving for a long, long time.

And then I’m in New Mexico. The pavement changes, smooth, the lanes are wide, a sign assures you of a safety zone. Enchanted land, brilliant color, yellow flowers blooming in white sands. The Continental Divide! I stop to get a picture, close, I was here so many years ago, when kids were young. Now I have cats. Jack yawns in boredom, a wild-eyed panther look. “We’re really in the west,” I say, “where you were born.” There is nothing anywhere but souvenirs; gas is 20 miles ahead, they say. Los Cruces is a US Customs stop; the Border Dog doesn’t sniff my car.

Keep driving. Arizona next. The road looks old, worn out. I gain another hour. No sign announces, but I know, Arizona doesn’t favor Daylight time. Three time zones in one day for me. The headwind pushes back against the car; the freeway signs flash “Dust storms just ahead, pull off the road when you can’t see.” In the distance I see swirls, I am gone before they get to me.

I’m tired. I want to stop. Nature take some pity then, rewards me with its awesome sights; Texas Canyon has huge boulders like I’ve never seen. I know that I can make it now, and sure enough, the sign appears where I’m supposed to turn. I’m headed southward now, where family waits for me.

All’s well, except I’m not quite sure what time it is.