Josh KimballSTORY AND PHOTOS T
he simple truth of the matter was just that the road was there, and I’d never done it before. So somewhat compulsively and not thinking too hard about gas prices or impending credit card debt, the car was soon packed with boards and tents and cameras. Soon the Central California sum- mer gloom receded in the rearview as the buzz of 20,000 kilometers to come raised hairs on end. I sat transfi xed, senses prepared for the endless set of bizarre and fan- tastic sights on the immense American concrete stream, where I had a feeling a good wave waited in some strange place on the other end.
As the road began its transcontinental blur, soon the coastal wine region became the fertile San Joaquin Valley, which became the high desert, which became that huge vacuum of electricity called Las Vegas, begging me to stop and play and lose. But the trip had just begun, and I knew I could blow the whole budget on a spin of the roulette wheel or some other devious method of fi nancial doom.
A dose of relief soon came as Sin City rocketed past the window, and desert mountains faded from pinks to purples and fi nally became pin-pricked starry night. Zion National park emerged with towering rock cliffs under the blanket of night. Once shooting stars ceased visibility with the come of daybreak, the palette of the mountains’ red, orange and yellow on all sides beamed out. And while I wanted to stay a little longer, the timeline was set, and the longest drive had only just begun.
The following morning set in, and a detour took me north through Utah, past Salt Lake City, and on up into Idaho. After a quick rest, the road shot 10 hours further north to an Indian reservation in Northern Montana with lots of decaying houses and visible poverty and plenty of American corporate chain stores. Minutes from the depressing reservation, a stark contrast and bizarre juxtaposition emerged with Glacier National Park, and its giant peaks that could have just as well been the Ti- betan Himalayas if one didn’t know better.
The descent from there is where I began to head east for the long haul, for the incessant plains of America and all the fun sights to see: The cowpokes in ten gallon hats that refuse to have doors opened for them by ladies; the bumper stickers reading things like, “My girl may leave, but I can always depend on my truck;” the countless homemade and hand-painted highway billboards that show fake blood dripping and crucifi xes here and there announcing the evils of abortion.
Finally the endless fi elds of corn and hard-core, ultra- right-wing Christianity vacated my rearview mirror as night began to set in over the steely Chicago skyline. After a quick Cubs baseball game, the car’s snout pointed east, and then clean through Indiana and Ohio, eagerly seeking out and anticipating New York City. Pennsylva- nian Appalachians fl ew in a blur, as did anonymous New Jersey until at last the Empire State Building spiked the heavens off in the distance. And then the Atlantic which fl anked Manhattan, and like a dream, the continent had
February 2008
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Local heavy with something to chew on.
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