Coming at you from I-90W in the wide open state of South Dakota. Home of more than a few independently run burger joints specializing in buffalo. Haven’t seen any Thai places. But more appropriately, host to the Badlands – a vast stretch of rugged natural Western beauty . . . the kind of deceptive beauty responsible for the slow dry deaths of more than a few cowboys, pioneers, hapless Native Americans, and any number of handsome and totally serviceable horses back in the day. Of that I’m 100% certain. Don’t need a textbook or Google site to confirm what appears very much obvious. But that’s all right. Even the buzzards and four-legged predators need variety in their diets to stave off the boredom of the everyday.
Kind of like this road trip. This two-day, 22+ hour odyssey necessary to properly break-in this here gas-guzzling, wonderfully capacious (fully-stocked oversized cooler, multiple full-sized suitcases, two lamps and shades headed for Aunt Marie’s, laptops, book bags, a selection of dry snacks, CD’s and DVD’s, camera, iPhones, purses, blankets, pillows, 3 bottles of sparkling Rose, not to mention the four grown bodies and accompanying egos with all their requirements manning the thing!) 1995 gently-used GMC Yukon. A journey necessary to convey us from point A, Murfreesboro, Tennessee, to point B, Gillette, Wyoming. Most likely one of the final family road trips – already short one kid though she checks in via text – for this maturing Valdez Bunch. So, necessary in that regard, too.
Staring down the last 4 hours of this trek, it is fair to say that boredom may indeed stir in the breasts of my two fruit-of-the-womb (yeah, I’ve used that a time or two, but it’s a splendid phrase which screams to be exercised with some frequency) sprawled in the back seat of aforementioned cottage-on-wheels. But, I guarantee it is NOT of the everyday ordinary variety. Can they create a dot-to-dot with windshield bug splats at home? I think NOT! And, punctuations of glee, impromptu wrestling, assorted candies and salties, Facebook status postings, and semi-truck honk solicitations, have filled the in-betweens quite nicely.
I also guarantee that our olfactory senses have been mightily challenged by the negative workings of travel food on the digestive system of one in our midst within the enclosed space. (No names, but it ISN’T me!) There’s no escape. No way to flee, gasping, arms flapping wildly as the offender is cursed back to his grandmama. (Is there a clue here?) Holding one’s breath has limited effectiveness. Especially with rapid and multiple silent incidents. Ah, add that to the modes of modern deaths on the Badlands. Who knows what corrosive effect the gaseous substance might have on the transmission? Another steed down. It has been the subject of mild outrage – oxymoron? nope! not if one has three teen-types – for some in our ranks. No pun intended. It’s got me to wondering if high school debate has ever entertained this as a topic. From my experience, kids take to the subject like a fly to doggie doo. (Another stinkiness constantly cropping – I did say ‘crop’ – up in my existence.) The sensory enhancement of odor only adds to the overall enjoyment of the two-sided discussion.
I do believe I’ve killed (a theme in this entry) another hour in the writing. You’ve maybe knocked off a few brain cells reading this. And, my bladder is dying a slow death to the lack of gas stations in the immediate area. My concentration, if that is indeed what this poly-syllabic string of words can be considered, is shot. Besides, the Badlands Trading Post has a soft-serve ice cream logo on their door. Mama needs some for her tum-tum.
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