Catchin' Crickets

Day 33: Sunday, August 8, 2010

Drive from Wyoming to Fort Robinson, Nebraska

We finally see pronghorn!

The drive through Wyoming into South Dakota was utterly stunning. To actually see that fiery auburn-colored rock, lined with various striations, lining the sides of the freeway was incredible. I had to stop the car to collect myself, my body had just exploded with glee. And everyone was just driving by and walking around and living, taking that luscious rock for granted. At one point, we even saw a small dilapidated wooden building coming out of a red rock outcropping, in the middle of a town. And that was just considered normal.

After nearly a full day of driving, we stopped at a rest stop in the middle of Wyoming to recuperate and rehydrate. The sunset over the neighboring fields was beckoning to me, so I raced barefoot over to the fence to capture the sight on camera. I never wanted to forget the incredible beauty of that moment, the utter perfection in the everyday. It leaves me speechless to realize that sunsets happen every single day in almost every part of the world--and yet each one is so unique and startling in its own way. The entire atmosphere is a palette of colors for the Creator.

As I was admiring the stark colors and the silence between the roar of the big rigs whizzing by, I happened to realize that with every step I took in the grass, a dozen or so small things leaped into the air to settle elsewhere in the grass, only to be disrupted by another step. The specks were crickets--dozens upon dozens of crickets! I sped across the field to the car and grabbed Matthew, urging him over to the fence, promising him a grand surprise. Soon he and I were alternately stomping and creeping in the grasses, trying to sneak a closer look at the wary insects.

A man called over to us: "Catchin' crickets?" He walked over with his wife, her mother, and their two daughters to join in the fun. We got to talking, and learned they were from Chicago, visiting the wife's family in South Dakota. They had just come from Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse and they reported the places utterly mobbed...by bikers. One word: Sturgis.

Now for those unfamiliar with motorcycling, as we were, this will come as a shock. Every year there is a nation-wide motorcycle rally in Sturgis, South Dakota that attracts thousands and thousands of bikers of all income brackets from all over the country. This year, 2010, the rally was particularly huge, as Sturgis was celebrating its 70th anniversary.

Maybe you're like me and think that sounds awesome. Let's explain. In preparation for Sturgis, all campgrounds and motels and restaurants jack up their prices and all overbooked. So for those unlucky travelers who happened to overlap this event, a small campsite with no electricity or running water ran up to $50 a night.

Not only that, but cell phone coverage was shoddy in the Wyoming-South Dakota neck o' the woods, so the father highly recommended we call ahead right then to book a place for the night.

This family was the kind of family you hope to meet on a road trip such as ours: thoughtful, fun-loving, funny, and adventurous. Even the grandma was spunky and trying to catch crickets with the girls.

But the best part of meeting these folks, besides the warning about Sturgis and nightly accommodations? I discovered that not only was the father from Connecticut (like myself), but he was born and raised in New Haven (like myself) in the Yale-New Haven Hospital, like myself. Mind blown. What are the odds of meeting someone else born in the same Connecticut hospital as yourself in the middle of Wyoming at a rest stop? Both of our jaws just dropped open and we turned to one another and shook our heads in disbelief. Life is a series of happy coincidences.

And even if he did have purple toenails, which he admitted were painted by his five-year-old, that was acceptable because that was the color for his girls' tee-ball team that he coached.

That night we were forced to seek refuge in Nebraska--a state we had never planned to visit at all. We pulled into a place called Fort Robinson for the night, where I met a couple that had just married the previous day and were staying at a cabin at the park on their honeymoon, just as her parents had done on their honeymoon. Her new husband was to go off to boot camp in a few days, and she had to return to community college and work, so the lovebirds really only had a couple days to themselves. The love on their faces was pure and unquestioning.

With that kind of love in mind, we pitched our tent in the middle of a field and bunked for the night.