Across America in less than 900 Words

You’ll occasionally meet people who’ve never been to the States and have no intention of ever going there because ….. well, they’ve got no reason at all. They base their judgment of America on absolutely nothing except what they’ve seen on TV. I spent five years on the road in America, covering over half a million miles, and it’s certainly true that it takes a long journey and a small tavern to really get to know someone. Well, there were lots of long journeys and plenty of small taverns. I won’t name anyone here. They all know who they are.

When I first wrote this, I was writing a column for the Copiague News in Long Island, New York. I was initially allowed 900 words per week, but the good people of Copiague, Amityville and Babylon seemed to like me, so they’ve upped that quota. However, I thought I’d used that number to challenge myself and see if I can give full credit to America in just 900 words, so here we go; 

Sue and I set off on a 3000-mile journey from California to New York. We drove a black Chevy Suburban like those you see on all good American cops shows. When we could afford to, we stayed in shitty little motels just off the road, with biker bars next door and ladies of the night on the corner.  I remember one motel where we didn’t dare walk on the carpet bare foot, putting on our shoes to walk from the bed to the bathroom, but mostly we pulled off at rest stops and slept in the car between the big trailers where no one could see us. 

We passed the great arid deserts of the West, driving through canyons and beneath rocky outcroppings and over great crevasses.  We drove through the Mojave Desert, Owens Valley and Death Valley, and the dust entered our bloodstream and flowed through to every part of our body. The West was both eerie and breathtakingly beautiful, and we wanted to live there forever. 

We drove through Utah, the Crossroads of the West, bordered by all the mountain states except for Montana. Laying rooted in the backcountry we saw some of the most awe-inspiring groove gulleys we’d ever seen, but it was the intensity of Zion National Park that held our attention; The red rock backdrop dazzled us as brutal rapids nose-dived off the cliffs into pools surrounded by abundant green piñon-juniper forests and fiery peach and coral sandstone canyons carved by flowing rivers and streams.  

It would honestly not have surprised me to see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid plunging from an unforgiving precipice into the river below.

We next passed the red rock mountains and natural springs of Colorado, with pine trees bordering dark, spooky lakes. And then we were in Kansas with its great treeless plains and flint hills.

The names Dodge City and Wichita conjure visions of cowboys on horseback moving herds of cattle long distances, but as we drove through the Blue Stem flint hills and tallgrass prairies, we stopped the car and got out to rest. And with what felt like a cyclone trying to rip our ears off all we could see was nothing but big sky, big land, unceasing horizon and cold-blooded and ruthless prairie. 

And then one day we found ourselves in a cornfield.  After that it seemed like the whole world was made of corn.  It was just the same cornfield over and over. I got to thinking that we'd suddenly be out of it and the Manhattan skyline would pop right up on the other side. But that never happened. The corn went on forever.

But eventually we hit the slave state of Missouri, with its constant panorama of rural beauty. 

We drove through St. Louis at night, yet couldn’t mistake the enormous Gateway Arch, which at the time was the tallest man-made monument in the States, second only in the world to The Eiffel Tower. It was from here in 1804 that the Lewis and Clark expedition set off to ‘find a primary route across the Western half of the Continent.’ They were joined by Sacajawea, a Shoshone woman who travelled thousands of miles with them, acting as interpreter and guide. She’d been won in a card game by a French-Canadian Trapper named Charbonneau who signed on with the expedition, although they refused to take his other squaw, Otter Woman. All told he had five Native American wives.

Sacajawea’s contribution to the expedition had great cultural significance. Several statues have been erected to her memory, and in 2000 the United States Mint issued the Sacajawea dollar.

The expedition also took along an African slave named York, who got to vote along with other members of the expedition on where to spend the winter. By all accounts this is the first time a black man was allowed to vote in America.   

We crossed the Mississippi and on to Illinois. At Starved Rock, 100 miles south of Chicago, we followed 40 or 50 bikers with ‘Bikers against Child Abuse’ as their colours. Next was Indiana, with foggy river towns and vast farmlands, Amish homes in Ohio with smoke curling from the chimneys, then 43 miles of unbroken forests and prime trout-water rivers in West Virginia. We stayed overnight and ate fresh game pie, although whether we were eating possum, rabbit or raccoon we never discovered.  

The refreshing serenity of mountains, streams and more forests in Pennsylvania gave way to small communities and the more thickly-settled towns of New Jersey.

And finally, New York City. 

It took us six days to get there, and as I crossed the George Washington Bridge I remember thinking how amazing this was. I was back in New York. A city that takes no crap.

I was back amongst friends who I could trust with my life.