Travel Journal, 96

I groggily hop into the car and drive toward the Starbucks. Have I turned into a Starbucks person? Back when I worked as a barista at The Beta Coffeehouse in Cody, WY I used to say that, “friends don’t let friends drink Starbucks.” We mocked the overpriced company openly, claiming the coffee shop’s lack of soul. I want my coffee made by people passionate about coffee, not a college freshman who lack motivation and doesn’t even drink coffee. But that was a long time ago. Wyoming didn’t even have a Starbucks back then. In fact, neither did Minnesota.

But here I am pulling up to the window at a Starbucks. And besides, nothing else is open this early. Such is the road life. Remind me to chastise myself later. Over the intercom, a cheerful and bright voice beckons I give her my order. After moderate negotiation, I’ve ordered two blueberry oatmeals, a black coffee, and a latte. She regales me with a musical retelling of my order. It’s so early and I can’t help but smile as I pull up to the window. She takes my card, and I’ve never been so happy to give somebody $16 in my life. 

“You know,” I remark to the ‘bucks employee, “they’ve really selected the right person for the counter this morning. You are so happy, bubbly, and cheerful. I hope you have a great day.” 

“Ah,” she giggles dramatically placing her hand on her chest, “well, bless your heart! That’s so sweet of you. Have a wonderful day!” (If you just read that without some sort of southern accent, go back to the beginning of the paragraph and try again.) It’s desperately hard to have a bad day when people treat you like that.

Road, road, more road, range, prairie, mountains, and more of the same. Hours on end, ever easterly the wheels turned. New Mexico turns into Texas, and Texas turned into Oklahoma.

What’s this? A sign up ahead.

All capital letters: HITCHHIKERS MAY BE ESCAPING INMATES.

This comes as bit of a shock to me. I’ve picked up probably a dozen hitchhikers, none of which had killed me. How many were escaping inmates? It’s not a pleasant thought. I’m reminded of the joke that tells of a driver picking up a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker gets in and says that he is surprised to be picked up. He asks the driver, “what if I was some kind of serial killer?” The driver laughed and remarked, “well, what are the odds of two serial killers being in the same car?” Note to self, don’t pick up hitchhikers on interstate 40 between the Texas border and Oklahoma City.

It seems like every 10 minutes a dashboard warning light flashes in front of the steering wheel. The bright red caution sign blinks a coffee cup with the words “Caution Tired Driver: Seek Rest Now.” Gee, thanks for the advice. Tell me something I don’t know. Though I pride myself as someone who is moderately environmentally mindful, I find that my passenger seat has begun to look like the museum of forgotten coffee cups, and I the curator. At one point on this trip, I walked into a gas station and all the coffee cups bowed to me, they’re king. At least that’s what’s happened in my imagination. It is a 33-hour drive. I may be delirious.

Somewhere in Oklahoma a building on my left declares in spray painted scrawls, “Joan Jett for President.” If that’s not an American political decision, I don’t know what is. I’ve seen political statements of all kinds so far. But this is by far the most interesting. I’m floored at how vocal we are as a nation. We want everybody to know where we stand—who we support. In fields, there lie huge bails of hay spray painted with the names of candidates. Guys in hats. Trucks with affiliated flags. Subarus with 30 or 40 bumper stickers. Americans are passionate people who feel strongly for their Nation. They love it here, as they should. Back in Texas, we made it to Rudy’s Barbeque for a burnt-ends sandwich (delicious, go there). Above us hung an enormous American flag. Not long ago, I was struck with the thought that I don’t really care if America is great. All I want is an America that is good. I do not love America for its politics or politicians. I do not love America for its ethics or morality, for those things waver and faulter. I love America for the Americans—the people. I love America for the Land. I love America for the heart and soul of loving our neighbors. This Land is my Land, this Land is your Land, as the old song says. And if we get Joan Jett for President, so be it.

anthony forrest

Start at the beginning of the road trip: 

Part 1

Part 2