A Postcard From Somewhere

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Traveling to Music City - Nashville Tennessee

Climbing up the old metal fire escape, I find what I think is my cousin's window on the second story. Leaning over the railing, I give a couple of knocks on his dorm's window. Not waking up, I knock a little louder. Finally stirring, he rolls out of bed at a snail's pace. He must of had a late night, after all I woke up to texts he was sending at 3am.

Half asleep my cousin says goodbye and I head back to our van parked down the road. Driving out of town, my grandma and I leave the old brick buildings of Grinnell College. Cruising the back roads of Iowa, the roads are eerily empty like in a post apocalypse movie. The landscape surrounding us is made up of barren corn fields. A lonely John Deere tractor tills the fields for this season's planting. Grain silos sit in pairs like old rockets waiting to take off. A giant red barn sits like it's control center nearby.

Horse drawn carriages. It's a real thing in the Mid West

Making our way out of Iowa into Missouri, the corn fields start to turn into deciduous forests. Unlike the trees in Iowa, Spring has reached the Southern trees of Missouri first. The green leaves have already unfurled and are prepared for the sunlight of the new season.

As of now, my grandma and I have made it to our new destination - Nashville Tennessee. Here in the Music City of USA is where we will spend the next few days.

Below are some photos from the Dutch town, Pella located in Iowa.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Heading East

“Hey Wyatt, are you up?”

“Not really grandma, why?”

“Well we should get going…”

Lying on the floor of the Sprinter van, my shoulders are touching both sides of the aisle. Stretched out in my sleeping bag as if it were a straightjacket, I’m shivering. It’s the coldest I’ve been in months and I can see my breath. Rolling over, I click the on button to my Iphone that reads 6:30am.

Currently my grandma and I are driving East to visit my cousin in Iowa and to do some exploring in the Mid West. Waking up outside of Reno Nevada, my grandma and I are on a time crunch to reach my cousin while he has a lull from college testing. Exhausted from driving the day before, we successfully beat an incoming storm hitting the Sierra Nevada Mountains. To reward myself, I only want to curl back into my sleeping bag. My grandma still young at heart thinks otherwise.

Figuring out routes the old school way

My grandma says, “Figure out what’s quicker on your Iphone, taking Highway 80 or Highway 50 to Iowa.”

Groggily I dial in the points of interest.

“Well what does it say?”

“Hold on it’s loading… It looks like Highway 50 is a couple hours shorter.”

“Looks like we’ll take Highway 50. I’ve taken Highway 50 a few times before. It’s the loneliest highway in America. There’s nothing for miles, and miles, and miles.”

Highway 50 - The Loneliest Road In America

Climbing into the front seat, I buckle up and get ready to drive onwards. Turning off onto Highway 50, a well-weathered billboard says, “The Loneliest Highway In America.” Turns out it is the loneliest road I’ve ever been on. For miles it’s vast expanses of sagebrush and brave tumbleweeds that skip across the road. Passing another car is about as rare as a shooting star. It almost seems to be foreshadowing the unpopulated and rural places that lie ahead in the Mid West.