2, 342 Millas. 4 Días. Parte 1.

Or "Y'all, How the Fuck Did I End Up in Texas?"

I am currently sitting on my deck in Texas at 9am in  a scorching 83 degrees. The interesting part isn't Texas, it isn't that it is 9am, and it isn't that it is already 83 degrees with air so thick it feels like you have to take lessons to  swim through it. The interesting part comes from how I arrived here, 2,342 miles away from my hometown and a brisk 2,756 miles away from the town that was my home for four years.

I had never been East of Missoula Montana and prior,  I had never been to any part of the South. I found a job online, I found my roommate off facebook and somehow, in the strange cosmic twists, it all seemed to work out with little or no flaws. It's a fucking postmodern miracle aided by technology and a strong drive for sun and something new. It took a little bit of organizing (since late May) but goddamnit, I arrived.

Since then, almost nothing has been familiar.   42 hours in a car made me realize that the unknown is a hell of a lot of nothing. The idea of the open road is possibly the most American thing I can think of. It is a time of transition, based off only the time spent in the fading moment, lack of sustainable permanence and literal  forward movement. This has caused me to re-read, "On the Road" again.

Before that, I am going to take  a step back.

Day 1: Spokane to Missoula Montana.
I dreaded this day. It was going to be the hardest, not only did I have to say goodbye to my family for 6 months, it had all the first day nerves, the pending what -if's, and complete idea of the unknown.  I got in my car at 9am, put her into drive.   The back end was so heavy that I had no shock absorption and progressed forward. On the road, I saw the familiar pine trees fade into unknown hills. Time passed and  Washington became a small line in my rear view mirror. I saw my home state fade as I road forward. I climbed 5 passes in Idaho and Montana. My car guzzled gas like water in a desert due to her weight. Soon,  I  witnessed the backdrop of Idaho, the beautiful pine trees and rolling mountains and I pressed on to Montana.

Each hill in Montana has a letter, "L", "M" and so forth. I see the first glimpse of Sinclair.  (see: Sinclair Oil) Briana and I become bored, I keep yelling, "Texas!" by the time we reach  Billings, we have spent 10 hours in a car through construction. Normally, Montana does not have an enforced speed limit. Construction deemed it otherwise. Thanks for the federal grant, Obama! (see:Stimulus $$)

What I mean by this is the following: There is a "Speed Limit" but there is only a $20.00 fine for going over it. 20 dollars! This means, rich people go fast. 90+. I saw no one get pulled over. I discover that the speed law is not enforced in Montana, and thus, is not really a law at all.

Filling up on gas, we realize that the only form of entertainment besides hitting up the bars, is to gamble. Literally, every gas station in Montana has a small air conditioned mini-wannabe-Vegas attached. I think this is kitchy and cute, but also strange. I cannot imagine who I would be if I lived in a place where mom and dad leaving after dinner to  gamble at the gas station at the end of the street was a possibility.

We arrive at Billings. The landscape officially looks like desert with high edgy cliffs and canyons and spare lonely trees. We eat at an Applebee's, I refuse the urge to order buffalo wings and we sip on our water, wondering how we ended up in Billings, questioning the rest of our 3 day journey. We realize ever inch of ground we cover is something neither one of us has seen before. Each minute will literally be something new. That idea is freeing, the kind of freeing you feel when you're mid air, and for a brief moment, you are uninhibited, untouched by gravity.

Somehow, I am here and it is fantastic.

Hey legs. Hey Hammock. Hey Heat.