Another day, another 887 miles. Just six hours away from my destination! (Plus customs, of course.) Spending the night in an odd little Michigan village called Paw Paw.
There should be a congressional hearing into the utter lack of bacon at hotel breakfasts. (Breakfast sausage just ain’t the same.)
Along the same stretch of I-90 in Minnesota, there are towns called Alpha, Welcome, Blue Earth, and Ceylon. Heh.
I dined in the town of Nodine, MN, but didn’t see any of the Spartans in Sparta, WI.
South Dakota’s radio is filled with religion, in-depth weather forecasts, and detailed analysis of pork futures and corn contracts. This is probably the only part of the country where being obsessed with weather is justified. (Evidently, 40 barns collapsed the night before because of all the snow on the roofs.)
Minnesota roadside shops have free cheese samples. 🙂
Chicago’s highway traffic isn’t any worse than Vegas on a Friday night, but wow, they really do like their tolls. Had to stop to pay them seven times, and one of those didn’t accept anything but coins. (Well played, robots, well played.)
Drove 687 miles today on the mighty I-90. 26.4% down – almost there!
It’s logical but still unbelievable that just one day of dedicated driving can get you from Seattle to the Yellowstone national park.
I was greatly amused by dozens of signs telling me how close I was to Butte. (Hey, I’ve never claimed to be mature.)
Montana and Idaho are mind-boggingly boring. Judging by their 80 mph speed limit, they strongly suspect that too, and they may or may not be sorry.
There are two small towns in Montana: Anaconda and Opportunity. For about 5 miles before I figured that out, the “Anaconda Opportunity” road sign had inspired myriads of ideas in my understimulated mind.
Passed a sign that said “Amsterdam Manhattan.” Nice try, Montana: I have it on good authority that those two cities are at least 50 miles apart.
I moved to the United States from Russia when I was 16. Now I’m 32, and it’s time to move once more – someplace safer, more stable, more civilized. Somewhere like Canada.
Over the past 16 years, I’ve been a burger-flipper and a student, a busboy and an analyst, a canvasser and an investigator, a minister and a rescuer. These days, I work at an online company. (It’s fairly small – you’ve probably never heard of it.) When an opportunity to transfer to our Ontario office presented itself, I pounced on it.
I remember visiting a dollar store for the first time: the glorious cornucopia of stuff where everything cost just a buck. I remember being amazed that 15-year-olds could drive their own trucks. I remember the overabundance of election signs and the novelty of free and fair elections.
Since my arrival in 2003, I’ve lived and worked and studied in rural Nevada, Reno, Las Vegas, Fort Worth, Tampa, Seattle… So many journeys and experiences, sights and friends, adventures and mishaps. So much to explore, with ever so much beauty.
I remember driving upward, toward to the clouds, on the picturesque Sunshine Skyway Bridge, with a giant pelican flying by as we both crossed the beautiful Tampa Bay. I remember the breathtaking drive through the Arizona desert as the first rays of sunshine lit up the sand dunes in every single shade of gold and scarlet. I remember seeing the entirety of New York City from the top of the Empire State Building at sunset: the world’s greatest city, its lights shining bright in the darkness.
And then… During yet another roadtrip, I narrowly avoided the deadliest shooting in American history. After spending most of the day driving from Boise to Las Vegas, I was too tired to brave the strip’s traffic, and I went to an off-strip casino. My laziness was the only reason I ended up two miles away, at the Orleans casino, instead of being near the Mandalay Bay on the night of October 1st, 2017. As I was gambling, hundreds of people got shot: 58 dead, 851 injured. Later that night, I saw a sea of sirens to the west, and learned the details shortly after. The entertainment capital of the world, the city of sin, was forever transformed by the action of a single 64-year-old madman. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like to be in the midst of the carnage but I saw plenty of the aftermath: the locals, each of whom had known somebody at the shooting; the impromptu vigils and shrines; the seemingly endless line of people waiting to donate blood. I too gave a pint of my blood – the very least I could do to help the city recover.
There were also a few other incidents that got me to this point. I remember a crowd of Sunday morning churchgoers shaking their fists and yelling obscenities at me and my fellow canvassers because they vehemently disagreed with our politics. I remember living next to two measles outbreaks: one in a megachurch in Texas, the other one on an island full of yuppies in Washington, both groups driven by ignorance and superstition. I remember the blatant and cartoonishly evil case of voter fraud in North Carolina’s 9th district, where nobody got punished.
I remember – and I forget, for there has been so much to view, to try, and to experience.
America has always experienced a balance of bad and good, of ugliness and beauty, of villains and heroes. It seems the balance has shifted – and not for the better. This isn’t the same country I fell in love with in 2003. The changes have been for the worse, and there’s no reason to believe it’ll get better. If I am wrong, I’ll just spend a few years in an interesting new country; another fun adventure to be had. If, on the other hand, I’m right, I’ll outlast the worst of what’s to come. No more mass shootings. No more people declaring bankruptcy due to illness. Far fewer preventable outbreaks of the diseases that should have been left behind in the previous millennium.
I spent half of my life in Russia, and I left it because there was no promise of future: nothing but corruption and despotism. I spent just as long in the US, and I’m leaving because it’s no longer safe, no longer the country I’d fallen in love with, no longer the beacon of freedom. The time has come for me to move once more. By the time you read this, I will be gone, driving into the sunrise, toward a new and better place. I hope that someday I might make it back.
Grigory Lukin.com 