What a long, cold, mountain-filled trip its been

Melissa Oyer

Editor,

Valley Press

Mineral Independent

When I left Tuscaloosa just a short four weeks ago, I had no idea what I had really gotten myself into. I knew a budding career was ahead of me, along with the challenges that come with living in a new place, but this is never what I expected.

The first day’s drive was not so bad, it was the saying goodbye part that was the hardest. I was leaving behind a loving family, a host of crazy friends, and the best boyfriend in the world.

Scooter, my 4-year-old peek-a-poo, and I started out of Alabama around 11 a.m. and traveled north through Elvis’ home Graceland in Memphis, through the Arkansas countryside, which was on fire, and then all the way to Kansas City, Missouri where I spent my first night.

Day two started out bright and early at 8 a.m. And if you ask anyone who knows, a common phrase you can hear repeated from me often is “nothing good ever happens before 10 a.m.” so the yawns were constantly streaming as I pulled out of Missouri, heading for Rapid City, South Dakota.

Driving through Iowa was the most boring day of my life. It was flat. The sky was dreary and the scenery was the same.

I remember sending a text message to my mother about how disappointed I was that I had driven clear across Iowa and hadn’t seen one lick of corn.

Her motherly reply was just to wait patiently for it, like all good things in life, you must be patient.  We are talking ears of corn here.

I saw my first flake of snow as I entered South Dakota, near Pukwana. The scenery outside my windows was beautiful and it was here that I was forced to pull over and exchange my adored flip-flops for my dreaded tennis shoes.

But, I had made a promise to my father that when the temperature fell to below freezing I would not attempt to catch hypothermia by allowing my toes to hit the open air.

I took a picture with my camera phone and sent it to him. He sent back a smiley face. All was good.

I had reached the end of day two, night had fallen and apparently so had two feet of snow.  

About an hour outside Rapid City, I was faced with the fact that Montana does not have streetlights along the highways.

So not only was the snow coming down from every direction, but I also could not see past three feet in front of my car.

I slid, literally, into the parking lot of the hotel  and all I could  think about was sleep, not having to grip the steering wheel for the next seven hours or so, and more sleep.

When I awoke the next day, I learned that the interstate was closed until the road crews had finished clearing it.

Good news and bad; bad because I wanted to make it to my new home in Plains, but good because I had time to visit Mt. Rushmore, something I had always wanted to do.

The last text message I sent my family and my boyfriend read “today is about me, God and the mountains” and boy was I right.

I put Abbey Road by the Beatles in the CD player and by the time song seven began, I had reached the top of the mountain.

“Here comes the sun” played and I couldn’t help listen to the lyrics, thinking George Harrison must have known that at this very minute, I needed some reassurance.

“Little darling

It’s been a long, cold lonely winter

Little darling

It feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun, and I  say It’s all right

Little darling

I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling

It seems like years since it’s been clear”

As I entered the park, the woman at the window commented that she doesn’t get much traffic from Alabama.

I said I was on an adventure and as I pulled away, I left her with a big Roll Tide!

Standing on top of Mt. Rushmore, with four of our greatest presidents staring down at me, I realized that a trip that began very selfishly had quickly transformed into something very selfless.

Liberating was the first word that came to mind, after I wiped the tears from my eyes after realizing that I had just taken one of many steps into this new life-changing journey.

More to come