The odometer ticks up and my hands are tight on the wheel. NPR is filling my idle mind with the steady, patient cadence that only seems to appeal to people of a certain age and sensibility. There are three NPR stations available on the satellite radio, I switch from one to the other, until I find a story that I like. Short story after short story fills the time as the geography slowly changes from the dense, tangled forest of western Washington to the dusty sagebrush of the eastern part of the state. Huge mountains with jagged peaks loom over my little blue Jetta as I snake my way further along the dark gray roads, the bright yellow line separating the direction of traffic. With my mind pleasantly pliable from the pot, thoughts of varying weight appear and recede through my consciousness. I’m concentrating on the road, my eyes scanning the margins for abandoned buildings, a favorite subject for my photography. Being on the road has always had the effect of defragmenting my mental hard drive, untying knots of confusion and frustration. This is how I get away.
Leaving the city is the least calming part of any road trip, but it’s not unpleasant. Fighting the traffic, stopping at the red lights, dealing with the multitude of people. While annoying, it’s actually the counterpoint to the time, just a few hours later, when there is nothing but the sound of nature. Nothing but the wind, the river, the birds. So I embrace the traffic, the stoplights, the pace. It is the other side of the coin. I make my way out of town like an Apollo capsule exiting the atmosphere, shedding layers of friction and heat until the only thing left is peace and quiet.
I am a city person. I feel comfortable in and around large urban areas. I thrive on the sounds, smells, tastes, and aggravations of city life. If I have anything to say about it, my family will keep moving to larger and larger cities until, I suppose, we end up in some monstrous tower in the middle of Kuala Lampur or something. That being said, I feel a deep connection to small towns and rural areas. There is something about the actual, physical dynamic of the small town that I find endlessly fascinating. They are all pretty much laid out the same way, with a main road, usually a state highway or other regional artery, flanked by a clean, efficient grid system. Commercial zoning along the main drag, homes ordered neatly on the outside of the grid. These small towns almost all have a large store, a large school, and several small businesses, as well as municipal buildings and things like that. It’s the random combinations of these elements that gives each small town its unique personality. The pace of a small town is slow compared to city life, but very fast compared the slow, measured speed of farming, the most common industry. So regardless of how small, each town has its own sort of metropolitan vibe. It is the center of
the local culture, however it is defined. Many towns have a Wal Mart, or a McDonalds or other national stores. From my experience, these places do not detract from the soul of a small town, the opposite seems to be true as the McDonalds and the Wal Mart have evolved their own country feel. Ironically, as much as I love small towns, I don’t feel like I belong in them. I am distinctly uncomfortable in these places. I am perfectly aware that this problem is entirely in my head, I have only ever met really nice people in small towns. But the fact is that I am different from at least 99% of the locals, and I can’t help but feel completely exposed and conspicuous. I know how aware I am when I run into someone from the country in downtown Seattle, so I am sure I am being noticed in a place like tiny Twisp, Washington. With my German car, big glasses, and vague-yet-clear ethnic brownness, I notice people looking at me. A smile and a friendly nod is what offer, and it is always returned. When I tell folks that I drive around country roads taking pictures of the beauty, they all are surprised that I see the same beauty they do. They assume city people thinks it’s boring, and they are right. Most people don’t see the beauty of rural areas until someone like me posts 3000 shots of it on 500px.com. People are content and drive by the corn or wheat, unaware.
Back to highway 20. Between the small mountain towns you can catch glimpses of the silvery blue streams between the dense trees. Free stone streams run down the mountains from glaciers high above. These streams are teeming with fish, but dealing with the treacherous rocks and steep grade makes them less than ideal for fishing. Speeds are generally lower on the mountain roads, but more dangerous. Impatient people dart in an out of traffic, determined to see as little of the beautiful landscape as possible, putting everyone else at risk in the process. I do not speed and I do not cross the yellow line, not even to pass. I am what the speeders hate. Occasionally the winding, curvy mountain roads open up to a wide valley or basin. Picturesque farms and orchards dot the landscape. At the right time of the day, these scenes are as marvelous as any postcard. In these open areas small, rushing mountain streams change to calmer meadow streams. Perfect for fishing. It has been said that fly fishing is a great way to scrub your brain. I agree 100%. Concentrating on good casting, making a perfect drift, choosing the the correct fly and landing the fish, plus the sound of the river is a very effective way to balance yourself. There is peace in fly fishing. These basins and valleys are my favorite part of mountain geography.
Heading east out along highway 20 you begin to leave the mountains behind. The grasses and pine trees give way to scrub brush and sandy soil, the air is much dryer. It is the first place along the highway where the horizon isn’t as close as the next mountain pass. The vistas are spectacular, with enormous lakes and vast rangeland. During the week you can drive for 30 minutes without seeing
another soul, passing through sleepy towns like a breeze. From the main road you can zig zag through the adjacent country roads. I find these side roads to be rich with photographic opportunities. In my days I have traveled literally thousands of miles along the dusty country roads of Colorado and Washington, capturing the scenes of depressing decay and inspiring beauty (sometimes in the same photo). Sometimes I will turn off the car and just listen to the sound of the wind in the grass and the birds over head and I think about the noise of the city.
And so the highway continues east, mile after mile of farmland. Small town after small town, each mile further opening my mind and recharging my senses. I generally spend 12 hours driving, finally finding a place to stay at the last minute. From Seattle and following highway 20, a 12 hour drive will put you in Spokane. Getting a cheap motel room, a few 16 oz PBR’s and a hamburger from Zip’s and a little local TV puts the lid on the day. I get up in the morning and head west towards home, listening to NPR and taking photos, getting my mind ready to re-enter the atmosphere.
