Black Hills Uplift

Dark thoughts lifted away. Their wings feathered with the moments that torture me. The times I’ve forgotten myself. They turn and bank into enveloping mist which carries them away to be lost in an undulating horizon.

The smoke stained skies blur the definition of what is water and what is earth. Banking away from me they swoop through that margine and vanish.

For the first time I just let them go. Without anger.

Feeling somehow “different” I got back on the road West; I had to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Fleeting Thoughts

As I coasted to a quiet stop a small herd of pronghorn grazed on patches of green just to the side of the road. The second fastest land animal topping out at 55mph for about a half mile distance, they can cruise around at 35mph for about four miles before stopping. The cheetah may be faster but these fleet footed relatives of giraffes can run for longer periods of time. They fill a parallel niche on this continent as the antelope do in Africa and Eurasia. Out running their ancient predators through eons they outpaced extinction only to be nearly wiped out at the turn of the 20th Century by mankind.

They also make for horrid art on the roadways. I began to just think of them as “blood bags.” The scattered frequency of their exploded remains decorated the highways in Romero tones of color. Sometimes there's only one and sometimes there’d be a small group all killed together. The semi-trucks towing up to three trailers leave little but a rouge, chunky spatter.



No matter how much I tried to just ignore it, the sound of them passing under my wheels would always register in my mind. A mind rolling over its own splotches of roadkill as it explored the back roads of my memories. Just about every bloody, intense encounter of my life decorated the way. I tried not to look too closely at what bright, alive part of me had been pulverized by the hauled freight of trauma, all three trailers driven by myself of course. Cruising in my rig of pain I also began to realize that a lot of the freight was not my own.



This very real journey was different though. Instead of just dashed remains I began to take note of every living prairie antelope I saw. By the time I came to a stop to look back I felt hope for what lay ahead.

I was going to leave as much freight as I could on the road I was taking to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Cretaceous Contemplations

As I left the hotel to start my second day of driving I was in much better spirits. The route I had taken the day before had helped make this trip somewhat enjoyable. I picked a random spot on the map to go have my coffee and breakfast. Not knowing really where I was, it was sheer randomness that led me to the perfect spot.

The sign said, “Road Impassable When Wet” as I made my way up a dirt track. It wound through the edge of some very hilly, scenic terrain. The blood red sun was rising in the smoke filled skies lending warm colors to the cool, fading night sky. I found a small ridge overlooking the plane below. A view to the distant, hazy night stained horizon toward the west. I parked on the side of the dusty road and got out to stretch and enjoy my breakfast. Alone on the knee of a giant, silent except for the faintest of sounds from a highway far off to my west. I actually relaxed.



As I indulged in the creative act of taking photos a private rhythm built in my heart. It was lent to me by a dark line of pines combing through the blushing dawn smoke. The smell of dry grasses, juniper and sage wrapped around my mind like the long hair of a lover’s embrace. The texture of the soil under my feet grounding my fears into the scarred, exposed bedrock I felt in my heart that everything was going to be fine on the other end of this trip. My mind stilled. The chaotic thoughts of the day before calmed.

It wasn’t until I came home to look at the location information of my cellphone photos that I discovered it had been the Northern Black Hills that had given me courage that morning. Also coincidentally, it was a land made unique by repeated, vastly powerful deformations in the very strata of the Earth. Geological chaos. I was “Home.”



I knew then I was going to make it all the way to go get Peggy. I’d decide the “bring her home” part once I actually met her. We’ve more than our share of real maniacs on all sides of our family. What if she’s dangerous? I’d have to take the heat from everyone if I did so. The Black Hills had spoken.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Ȟe Sápa Dawn

I’d left our home in Wisconsin and driven for nearly fifteen hours the previous day. Had I taken the main roads I may have saved a few hours but I would have woken less rested. Doing this trip “my way,” rambling down dirt roads when I could. It wasn't just about trying to explore or find a thrill. Ever since my very first jeep gave me the means to escape everything the sound of tires on dirt has soothed my mind. I think it’s a personality trait directly influenced by my mother’s father, “Papa” as I called him.

In fact there’s not a day that passes where he’s NOT in my thoughts at some point. “Crazy Louie” would just roam in his car indulging his obsession with CB radios during his later days. Character voices played out their roles on a stage built of radio frequencies. A staticy echo of when he drove a forward spotting jeep during “The War” for Patton’s artillery. From Tunisia, through Sicily, Italy, France, Germany and into Eastern Europe he rained hell on his enemies. In his later years it was the radio waves that he vented that same hell onto. His broken, angry mind free to reach as far as his voice could be carried on the ether. His sharp, “friendly” banter on air is usually dark and harsh. He laughs only at other’s folly. People often hate him and he thinks it’s all a joke.

And I’d be a kid just riding along in the backseat. Listening.

The sound of the road seemed to soothe his anger. He’d relax. So would I.

The sound of gravel on dirt connects me to who I am, which is not my grandfather. His wounds are his own, and mine are mine and together we share anger. The drone of gravel had sanded away much of my anxiety and chaotic thoughts of the day before. I woke feeling ready. It was going to be an awesome day to get back on the road.

I still had two days to go before I could pick up Peggy, whoever she may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Tilting at Windmills

My prolonged isolation in the tiny patches of Driftless prairie remnants has made me somewhat “elusive” with other people. I’ve only been speaking in person to my very immediate family or my Doctor. Even that contact is fleeting at times. I do post online and communicate so I am not a total lunatic. Just a bit of one.

I have been open about my struggle with drinking but not the root causes of my strife. My family knows that when I do drink you can get either of two Rons. Usually it’s the relaxed, happy to tell crazy, funny and perhaps inappropriate stories. Occasionally it’s “Tormented Ron” who nobody should have to endure. Least of all those closest to me.

Thankfully I began getting real medical assistance. It's been helping. Simply being officially diagnosed with PTSD, being able to discuss some of my darker experiences is like dragging these tar-like skinned, tentacled, writhing, shrieking “moments” out into the light. It seems to help dissipate the dread. A dread that isn’t always present, only sometimes; like when I go into the madness of a burning, sick world.

I have been the family peacekeeper for about half of my adult life. There have been many, varied, horrible situations. Mental, emotional and spiritual upheavals are no strangers to me. Nearly always the potential for violence or extreme emotional meltdowns is present. Usually by myself when dealing with these things, there’s no backup. Knocking at doors at dawn. Entering other people’s turmoil. There has been blood. Screams. People who do this 24/7 as First Responders amaze me. For me, it's just dealing with family craziness as we try to “keep things quiet.”

My wife says I'm really good at it. That it's when I'm at my “best.” It takes a crisis I guess.

Smoke shrouded wind turbines spun on smokey winds. They generated electric power not unlike my dark fears of what may lay ahead. If no one has seen this family member in over fifty years, what trauma has driven her away? How broken was this soul going to be? What kind of madness was I driving into now?

I lowered my lance and charged.

I had to get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Much Maligned

I needed to relax, otherwise I’d arrive in Oregon an exhausted mess. I had no intention of adding to the crisis. There’s already enough pain. I needed to get Peggy. So I paced myself and tried to nurture my mind and soul. It’s always me that goes on these “there’s trouble in the family” trips. I’ve learned how to manage my mental resources. Stopping to be creative is one of my most effective tools.



I’d noticed a break in the trees on either side of the road. Two lakes came together, the waters of both mingling together under a small bridge. Slowly I made my way down the dirt roadway seeking signs of wildlife. I’d seen a variety of species earlier so I knew there was a wide variety of waterfowl in this wildlife refuge.

What I didn’t expect were these double-crested cormorants. I do not believe I could have picked a better “avain metaphor” to fold into this tale of “high adventure” to save an unknown soul from out of control wildfires, all during a major pandemic, and just before a potential civil war begins.



Why so? Well, these particular birds are a controversial upper midwest native. They are traditionally seen as “undesirable” and as competition for fishing resources used in human consumption. Their range of nesting colonies have been exterminated across the north. People would kill these ungainly looking, dark feathered large birds that look to be a cross between a goose and crow in a variety of creative manor. One that stands out to me are the small fleets of boats full of folks firing silenced “22s” into the nesting sites.

A number of recent scientific studies has proven that they actually feed on smaller fish that compete with the fry of “desirable”fish and may indeed benefit the fishing industry more than harm it. But emotion still rules over scientific facts. I was very lucky to stumble into one of the few remaining sanctuaries these unfairly maligned birds enjoy.

A near complete expatriation of an entire species driven by emotions and traditions and not facts.



I chuckled to myself darkly as I got back into my Jeep to go get Peggy and bring her home.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

A Prairie Wetland Refuge

I’d passed through Iowa like a great blue comet. My mostly straight, white tail of limestone dust trailing out behind my jeep as I rode up and down gently sloped gravel roads. I began engaging the various breathing, meditation techniques taught me by some unique practitioners I’ve had the fortune to learn from. My mind calmed as my tires ground out rhythm, a song composed of the crushed dust of long dead oceans fanned out as I passed over the land. I was in the same sort of “zone” I get into when really into a gym routine or trail run. It was to be a state of mind I'd keep for nearly the entire trip once I’d crossed the Mississippi.

Pandemic? Check. Wildfires burning out of control? Check. Going to Portland during major political and civil upheaval? Check A divided Nation that could break into civil war? Check. Unknown family member who could be “ANYTHING?” Check. Getting her home alive when a cough could kill her and I’m already driving in smoke? Check. The responsibility of taking on another elder? Check. Concern over my preteen daughter when so many kids seem to be contemplating suicide and knowing your own issues aren’t helping ANYONE?! CHECK.

Check. Check. Check… the backdrop of this journey to the west couldn’t be more extreme for me spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. Or could it? By this point I fully expected Yellowstone to erupt in volcanic fury as soon as I passed the Rockies. At the time of this writing it hasn’t but it’s early yet and the story’s not over…

I still had to get Peggy. I needed to rest and gather my strength so I randomly turned aside and found myself in a wildlife sanctuary in Minnesota. Of course it was just what I needed.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest