Crossing Boundaries

Some state boundaries pass unremarkably, with no feeling of difference because of the border passed.  Cross from Ohio to Indiana and although the rest areas on the turnpike deteriorate in expanse quality, the landscape and basic feel of the place only shifts marginally.  Other borders are dramatic.  Cross into California and all vehicles must be inspected for agricultural products: the state wants to ensure the integrity and competitive advantage of its produce industry, and they confiscated three good apples, one apple core, and one rather sorry dessicated lemon from our van to prove that point. Cross from Virginia to West Virginia and the roads almost immediately become smaller, more winding.  The houses are soon more likely to be in disrepair. 




The windy desolation of Kansas changed as we entered Colorado.  Even though we were soon in big sky country, the initial impression was of more people.  I stopped at a gas station to buy decaf coffee and candy to help me continue my drive, and continued.

 
One of the grand and defining facts of Colorado is the sudden rise of the Rocky Mountains, the gigantic looming monoliths – 14 thousand foot mountains – that rise from the plains and bisect the state. As dawn rose behind us, we found ourselves in a radically different country.  Sage brush, prong-horn antelope, and colored buttes in a splendidly isolated wilderness of ranch land and wilderness.  So few cars passed on the road that we felt we had it to ourselves. Wild sunflowers grew in places along the roadside.  And before us were the massive monoliths of Southern  central Colorado including straight ahead the 14 thousand foot Blanco Peak and Mt. Lindsay, which together defined our entry into the alpine.