riding into eternity

But first, our letter of the day: M

M is for mosquitoes...and Montana, too, though I assume you already knew that...

We've been here five days now...through Culbertson, Wolf Point, Glasgow, Malta, and into Chinook...but they've all seemed to run together. The land is fairly flat, barren, deserted...an occasional hill will creep up and frustrate your otherwise smooth ride, Highway 2 ceases to end, and the mosquitoes swarm at a moments notice. We're riding along the Milk River, which is one of the largest breeding grounds for mosquitoes in the country. In fact, there are so many that they actually have what is called "mosquito season" here, because the weather gets hot, and despite the dry weather, the water table is rather high and almost completely standing. The longer the heat extends, the longer the season extends. There are enough to make you want to keep riding, and to even ride at a certain speed. You can run, but you cannot hide.

The ground is less fertile than probably anywhere else we've been, which means that farming is restricted to grains and low-lying crops. Corn is rare here, but cattle ranching is almost completely the norm, especially away from the river. And in Montana too, there is evidence of an oil boom. Unlike North Dakota, Montana has kept the drilling from growing too rapidly, though there is pressure on the government to open up more land to drilling. In any case, we have seen much less oil truck traffic here, and almost no oil wells, but that does not mean we are safe from crazy drivers.

They call this place big sky country for good reason. That big blue is a mass much larger than the treeless ground beneath your wheels, and has the capacity to consume everything within your sight, including the road ahead. At the same time, it is both closer than you could ever imagine, and completely out of reach. This is the kind of place where you begin to believe the world actually has an edge, and if you ride far enough, you just might fall into eternity.

Toward dusk, the clouds begin to grow and stretch from east to west, overtaking the blue surrounding them. These sudden masses manifest in an amazing perspectival relationship with the ground, revealing the rather diminutive character of my place amongst the scene. Whole towns disappear in their presence, as it is the horizon they seek, and the horizon to which I am drawn. Rays of light burst from small breaks in the accretion, illuminating both my past and my future.

We passed many miles north of a series of small mountain ranges today. The Little Rockies and the Bear Paw Mountains, to be precise, where I began to feel as though I was coming closer and closer to the edge. But soon, the real Rockies will be in our sight, perhaps as early as tomorrow, and the ground will again begin to cradle me the way that is familiar. The trees will probably return as well, and the sky will again become that place where only few humans reach, a place that must be conquered to know eternity.