7" of Separation

A tour of the UW-Madison campus showed off some of the nicer old buildings, beautiful lakeside views and the sort. I took some time to wander around the Communication Arts building a bit — two radio stations, a PBS affiliate and staff offices boasting "Rhetoric." Frankly, a dream come true disguised as a seven-story concrete building.

The campus was inviting, especially the lakeside Memorial Union and the great location near the hip little downtown business district and the government district. I imagined sitting by the lake, reading classic speeches, Ellyn stopping by in between some sort of important government meeting. It would work.

After grabbing a bite at a Greek place downtown, I headed out to take care of some "living on the road" business. Basically, that translates to laundry. Woot!

…

I find that I get a bit antsy staying in the same place two nights in a row. It gets to be about now, 11 p.m. or so, and I just want to get in Pam and drive away to the next stop.

That next stop is undecided as yet. I'd like to see Chicago, but nothing there specifically draws me to it, and the traffic and toll roads are a deterrent. However, what is a huge draw is just down the road in Springfield. There, the Lincoln Presidential Library. More presidential rhetoric to geek out on.

Either way, I'm happy to be moving on.

As it turns out, Minnesota is between South Dakota and Wisconsin — who knew? Other than those friendly Minnesotans, of course.

Glad to be out of the lower Dakota, I was pleasently surprised to find stellar state parks in the land of Lake Wobegon. Just over the boarder, I found Blue Mounds, a nice park with a heard of Bison — though they never showed themselves. The park was well maintained and offered free showers, one of my favorite finds.

Before settling in to camp, I went into Luverne, the nearest town, for some veggies and the sort. I've come to conclude there are officially two types of state. Those which are friendly, with friendly people, and those which care not for outsiders other than at tourist traps and other draws of state tax revenue. Minnesota is the former. On my way to the store alone, three different passing drivers waived. These weren't even VW folks, just ordinary types. At the store, everyone I passed said hello. I like the friendly states.

My night at Blue Mounds was fairly uneventful, as I made my way through most of the life of Doc Holliday. It was nice to get back into Pam after so many night in hotels. Camping is good for the soul, I've decided.

The only adventure came late at night when I was shaken from sleep by explosions of thunder and flashing lights outside. A massive storm was right overhead. Rain pounded down on Pam, bursts of lightning would momentarily light up everything inside. It took about forty-five minutes to fall back asleep, waiting for the storm to pass.

The next day, Thursday, I zigzagged rural highways well across the state, settling at Sakatah Lake State Park for the night. Another nice night of reading by the campfire was prematurely ended by rain, which again turned into a massive thunder storm. This one lasted much longer than the previous nights' storm, flashing and exploding for a few good hours. It was quite a sight. The kind of storm you imagine or see in the movies. I captured some great footage on my cell phone, but for some reason the little videos are rather tough to convert to something I could share here. Suffice to say, it was a show.

Watching the whole thing, I couldn't help but wonder — also taking into account all the other extreme weather I've encountered so far, not to mention all the recent earthquakes, tornadoes, cyclones and such — if the earth was fed up with the lot of us and is now taking steps to knock as many of us out as possible, even if it is one at a time with a tornado here and there. Simply, when watching nature put on a show, you can't help but assign some meaning to it all. It's all too massive and beautiful not to. I fell asleep sometime in the middle of all that, not to wake the rest of the night.

Minnesota was a short trip, and I made my way across the Mississippi for the first time into Wisconsin. While not the number one tourist state in the union, I had Wisconsin on my map due to Madison, where the University of Wisconsin and its School of Communication offers one of two graduate level rhetoric programs I'm looking at for the future. (Payback for Ellyn bringing about a New York move for me, she will someday be subjected to a life in Madison or Nashville. Silently, I think we both hope or Nashville. It's a Johnny Cash thing.)

I made it to Madison this afternoon, and the city, with its lakes, is quite pretty, if not a little poorly planned. But the downtown area is classic and its campus-meets-state-capitol feel is perfect for fostering a good rhetoric school. (If not also mentions on every "top party school" list in existence — can't really figure that one out.)

Tomorrow I'm going to take a stroll around campus to find out what a school with a funded rhetoric department actually looks like. OSU never was able to show me that.

"T-Rex: Wall Drug!"

"5 cent Coffee: Wall Drug!"

"Free Ice Water: Wall Drug!"

"Gardenburgers: Wall Drug!"

The signs go on like that for over 300 miles. Since Wyoming, I have been subjected to reading every Wall Drug sign along the highway. "Kids Love Wall Drug!"

I finally made it to Wall Drug today. That was the highlight — a block long nick-nack superstore. Yes, there was a big fake T-Rex. It roars every twelve minutes. Also, there was all you would expect from a tourist trap in the middle of South Dakota. And, yes, five cent coffee.

I actually spent a bit of time in the book store, looking through all the great cowboy books. I walked away with the mid-length Lewis and Clark Diaries — not the tiny one, but not the 10 volume version — and a little biography on Doc Holliday. You know, Val Kilmer from Tombstone… not that Wyatt Erp nonsense with Kevin Costner. Doc, turns out, was, in fact, as much of a cool cat as played by Val. As cool as a self-absorbed killer can be. Also, he was a dentist. So maybe that's why he had to kill everyone to prove he was cool. Not sure yet, I'm only a few pages in.

In total, I spent a hour or two at Wall Drug, mostly to get out of the car. Driving the Midwest is like watching grass grow, but moving the whole time, so you don't actually get to see any of the growth.

I passed into Central Time, which divides the state down the middle, and lost another hour.

I almost made it out, though. Im only a couple hours from Wisconsin, which I think classifies as a Lake Sate, right? I hope so. However, I'm in Burke, South Dakota, tonight. Population 676, temperature somewhere around 30 or so. The woman at the hotel — too cold to camp, I'm not freezing to death — said she shouldn't let me stay after I told her about the tornadoes and the fact that I woke up to snow in the Black Hills. "What are you going to bring us?"

I sure hope its some sun. Because, right now, I can't wait to get to Florida.

I just went outside to make a call.

Its snowing.

Why?

A short trip down Highway 16 to Keystone, South Dakota and Mt. Rushmore lifted my spirits today. It's been a few days since I've seen anything of note or had an adventure that didn't involve running for my life, so I decided to make a full day of this crazy monument to American domination.

Honestly, I was pretty flippant about Mt. Rushmore before — and sure, I still am — but it was a pretty amazing thing to see. The first thing I noticed is that it isn't as huge as I though it was. Don't get me wrong, it's big. But views from TV and the movies made me think it was a lot bigger than it actually is. (A note to the actual size, the eyes are 11 feet wide and the noses are about 20 feet long. Each face is about 60 feet tall.)

All that rubble at the base is the debris blasted off during construction, which lasted from 1927-1941. However, because of a very spotty budget — it was hard to fund? I wonder why! — it took about six years from start to finish. A cocky sculptor named Gutzon Borglum pulled it off, though it killed him in the end. He died before the last face was done. And at that, as you can see by his scale model, it still isn't carved to the point he wanted it to be.

So, it all has meaning, right. Washington represents the birth of the nation; Jefferson, its expansion; Roosevelt, its economic, social and natural development; and Lincoln, its preservation.

I checked out every inch of the visitor's center and the main park area, watching a couple of movies (One featuring Tom Brokaw's soothing rasp), taking a hike to the closest point accessible, and geeking out a bit on presidential rhetoric books in the bookstore. I got a copy of a couple of Lincoln's speeches, a book containing his only three poems (pretty terrible) and Washington's handbook on behavior.

Some great tips from Washington's "Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour in Company and Conversation," which he wrote when he was 14 after reading what I assume was a snooty French book on the same subject:

Number 2: When in company, put not your hands to any part of the body, not usually discovered.

Number 25: Superfluous compliments and all affection of ceremny are to be avoided, yet where due, are not to be neglected.

Number 38: In visiting the sick, do not presently play the physician if you be not knowing therein.

Number 51: Wear not your clothes foul, ripped or dusty, but see they be brushed once every day, and take heed that you approach not to any uncleaness.

Number 53: Run not in the streets; neither go too slowly nor with your mouth open; go not shaking your arms; kick not the earth with your feet; go not upon the toes nor in a dancing fashion.

Number 92: Take no salt, nor cut your bread with your knife greasy.

Number 109: Let your recreations be manful not sinful.

Number 110: Labour to keep alive in your breast that little celestial fire called conscience.

How cool is that? He wrote a book on manors, kicked the crap out of England on the battlefield and had to decline becoming the Emperor of America. Bad. Ass.

Lincoln, though, is my personal favorite. It's a rhetoric thing. He knew how to talk to people. Also, great beard.

After coming off the mountain, I checked out the National Presidential Wax Museum — not actually funded by taxpayers. It was creepy cool. Lot's of fun facts. Also… creepy.

Washington was checking out the first flag. Lincoln was making a debate speech.

His face was molded off of a actual cast that Lincoln made as a young politico, hence no beard. In fact, the mold used for this waxy dude is the same Disney used for the talking Lincoln. The more you know, right?

Sure, then there was the Election 2000 set, with angy Gore and innocent Bush. No comment — other than creepiness. But none as creepy as:

Yep, that's John C. Calhoun — seventh veep under Adams and Jackson, as well as, fittingly, Secretary of War under Monroe. Here, as Secretary of War in the Monroe set, he apparently has punch duty. He appears… as he always appears… pissed. "Want some punch!"

No John, I don't want anything you have.

I made a mad dash out of Wyoming yesterday. Not really because of tornadoes or anything like that. Wyoming is boring. I just wanted out.

I-25 took me north to I-90, which went east into South Dakota. Not going to lie, not much going on the South Dakota, either. The black hills are pretty, though. So, at least the scenery has improved.

I went through Sturgis, which is apparently known for it's motorcycle culture. There were plenty of bike shops and biker bars. In fact, if someone took the time to figure out a ratio of biker bars to people for the town of Sturgis, it would be a lopsided ratio, heavily stacked in the biker bar category. I drove past the world's largest biker bar, too. Something else.

I checked out the one state park I could find, but it was deserted and muddy, so I pressed on to Rapid City. I'm only a few miles north of Mt. Rushmore, and I'm going to go check that out today. Then, a long haul through South Dakota, I guess.

I kinda need to get out of the Midwest.

With the front end of yesterday's storm system hitting Nebraska and South Dakota, and the rear still storming over Wyoming, things here are quite the same. There is little sign that things will improve today.

Flood and flash flood warnings have been issued for a large portion of Wyoming. Thunderstorms are expected throughout the day. No one will say anything for certain regarding tornadoes.

After some serious debate whether to stay here or try to make it east, everyone involved decided staying wouldn't hurt anyone. "I'll sell all my shoes if you need money for a hotel," Ellyn said. "Just stay safe."

So, Casper, Wyoming. What have you got for me? Besides severe weather, that is.

It was sunny this morning when I left Loveland, Colorado. An attempt to get into the emergency zone was unsuccessful, so I continued north on I-25 into Wyoming. Pam got a complete service in Cheyenne, even though the crew at the lube place had no idea how to work on a VW. I wish people would just ask me where to find things. On the receipt, it said they couldn't check the battery. Yeah, because they had no idea where it was.

Then, out of Cheyenne, I took Highway 85 northeast in the attempt to camp at a hot springs 40 miles up the road. Wyoming isn't much to look at in terms of both sights and population. Rural life is mainstream here. A side effect is a underdeveloped road system, with roads leading to state parks being nothing more than dirt and mud. Pam doesn't like soft ground.

Turning off the highway onto one such muddy road, the weather took a dark turn and started to worry me a bit. I'd seen the dramatic change before. Darkness overtook eastern Wyoming.

The mud was a problem, at one point causing Pam to fishtail out of control. Luckily, the lack of power steering allowed me to compensate just enough, keeping some control and keeping Pam out of a ditch. "Bad idea," I told myself. At the next possible turnout, I decided to give up on the next mile of mud — and what I'm sure would have been nice hot springs — and try to make my way back to the main road. Stopping at the turnaround to regain some composure, I flipped on the radio. Of course, that now familiar EAS tone. Not what I wanted to hear.

Two tornado warnings were in effect, as well as a severe thunder storm alert. Again, of course, one of the tornado systems was right over my head in Laramie County. I returned to the muddy road and made my way back to the highway, again fighting the mud in one uphill stretch that truely made my adrenaline pump.

When I got back to the road, wind and rain had started. I punched the gas and moved north as fast as I could.

Moving through a few small towns that looked deserted, I figured out most everyone was in a shelter or basement. There were very few cars on the road. I decided to head back west on 26, with hopes of making it to the interstate and its fast pace before the storm. In retrospect, it proved the right move.

Highway 26 took me to Guernsey, where I pulled over and debated finding a hotel to bunker down in. Lightning would flash every few seconds, strobing in the gray cloud cover. The radio was calling off the tornado warnings, in place were severe thunder warnings that would surely bring what they called "deadly cloud-to-ground" bolts. It was 4:30, and I decided to press on, hopefully beating the storm to Casper, where a tiny mountain range protects the city from the plain weather.

The road between Guernsey and I-25 ran for 25 miles. During that time, I lost the radio because of the powerful electrical storm overhead. Bolts of blue light struck the ground, in every direction just a few miles from the road.

For roughly 10 minutes, I had about 6 feet of visibility because of heavy rain and quarter-sized hail. I slowed down to 30 m.p.h., hoping I was still moving faster than the storm.

At the I-25 junction, the rain let up and my radio came back in. A tornado had touched down in Guernsey, where I debated staying. It was moving north at 35 m.p.h. The DJ of a Wheatland radio station was telling people to get in their basements, as the storm was headed that way. Wheatland was ten miles to my south.

I hit the freeway and pushed Pam to 75 m.p.h. hoping to put as much distance between me and the storm chasing behind. Everyone around me knew the peril and truckers were driving erratically to make sure they had distance between them and the 75 m.p.h. winds that chased behind.

When I came to milepost 135, an EAS update informed me the tornado was on the ground at 119, moving toward 125. Run Pam, run.

That was the last update I heard. I flicked the radio off and just drove, curving to the west, away from the path of the storm.

I made it to Casper, where it's sunny, protected by the hills to the east. From my room, I can see the storm front moving north in the distance. Again, I'm exhausted from running all day. My body crashing from the adrenaline. I would prefer camping to the rather expensive hotel I was forced to take, but the authorities have closed off most of the camp grounds, as they lie in the path of the storm.

So, safety offsets the cost. Safety has never felt so good.

…

I learned what to do if you aren't in a shelter when a tornado hits, though. NPR told me how to "survive."

If in a car on the highway, avoid underpasses. (Something almost everyone was not doing yesterday. Cars packed under bridges on I-25 while I was running south.) If the tornado is close, park, pull the brake and lay down in a ditch. Otherwise, run like hell.

That my friends, is a "survival technique."

It was about 6:15 a.m. when I got back to the hotel after dropping Ellyn at the airport. I flipped on the local news and the crew was talking about the unusual "stickiness" in the air outside. "I don't know if I've ever felt anything like this before," the anchor said.

I went back to sleep and woke up at about 10. I packed and headed north on I-25 with the hopes of making it to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to get Pam serviced and then find a place to camp out.

Tuning into the local NPR station just outside of Denver, the harsh squeak of the Emergency Alert System cut into Fresh Air. At first, I was angry, thinking it was a test, knowing from a few years of initiating EAS  tests at KBVR that tests should always happen in between shows. Also, being from Oregon, you never expect an actual EAS broadcast. But this one was real. The voice broke in, saying there was a tornado warning for the northeast section of Colorado in effect until 2 p.m. It was in no way a true warning for what was about to happen.

As I went north, the sky went from blue to dark black. Looking up through the windshield, I saw the clouds were moving very fast. Things, perhaps, showed signs of a hairy situation.

As I continued on, not realizing what was happening around me, hail started to fall out of the sky. Just outside Fort Collins, the hail fell in golf-ball sized chunks. The wind was layered, with the grass whipping violently to the left, the birds struggling, and loosing, against winds blowing the opposite direction, and the clouds moving the same direction as the wind on the ground. Out my window, funnel shapes started to form about ten miles off in the distance. "Huh," I thought. "This might get interesting."

Traffic had stopped completely. Then, I saw it. It looked like nothing I have ever seen before. A dark, swirling cloud. The funnel shapes moved around it like sentential guards. Now, I know it was a mile-wide tornado. Then, it looked like a storm front with gray beams shooting out. Luckily — even though it felt very unlucky at the time, it felt trapped — being stopped in traffic allowed most of the hail to hit Pam's fiberglass top and not my windshield. Either way, I was nervous. Flipping the radio back on, a local DJ was giving updates between  interviewing a local folk musician. His nonchalance was almost offensive, seeing that there was an ominous spinning black cloud was right outside my window, moving past at a ferocious speed.

Sitting there in traffic, I pulled my break and flipped off the engine. Just then, a forceful blast of wind rattled Pam, my head turned as it blasted past. There on the other side of the freeway, where traffic was moving along, a brown tractor trailer shook then crumpled onto its side into the ditch. It blew over as if it were paper. Like a toy, it was tossed into the air.

"Okay, turning around," I told myself.

Traffic started to move, and I finally saw the stop was due to a series of power poles down and broken, snapped like toothpicks, hanging from limp lines stretched across the road.

Moving along, I went another mile before I found a offramp to turn around at. The radio clicked on again. The tornado was passing through Windsor, ripping roofs off houses. I looked to see the exit name. Windsor. "Shit! Turn around, turn around." (Sorry, not going to lie. When there is a tornado blowing down everything around you, you swear.)

That I did, then, passing the truck crumpled in the ditch, I pressed down on the throttle. I caught up with a Wal-Mart semi.

As I moved up to the truck, wind shook everything, lifting the rear wheel off the road and moving the trailer a few feet to the side. I pushed Pam as hard as she could go, moving past the truck. The driver looked worried, to offer up another understatement.

I finally moved out of the storm, pulling over in Loveland and snagging a hotel room.  At the desk, a hurried man on his cell phone was telling his brother "mother is safe. She's in the car. I pulled her off the front porch, she was clinging to the rail being tossed around by the wind. I'm headed back as soon as I get into her room."

By the time I got to my room, the news told me the tornado had moved passed Windsor, left the ground and was on its way to Wyoming, where it would later touch down again.

In the end, the one-mile-wide tornado blew at 135 mph over 35 miles of northeast Colorado. One man died in his RV — while camping. At a site I though about.

The area is officially in a state of emergency. The governor dropped by in a military blackhawk.

I'm safe, and in bad need of a day without an adventure.

Tornado downtime has allowed me to get some pictures up from the last few days. Scroll down to see some very cute pictures of Ellyn and some scenes we saw, including the rocky mountains from the back of a tow truck.

Pam, by the way, is running great.