welcome to...the WILD WEST!!! pt. 1

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Manifest Destiny. The Oregon Trail. Oops! You've died of dysentery! Nice. There's nothing quite like a role playing game where it's commonplace to shit yourself to death. 

Very realistic, and great for children!

 Elementary school computer class usually bore with it an ample amount of time to play "The Oregon Trail," a game as old as time, and a great way for a teacher to squeeze in a midday nap as we prepared our wagons for departure. The real fun would begin when it came time to name our pioneers after one another, and then of course heckle and cackle at whoever would be the first settler to contract yellow fever and perish under the digital sun while trailblazing out West.

Draconic? Yes. Fun? Of course! 

    The drive from Peoria, Illinois to Los Angeles is roughly a 30 or so hour drive, and about 1,600 miles. Plenty of time to gradually lose sanity amongst the rolling hills and jagged, snow covered cliff peaks. The drive carves through the heart of the Nation, and the appreciation for the natural beauty America possesses is imprinted on the psyche as each state passes through the rearview mirror.

Well, maybe except Utah. Fuck Utah. 

    I should be more specific: central Utah is undeniably beautiful. That oasis is the host to some of the most aesthetically and historically significant places in the world, such as the infamous Zion National Park. The red sandstone cliffs and canyons drew my eye from miles away as I high-tailed it down the highway toward the Utah/Arizona border.  I can see why the Mormons believed that Utah was, indeed, the promised land. There is no place quite like Utah. I would definitely go back. But if you ever, EVER, have to drive through Eastern Utah without a truck or jeep? Don't. It sucks. It really sucks. 
    
    Maybe if I wasn't driving a tiny Nissan Versa hatchback, I could've enjoyed the ancient coral reefs and fossils that make up the geography of the region. However, I was too busy fighting the tortuous winds and praying that I wouldn't break down when the next gas station wasn't for another 50 miles. My fear was to break down near a town called Moab and try to get help from some guy named Ezekiel and his 11 wives, who are trying to tell me "the Good News" about Jehovah or something.

Sorry Joseph Smith, but I think I'd rather be probed by aliens. 
(A likely occurrence in Utah!)

    Of course, I'm generalizing an entire state. Utah drove fear into my core. Although I drove straight through the heart of the formidable Rocky Mountains, there was a vibrance of life there that I simply did not see in Utah. Through that state, I only felt desolation. It was my Heart of Darkness. 

Of course, I'm being melodramatic. You get the picture. I kept thinking to myself, how the fuck did the pioneers get out West?? We live in a time of civilization where luxuries are commonplace, and travel is highly efficient. I am fortunate that I had my Little Nissan That Could, rather than just a donkey and a jug of dirty water.

 My first time going out West was, indeed, a trial by fire. I thought back to playing "The Oregon Trail" in grade school and prayed that I wouldn't share the ill fate that my character went through; or worse, coronavirus-- a virus that definitely resides in most of the public bathrooms that I'd seen along the way. 

I do not recommend Nebraska rest stops.

    The West was always just an idea to me. For a kid who grew up on on the banks of the Illinois River in the middle of the Prairie State (where any small incline is considered a hill), there is something enticing about the American ideal of the Wild West; something that, to this day, lures the adventurous spirit out into the land of postcard images. 

I made it! I didn't contract coronavirus, yellow fever or dysentery. I consider that a victory on its own. 
 

More to come on the Wild West.

Sincerely yours,

-Jake


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