Running on empty

So far, there have been some wonderful signs. Time and again, the music on the radio told me that I was in the right place at the right time. The latest example of this was yesterday: I’m driving with Jeff along the highest precipices of the badlands. Music on the radio: Aerosmith, Living on the Edge. Today, for the first time, the right music didn’t come on.

I set off after a brief farewell to Renee and Jeff. 50 miles past Rapid City I think to myself: Hm, the road is pretty bumpy. But at the same time it looks very flat. I stop after a mile: The right rear tyre is flat. The radio wasn’t playing Jackson Brown, Running on empty. Otherwise I would have realised it sooner. I switch to the spare tyre.

The first tyre dealer doesn’t have Goodyears. The second 20 miles further on has Goodyear tyres, but not the right one. And the wholesaler 50 miles further on doesn’t have the right tyre either. I call National Car. They organise a replacement car in Rapid City. Back again. It’s already just before two o’clock and I still have over 500 miles to Bozeman. In the car park at Rapid City Airport, I press my new key. An opening boot tells me: that was definitely the best flat tyre of my life.

The only replacement car available is a top-of-the-range rocket: a Buick Lucerne. I wonder how much more hilarity I will have to endure on this journey? Some of the funniest jokes in this saloon: digital radio, 250 stations. 16 Harman Kardon speakers that make my hair dance polka like in tuner competitions. Rain sensor, light sensor, parking aid. Everything in leather, seats electrically adjustable on 5 levels. Sound: rutting stag via 1000W stereo Marshall amp.

The car is a real rocket. I realise this for the first time just before the Wyoming border. I enthusiastically zap through 250 speciality stations and configure the sound to my liking. After a while, I notice the flashing highway patrol behind me. Sirens wouldn’t have helped at all. My music was louder :-) I was travelling 5 miles too fast again. Thanks for the tip, Jeff! And get away with a free warning again.

After 300 miles I make a momentous mistake. I had already informed David, my next host in Bozeman, Montana, that I would arrive five hours later at around 9 o’clock in the evening. On the map, it looks like the country roads are just as far as the barren interstate. I leave the interstate at Buffalo and cruise along country roads towards Yellowstone. Wonderful panoramas in canyons, up over the first mountains of the Rockies to the west.

When I reach the wide prairie plains behind the first mountains, I realise once again that America is huge. Thunderstorms are brewing and I’m the only one for miles around. 8 o’clock and still over 200 miles to go. After Cody, the last town and crossroads before Yellowstone National Park, I only meet cars for another 70 miles. None of them are travelling in my direction. I am relieved when I realise at half past nine that the east gate to Yellowstone has not yet closed.

I drive through Yellowstone Park completely alone. Yes, the occasional car, but very rarely. Darkness and lots of bends. Again and again, eyes seem to be watching me from the side of the road. Dark clouds, blacker than the night. The Yellowstone Lake at 2500 metres reflects weather light, in the north-west a very last red evening glow. My headlights graze vapour, it smells of sulphur. It takes me two hours to reach the northern end of the park.

A good hour later, I’m in Bozeman. Luckily, David had described the route very well. It’s one o’clock at night. The lights are still on. But I don’t want to wake anyone. I sleep in the car. Very comfy leather loungers. 16 hours and 750 miles. Good night.