Driving in Rural Wyoming

On the road home, tumbleweeds are my only company. They dance across the road under the cloudless sky as I fight the wind blowing against my steering wheel. The sun is so bright that I have to squint even with sunglasses.

There's a day left in the drive, and I'm a speck on a map in central Wyoming. Small farms and grazing horses fly past my windows in 30-mile intervals. I call my mom, but the phone service is choppy, so I stop trying after a while.

My red Subaru stands out like a sore thumb as I pull into a small town with a grain mill. The highway going through it is covered with dust. An American flag flaps at the center of town, the only movement I see on the main street. 

I pull into a lonely gas station on the far end of town. The cashier doesn't look up when I pull in, preoccupied with something on their phone. As soon as I step out of the car, I'm met with horizontal gusts of wind that whip my ponytail across my face. I bask in the feeling of no one watching and do jumping jacks in the parking lot to stretch my legs.

When I return to the highway after the break, I am overwhelmed by a sense of smallness. I feel swallowed by the endless sprawling land and the vast blue sky. I contemplate what I would do if I broke down or needed help, but I can’t find an answer.

If I were back home, a thought like that might make me anxious. But the howling wind and stark landscape bring a sense of serenity to my drive. I am completely off the grid, something I rarely have in my plugged-in life. The thought releases any residual tension in my body, and I'm at home in the peaceful sound of my car. I ease my foot on the gas pedal to savor the quiet rhythm of the day.