Correctional Facility. Do not stop for hitchhikers.

It's amazing how many correctional facilities one passes when spending a week going from Illinois to Colorado. More specifically, it's amazing how many there are in Missouri, Illinois, Nebraska, and Colorado versus Iowa. Whether granted or not, I felt myself breathe a sigh of relief as I passed through the child's scribbles Omaha calls their roads and went into the safe blackness that is 29 North, and even better, 20 East. There's something soothing about knowing that the only thing you have to watch out for are deer, raccoons, farm cats, and the occasional misplaced turtle. Once the fear that a crazy man or woman is going to pounce on your car or trick into a misadventure that ultimately leads to homicide fades, driving is a much more pleasant task.

One thing I've found the hard way is that I do not make a good passenger. I have come to the startling realization that as a passenger, I'm prone to car sickness. I'm not talking about the woozy feeling that strikes every so often but passes once one steps outside to stretch. This is the overwhelming feeling of sickness, absolute misery that demands one to re-enter the driver's seat no matter how fatigued they are and no matter how much more convenient it is to smoke in the passenger's seat. Laying down seems to only compound the problem. Gatorade or sweet tea lend no comfort. Walking only leads to further dizziness. Beef jerky suddenly suddenly seems to twist the gut and every passing car, especially the trucks, turn into very apparent threat. After a few hours of moaning in pain as my stomach twirled and danced, and after grabbing Adam's arm several times in a fit of panic thinking that he wouldn't realize the blind road ahead curved, I crawled back into the driver's seat outside of Omaha. I am not a night driver by any means. I lack depth perception and night only makes it worse. But I felt less sick and far more in control when I'm the one at the wheel. I might not be able to tell how far away that semi actually is from the front of my car, but hell, I sure can fake it.

I am convinced that absolutely no thought or planning went into creation of Midwest cities. Taking the interstate through Minneapolis is a nightmare. I will never step foot into downtown Minneapolis as along as I live. Honestly, how many one way streets must a place have? And I for one will never understand how the planners got away with creating all those suicide lanes. Omaha is confuddled by constant construction and uneven, grooved lanes. Even Fort Dodge manages to be a pain in the ass to travel through. St. Louis is a deathtrap and Alton, Illinois is the most poorly lit 'burb I've ever traveled through. Souix City and Ames have never been issues with me (besides the utter reek of Sewer City) and while I've seen each coast, I've never actually been to Des Moines. I don't have the urge to be. So honestly, I can't judge.

Yet when we made our way through downtown Denver and further on to Parker, I was surprised at the ease of driving. Yes, there was the consistent quality of people failing to realize that blinkers are a handy way to tell other drivers that you're going to hope three lanes in front of them. Yes, there were idiots that cut me off and people who felt the need to go only forty when the speed limit was 75. However, I found that it far easier navigate Denver than it has been for me to navigate Minneapolis. I'm not sure of the reasons for this. Perhaps its because Denver seems to be far more sprawling. Perhaps it's because it's not laden with useless one-ways. Whatever the reason, I found myself slipping into the Denver-driver mindset. At the end of the trip, Adam expressed to me his frustration that it seemed I had forgotten that a turn signal can and should be utilized.

I've done a lot of traveling these past two weeks. I'm leaving again for Denver this Thursday morning to hunt down some other apartments we are looking at. I'll be going on my own. Adventures ahoy! I'm greatly considering taking my camera so that I can record my thoughts as I drive. I need someone to talk to and it might as well be myself. But I digress. My last thought on the past few weeks would be how much I love the suburbs of larger cities. There was a point in my life where I thought I would enjoy living in a city. Not so now. It's too claustrophobic. The only trails are made of concrete and the scenery is nothing but devotion to man's ever growing need to expand upwards. A city looks lovely by night from a distance. I like to see the stars. I don't like to look above me and see nothing but a hazy wash. I like to walk out, look up, and wonder if I can ever train myself to be able to blow a smoke ring around the Big Dipper. I don't like the constant noise. I sleep better when the only noise is that of birds and the inevitable early carousing of the cats. The thunderous roar of paw pads tearing through the kitchen with a background setting of bubbling airstones and creaky fans is more comforting than the sounds of traffic and a choking way of life. I like to breathe. I like to look out and see the mountains. Some people are in love with the idea of looking out onto steel rather than a yard. I guess that's for them.

Another thing I love is the unity of suburban life. Up in Minnesota, Chaska will always consider their area better than that of Jordan. Life is better in Shakopee than in Chaska. It delights me to no end to know that the people of Alton will always consider themselves a class above the Grafton riverrats that live on stilted houses. Southern Aurora will always be more high class than the northern parts and northern Aurora will consider southern Aurora stuffy. Cherry Creek is high class and everyone knows Wheat Ridge is scummy. There's something that's neat about it. It's almost like the inane Spencer/Okoboji/Spirit Lake rivalry but on a larger and more active level. Sometimes I think I live off of conflict. I don't think I would be able to settle in a place that didn't look down upon some other town. Life would be far more boring.