The French and German working man enjoys between four and six weeks of holidays every year of his employed life. His Irish contemporary also fares pretty well having three to four weeks in which to down tools and appreciate life. A week at the Galway races, a break in sunny Spain, many the carefree drunken night over Christmas, a few long weekends messin' around the house. All possible for this man. The American however, he must be satisfied with a meager two work free weeks per year. I now fall into this category, and what a rough deal it is.
I remember being at a job interview about a year ago, not far from here. After meeting with a few engineers I was turned over to HR to learn of what benefits the company could offer a young man like me.
"Lay it on me" I says, and she did. "We'll, you get the healthcare, the dental, subsidized this and co-payed that... and for your first seven years with the company you are entitled to 10 days paid vacation per year." To be honest, I didn't expect any more. The medical and dental plans were very generous. I sat there forcing a smile and returning the enthusiasm that was emanating so strongly from across the table. "10 days? Great!" says I, while secretly and internally saying "screw that, gimme four weeks or you can go to hell with the job." Not the time, place or country for those thoughts of treason. Instead of trying to turn the tide on this foundation of the American working life, as much value as possible must be squeezed from time away from the grindstone. Hence, a five state, 3400 mile, 10 day trek to Montana and back.
On the fourth Friday in July Martha and I headed south on I-35 until it intersected with I-90. It was all west from there on an empty corridor through endless and perfectly geometric fields of soybeans and corn. Thoughts of camp fire cooked corn on the cob doused in butter and salt plagued my rumbling stomach. That’s some good eatin’. The land faded from green to light green with every mile and after crossing the South Dakota border it seemed that a very weak shade of brown was going to be the outcome. Rocks, hills, dust and vast open prairie replaced the crop fields of Minnesota.
We reached Badlands National Park (LINK) that afternoon. A strange rocky place that looked and felt like an evaporated ocean floor. After setting up the tent I noticed one of our car tires was slashed. Probably not maliciously since our neighborhood in Minneapolis is pretty quiet, more likely that it somehow happened on route. Given that we were only 700 miles into our trip, with many more to go we decided to get some expert advice. Having recently acquired my US driving license I drove into the town of Wall and found a garage. It was a hot, dry and dusty day. Two dormant looking pumps stood outside the garage. I’m guessing that their fuel prices were no match for the 30 pump gas stations that people can easily access along the highway. If you ever read National Geographic magazine you’ll know about the short section called ZipUSA. It usually focuses on small rural towns. Ordinary people are photographed and offer some stories about the town and their lives. Real down to earth stuff but interesting. The two mechanics who fixed our tire in Wall would make fine material for the magazine. Nothing extraordinary about them. Genuine, hardworking, friendly characters. Behind the oil, dirt, scattered tools and loud air compressor that repeatedly cut in and out this was a solid business built on meticulous work and loyal customers. There’s something reassuring about the honesty of certain people. It’s these experiences that I remember and value most.
Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. We went to bed around 20:30 and woke as the sun was coming up over the jagged horizon. Getting on the road by 07:30 allowed us to reach Devils Tower National Park in Wyoming by early afternoon. Another otherworldly kind of place. Devils Tower (LINK) is a bigger version of The Giant’s Causeway back home. Many times bigger. Millions of years ago huge hexagons of igneous material extruded out of the earth stopping at nearly 1300 ft. During the afternoon we hiked around the base of the tower, stopping to gawk and photograph. Plenty of climbers could be seen ascending the vertical rock, each dwarfed by the hexagonal columns they clung to.
This is killing me, trying to find time to sit down and write. There is simply too much to tell and the effort to transcribe my memories can't be summoned now.
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