My South Dakota Road

My mind observes my road’s hazards: dips and holes, uneven ground. I see spiders that leap toward my feet as I approach the first landmark. I wonder at their aggressiveness. Anywhere else I hate spiders and recoil from them, but right now they can’t harm me. Not here, not now. They are part of the charm that is my road.
I approach the old, dusty and abandoned shooting range. Aged and deserted, I imagine those who spent hours perfecting their aim seeking a now unseen target. I pass it as I try to perfect my stride, my target. The breeze dies down and the song that plays in my ears slows me down; its beat too slow. I skip ahead to pick up the pace. “Keep on going, keep on going, don’t stop,” I repeat as I find a song that carries me through this desolate area of my road.
I come to the second landmark; the beautiful tree--its shade almost imperceptible as I pass under it. This large, green leafy tree stands alone in this barren area like a mirage deceiving those who seek its shade in the desert. I wonder at its loneliness. Sweat is no longer mere beads, but covers my body, and I feel the quiet breeze that would otherwise go unnoticed. I contemplate the length of today’s run as I assess my energy. My road could carry me forever, but since I am a mere mortal, my road will easily outlast me. I decide to turn around at the next landmark, the train tracks.
As I turn, I notice a road to my left that runs parallel to my road, but it is noticeably different, long and straight, smooth and paved. It does not carry the same obstacles my road has; it has its own. Only the occasional trucker or Harley rider is on that road.
Alone. The word bounces around in my head. Anything could happen here. But I am not alone on my road. A swarm of mosquitoes follow me as I return to town. Aggressive spiders wait for me and I dodge them. I pass unseen creatures that live in burrowed holes in the road. Frequently I go through swarms of gnats and accidentally inhale a few of them. I laugh as I choke. This is my road. I know nothing will happen. Not here, not on my road.
I reach the hill, look up at it and question if I will make it to the top. This is the last obstacle I have before I cross the line from rough gravel road to even concrete—from dream to reality, from alone but not lonely to reunited with civilization. I have only moments to savor the pleasure my road brings me. “Keep on going, keep on going, don’t stop.” My muscles are tired. My legs are tired. My body and mind are tired. They resist my desire to conquer the hill. The music pumps. The perfect song carries me up. My legs can’t resist. My mind can’t resist. I cross the line; my feet are now on concrete. I stop and turn around. I see my road in the valley below. I am elated.
Some question my love for that road. Spiders, mosquitoes, gnats, hot sun, a huge hill? Not appealing. But they are all part of my road. I wouldn’t love it if any of them were not there.
My feet again find the beat in my music. Concrete makes the sun feel hotter than it really is. Just a few more blocks and I am home.