Nate Hegyi, rural reporter for the , is embarking on crisscrossing the continental divide in August and September, interviewing and listening to Americans ahead of the 2020 election. You can follow Nate on , an and this map.
August 29: Sula, MT to Salmon, ID, 56 miles
An important note here: These are my first glance takeaways. Think of this as a reporter鈥檚 notebook. A mosaic of voices over the next few weeks, cycling 900 miles across four states and dozens of small towns.
The morning starts off well enough. I鈥檓 cycling through a tall canyon surrounded by pine trees and the air is crisp with a hint of autumn. On the side of the road, I meet Warren Scott Anderson, his buddy, Tony, and their two dogs.
They鈥檙e street musicians looking to hitchhike 鈥渟omewhere south of here.鈥� They both wear cowboy hats and Anderson is sipping a PBR. He鈥檚 34 years old and has been on the road ever since struggling with a gambling problem in Reno, Nevada four years ago.
鈥淚 like the legacy of the highway,鈥� he says, referring to America鈥檚 long-time fascination with the open road. Think Woody Guthrie, Jack Kerouac or John Steinbeck. Anderson says he enjoys the uncertainty of hitchhiking 鈥� sometimes, he鈥檚 had to wait a week for a ride. Other days it happens after a couple of minutes.
鈥淚 guess I鈥檓 still a gambler,鈥� he says laughing.
Anderson is shot through with a nomad鈥檚 mentality and his freewheeling lifestyle gives him unique insight into this country. Sure, he sees a politically divided America. But he also says people are kind here.
鈥淎merica is a beautiful country even though there鈥檚 all this polarization and confusion from technology,鈥� he says, referring to what he calls our fetish with social media. 鈥淭hey would love you to think it鈥檚 a big scary world. But the truth is, people are good.鈥�
Anderson says he is rarely taken advantage of when hitchhiking and that truckers are some of the best folks he鈥檚 met, though one once asked him why he was wasting his life always being on the road.
鈥淗e was doing the same thing!鈥� Anderson says shaking his head.
Later, he pulls out his ukulele and plays a rendition of country singer Townes Van Zandt鈥檚 song, 鈥淲hite Freightliner Blues.鈥�
I鈥檓 going out on a highway
Listen to them big trucks whine
White Freightliner won鈥檛 you steal away my mind
Anderson provides me a much-needed reminder that the American identity is immeasurably complicated. We rarely fit into the boxes cable news, social media or politicians might hope we do.
As I say goodbye and continue on, climbing Lost Trail Pass, a lyric from a different song gets lodged in my head. It鈥檚 from 鈥淎merica,鈥� by Sufjan Stevens. It was released earlier this year and it鈥檚 been a puzzle I鈥檝e been trying to solve since I first heard it.
I am broken, I am beat
But I will find my way like a Judas in heat
I am fortune, I am free
Like a fever of light in the Land of Opportunity
Don鈥檛 do to me what you did to America
Don鈥檛 do to me what you did to yourself
It鈥檚 the 鈥渇ever of light鈥� line that strikes me as I鈥檓 sweating up the pass. The sun is beating down and semi trucks rumble by. I think about the fever of light that is this country, a swirling mess of opinions, hope, love and rage that鈥檚 spilling everywhere in 2020. It鈥檚 both frightening and exhilarating 鈥� the same feeling I have as I鈥檓 dizzy and heat-exhausted reaching the top of Lost Trail Pass and entering Idaho. It鈥檚 44 miles of downhill from there and I hope our country reaches a downhill soon, when things are easier and life returns to normal 鈥� or maybe a new normal. I don鈥檛 think that will happen soon and I fear there will be more pain before we reach the top of this mountain.
There鈥檚 also pain 鈥� for me, personally 鈥� on the way down this physical mountain. Turns out riding 60 miles with a pass in between is a terrible idea. The cool pine forest gives way to Idaho鈥檚 high desert sage country. The sun is cooking the pavement in the afternoon and by the time I ride into Salmon, Idaho I feel like I鈥檓 surrounded by enemies. The sun is my enemy. My lack of water is an enemy. The confederate flag standing like a middle finger in someone鈥檚 front yard is an enemy. I collapse at a hotel in town and chug water from the sink. I can鈥檛 muster the energy to speak with anyone so I decide to take a rest day in Salmon tomorrow.
Copyright 2020
