Eclipsin'

From a letter sent to a friend who grew up in Wyoming and now lives overseas.

So very Wyoming

We drove up through central Colorado, passing through Walden and North Park then onto Wyoming highway 230. We both laughed at how the speed-limit sign was the first thing you saw after crossing the border. 70! Go really really fast! No one cares! At least, that was our interpretation. Other than an occasional vehicle and a fire off in the distance somewhere near Riverside, we didn’t see a thing. We made it to Saratoga around 2:30 in the afternoon.

We set up our camp chairs in the motel courtyard, which faced the North Platte. It was so peaceful and serene. I do believe the North Platte is much prettier than the South Platte. It was the first time I’d seen that river. We drove around town (which didn’t take long), filled up on gas, and stopped at a place called Duke’s Bar & Grill for an early dinner. It was Sunday afternoon, and it looked like they roll up the sidewalks fairly early.

Well, after spending the night on what must be the most uncomfortable motel bed in all of Wyoming, we decided to get up stupid early and drive to Casper. Dave and I were tossing and turning quite a bit and around 3 am, Dave said he was thinking of taking a shower and hitting the road. We packed up, silently, and were off by 4 am to start the 2.5 hour drive to Casper. We wanted to make sure we made it all the way and were hoping to land a spot at the fairgrounds in Casper.

Venus and the red lights

North on highway 130, we veered east on highway 30 in the pitch dark of night. Venus shone above the horizon right ahead of us (Venus is my favorite planet, right after Earth, of course). Somewhere in the dark we began to see weird red lights everywhere. At first I thought it was an airport but we were nowhere near a town. Dave suggested power lines. Maybe an extraterrestrial landing strip, in place just for that day? A lack of coffee clouding our judgment? Turns out it was lights on top the rotors at a huge wind farm west of Medicine Bow.

Next we went north on 487, where at last we ran into the traffic we expected, although not much. A light but steady stream of cars apparently coming from Laramie met us and we all zoomed merrily up the highway as the sky began to lighten a smidge, here and there. We made it to the fairgrounds early. As soon as the gates opened, we picked a parking spot and set up our temporary encampment, then wandered around to check out the facilities and enjoy our fellow eclipse chasers.

Our peeps for the day

I loved being in a crowd of people. My ideal at first was to be alone somewhere on the prairie, but the shared experience with so many people, all excited for the same thing, was a key part of what I took from the eclipse.

One thing that surprised me was how the colors changed all around us. The shadows were stronger, the grass seemed a deeper green, but the rest of the environment was muted and diffused, sort of an eerie silvery-gray color. We both wore black t-shirts and they weren’t even hot to the touch. The temperature dropped and the ever-present birds, hopping around looking for morsels of food dropped on the ground, all disappeared to their lofts in the trees. The crowd of people, which had previously been playing guitars, singing songs, telling stories and laughing, all grew silent. Just then, a hot air balloon, flying low, began to float over the fairgrounds. So perfect.

See the lens flare?

Someone in our row of cars had a phone app with a timer and she was counting down the time out loud for the rest of us. I heard someone else scream, “It’s happening!” The sky grew darker, like dusk, and then poof, it was as if someone turned out a light. The street lights came on, and the otherwise silent crowd began to clap and cheer and holler out a collective, “Oh my God!” (including me).

Much like the first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I cried when it happened. I was awestruck, tears streaming down my face, and I experienced the sensation of being insignificant and interconnected, all at once. I kept saying to myself, it’s so beautiful, I can’t believe it, oh my God it’s wonderful. It really was stunning, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, almost otherworldly.

It was over much too quickly, everyone agreed. Some people left right away, ready to the hit the road. We stayed for a while longer but not until the end. One more trip to the restrooms for good measure and we headed out, hoping not too many people would be on the same road home, which I learned is called “the back way” to/from Casper. No such luck!

Hundreds of cars ahead of us
as we passed a wind farm

Dave said he never imagined the worst traffic jam he would ever experience would be in Wyoming, of all places. We chugged along at speeds from 15 to 50, but I would say we averaged around 20 mph most of the time. It was a long slog but I enjoyed having a daylight view of the same area we drove through in the dark that morning. Stark. Empty. So very Wyoming.

It took us nine hours from the time we left Casper until we made it home. Apparently we fared better than others, as I heard stories of people taking upwards of 12-14 hours to get home, presumably on I-25. And here’s a fun footnote about the folks who watched at Glendo: apparently it took 3-4 hours to get from the Glendo State Park campgrounds along the frontage road and onto I-25. Yes. Just to get from the reservoir to the highway. And you can see the reservoir from the highway. Holy cow.

I hope you can see this video by NPR:

One Nation Under The Sun

It’s a collection of experiences across the country. I watched it this morning and cried, again, remembering an experience I will never forget.

Keep Calm and Stare at the Sun