Blog and Photos by Garrett Fulton
Upon riding into Gillette Wyoming, I realized that we were on unfamiliar ground. From the road I saw what appeared to be tornado strewn debris and chaos, but upon closer inspection, I realized the damage to be homes of "humans" and all the possesions they had collected in their lives up to that point. Rusted cars, broken RVs, piles of sheet metal, rotten siding, a tractor with grass growing up through it and other articles of disuse and abandon too many to count and too difficult to catagorize decorated the horizon.
It was as if Vrashnag, some Hindu-like God of garbage had come up from the bowels of the earth and placed his throne firmly in the foothills of Gillette and gathered his throngs of loyal devotees around him. In order to serve their God better and provide for their larvae, many "humans" in the area worked in strip mines gathering coal to provide sacrificial smoke to the Great Vrashnag. Others found employment in welding shops, selling used cars, manufacturing-plants and other industries of noise and blight.
Even now I am trying to dislodge the abandoned washing machines, the forgotten piles of plumbing pipe and wheel-less motorcycles from memory. There was something ahead that would help me.
Leaving Gillette behind, we eventually snaked our way to the snowcapped mountains which glistened like a row of gleaming white teeth on the horizon. Up, up, up we climbed weaving and twisting our way to the top. All around us a store house of snow, and only the road, a shimmering black ribbon cut through the banks of snow like a pencil line scribbled on white paper. From up top at nearly 10,000 feet I surveyed the surroundings as far as the eye could see. It felt as if I merely peered down I could fall off the map, or if I reached up I could ruffle Gods pant hems.
Descending the other side I had to conclude that my face, to any onlooker, must have appeared like one of those post office "Wanted" posters, bug eyed and frightened. Slippery metal grates placed strategically in the middle of curves and blind corners had me warming up to the notion of using the brakes lest I not skirt the corner.
Arriving at the bottom, it was good to be down on level ground again,...a victory bag of Doritos was definately in order.
Upon riding into Gillette Wyoming, I realized that we were on unfamiliar ground. From the road I saw what appeared to be tornado strewn debris and chaos, but upon closer inspection, I realized the damage to be homes of "humans" and all the possesions they had collected in their lives up to that point. Rusted cars, broken RVs, piles of sheet metal, rotten siding, a tractor with grass growing up through it and other articles of disuse and abandon too many to count and too difficult to catagorize decorated the horizon.
It was as if Vrashnag, some Hindu-like God of garbage had come up from the bowels of the earth and placed his throne firmly in the foothills of Gillette and gathered his throngs of loyal devotees around him. In order to serve their God better and provide for their larvae, many "humans" in the area worked in strip mines gathering coal to provide sacrificial smoke to the Great Vrashnag. Others found employment in welding shops, selling used cars, manufacturing-plants and other industries of noise and blight.
Even now I am trying to dislodge the abandoned washing machines, the forgotten piles of plumbing pipe and wheel-less motorcycles from memory. There was something ahead that would help me.
Leaving Gillette behind, we eventually snaked our way to the snowcapped mountains which glistened like a row of gleaming white teeth on the horizon. Up, up, up we climbed weaving and twisting our way to the top. All around us a store house of snow, and only the road, a shimmering black ribbon cut through the banks of snow like a pencil line scribbled on white paper. From up top at nearly 10,000 feet I surveyed the surroundings as far as the eye could see. It felt as if I merely peered down I could fall off the map, or if I reached up I could ruffle Gods pant hems.
Descending the other side I had to conclude that my face, to any onlooker, must have appeared like one of those post office "Wanted" posters, bug eyed and frightened. Slippery metal grates placed strategically in the middle of curves and blind corners had me warming up to the notion of using the brakes lest I not skirt the corner.
Arriving at the bottom, it was good to be down on level ground again,...a victory bag of Doritos was definately in order.
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