Sometimes I feel like an American

When we lived in Belgrade, Montana, Josh used ebay to purchase a truck… in Michigan. He had to fly out to get it, and he drove the thing the whole way back to Montana with no plates. I met up with him in Minneapolis and spent the whole trip worrying about it, but we made it.

The truck was a Ford F-150. It wasn’t huge, but it was a pretty good size. In the summers I used to drive it into Bozeman to get coffee. Just before my exit, there was a hill. Flying down that hill, with the windows open, with the music blaring, in that truck, made me feel American.

Last night we drove up Campbell Avenue around three o’clock in the morning. Campbell is lined with lit-up stores, signs made of light bulbs, and car dealerships. Driving up that street, late at night, that makes me feel American.

Today I watched an ambulance going through an intersection. Everyone was stopped. No one was trying to squeeze through in front of it. That made me feel American, made me appreciate the orderliness of being in America.

Doing doughnuts in the snow, or sliding around icy corners, even going faster than 20 mph on a snowy road, I feel, not only like an American, but like one from the part of the country that knows how to drive.

And, I've just realized I'm going to have to look for American experiences that do not involve vehicles...hmmm.