High Plains drifter

Yes, I'm still alive. Uncharacteristically, I haven't updated in what, over two weeks? It's a wonder I didn't just drop dead on the spot from withdrawal...

The reason that I've been out of touch is simple: to put it mildly, I've been busy. To tell you the truth, it's been stressful as all hell. I spent my last week in Sweden saying goodbye (or more frequently "See you in six months!") to friends and relatives, only narrowly missing a pseudo-reunion with some people from high school. It turned out to be possible to fly out on Friday rather than Sunday, which turned out to be A Good Thing. So since Thursday night, I've been in a more or less total communications blackout due to two things: travel and... Wyoming. The state is not, ah, littered with high-speed Internet connections.

So, now I've changed countries again. A bit like a global game of Musical Chairs ("Hela Havet Stormar" for those of you playing at home), this: I come, I sit for a while, I bugger off again. Uprooting my entire life has become both easier and harder with each move. The logistics are getting more and more predictable, and hence less of an issue: for instance, I now know that the very first things that need to be bought are toilet paper and bed sheets. Without these items, one tends to get distinctly uncomfortable. On the other hand, it becomes harder and harder to leave all friends, stability and sanity behind each time I do it. Partially because of age, I guess, but also because I know it's going to suck outrageously for a while before my life starts rolling again. But it always seems to right itself again, somehow, and knowing that is the real benefit of experience.

Consequently, I've been running around like a headless chicken during the last week, signing forms left and right (I've certified that I am not a rapist, among other things), attending lectures/lunches/meeetings that welcome me to the University of Wyoming, trying to have conversations with people whose English leaves something to be desired, and so on. The typical hysterics, but moderated by some degree of knowledge about this place. I won't go deeper into the US vs. Britain vs. Sweden cultural debate right here (that'll be my next post!), but suffice to say that there were a great many things that I'd forgotten over the last several years, and even more that I had no experience with at all from last time. Charlotta will no doubt be absolutely delighted to hear that I've had not just one but several Words Of The Day all week long, ranging from "correspondent bank" (who knew there were banks too small to do international wires?) through "bath coordinates" (if anyone knows the difference between that and "bath accessories", please tell me!) to "tax treaty" (an unpleasant surprise if I ever got one).

But today is Saturday, the traditional Swedish day of rest... no, what am I saying? Saturday is reserved for sleeping in, making last-minute trips to Systembolaget for booze and then the consumption of said libations. However, since I've been getting up before sunrise for a straight week, due to jetlag as well as a busy schedule, I opted out of that scheme and decided to do some exploration instead. Walmart has graciously provided me with a bicycle that was most certainly manufactured by sweat-shop slaves somewhere in China (the cost was roughly 1/5 of the Swedish equivalent), and I figured I'd field test both it and my lungs today. The bike held up fairly well, but I seem to have acquired the excellent physical performance of the average octagenerian. The blame doesn't rest solely on my slothfulness in Britain, but rather with the altitude: we're up at 2,200 meters here, and it is taking a serious toll on the oxygenation of my blood. The ride was awesome, though, and I'm happy I went. It doesn't take me more than about ten minutes to totally leave the city (such as it is) behind and head out into the grasslands. It is Big Sky Country out here, with sagebrush and hardy grasses ekeing a miserable living out of the red dirt. The nearby mountain ranges seem deceptively close, since you can see hundreds of miles in every direction, but are in fact a long-ass way away if you're on a bicycle. The overall feel is quite like Australia, but without the constant threat of death from all flora, fauna and geological features that mar that country (sorry, Cass, but it's true!). I saw a family of antelope bounding across the plain, scared up grasshoppers by the dozen (they sounds just like tiny machine guns when they fly), and encountered wild cactus for the first time in my life. As icing on the cake, I ran across a limestone canyon and some opportunities for really shitty climbing. In fact, the canyon as a site was far and away better than the climbing, which alternated between painful enough to cause blackouts and crummy enough that I accidentally kicked holes in the wall. But no matter, because the scenery just goes on forever around here. Looking west is especially pleasant, as the Snowy Range provides a lovely frame for the surprisingly green siloutte of Laramie. I'd show you some pictures, but due to a slight fuck-up from Yours Truly the camera is powerless, as are all of my other electric appliances.

And since I must've typed a thousand words already, I'll stop there. I have some fine buffalo meat that's thawing out as we speak, and I need to get home to cook up some Sauce Bolognese a la Ouest Sauvage. I'll post again when I get some more time on my hands, or some nice pictures. There will be some directions on how to get e-mail updates when I post something, too, as soon as I figure it out. Those of you who are more technically inclined can just subscribe to the Atom feed for now.