All day the wind blows right to left.
Most highways curve to the town from above rather than behind.
The notion that one more tank will get me home is more than a hit song.
After #3, #1 seems lean with fewer curves, long ones, no summits or climbs or descents, no constantly slowing to 80 or 60 or 40. #1 is a handier highway for doing other things.
For a man breaking every hour and a half, the 116 km from one side of the pass to the other on #3 is enough.
#1 has the four-lane. They've both got critters.
I suppose the magnificent sky need not be mentioned.
After the last of the roadsigns, the landscape inside the border from Alberta better (than #3's coniferous green) presents the illusion of appearing for the first time.
I'd take a pic if I didn't already know what it looks like and could find my camera.
Re poem as photo and photo as poem: how much detail? how much to leave outside the frame?
For gas I'll take Walsh over that sleazy ESSO at the Maple Creek junction.
Here we have proper ditches supervised by culverts at every crossing. Here we have the rhythm of telephone pole and wire.
What a smart yellow stripe the highway wears.
A manager at a gas station says to a customer emerging from the men's can: How did you find it? (as in Is it clean enough?) The guy says I followed the sign.
Project I'm giving to Stan Still: rest stop poems/photos.
By morning it was the sunlight on Fernie--mountains and rivers all directions, it seemed, and #3 at its best, sweeping down from Cranbrook. By late afternoon it's the coteau laying out for #1.
A Bluebird bus parked in the ditch at the Webb junction says CLAIRBORN 4H CLUB.
In Herbert I pretended I hadn't been born there. Bought a Diet Coke, getting rid of some change.
Plenty of character in the right-hand lane (eastbound) near Valjean.
Series: individual poles in late-afternoon light, where they connect to the ground.
Series: close-ups of locally made billboards before towns.
Now it's time for game two, Jays and Orioles, on AM 1190 Weyburn.