Stepping out of the Crazy Horse monument’s museum, the sauna-like heat blasts away the lingering chill from my skin. As I walk to my car, weaving through a parking lot filled with Harley-Davidsons, I glance to my right, soaking in the final moments with the mountain.
Custer State Park is nearby, but paying the entry fee is outside my make-believe budget. The golden, rolling hills surrounding the area remind me of a place from my childhood. Back then, my cousins and I would ride a three-wheeler far into the mountains and return only at sundown. Feeling a similar sense of adventure, I turn onto the first gravel private road I find.
As I drive down the country road, I am acutely aware of each house I pass. I imagine the people inside, prying their blinds open, cautious of a polished white sporty car they don’t recognize. Not wanting to draw any more attention than I already am, I keep my speed low, careful to minimize dust. Having grown up in the sprawling landscape at the base of Mount Rainier, I understand how quickly people’s ears perk up when an outsider passes through.
The road twists upward, and the dry, thin pine trees press closer on either side. There are no more driveways or houses or any signs of life here and I start to contemplate turning around. But curiosity keeps me moving forward. Eventually, the road levels out into a wide, open area with a cluster of trees forming the center of a turnaround.
I circle the loop and notice a car parked within the grove. It is a pristine, bright white VW Jetta—clearly new with a South Dakota license plate. Around the edges of the clearing are picnic tables, suggesting it might be some sort of day-use area. I look but have no idea where the driver is, but the sight of the car brings me mixed feelings.
As I sat there, taking in the quiet and the unknown, I felt two contrasting forces within me. There were times I felt like a sniper—sharp, precise, in control. And then there were times I felt like a hunted deer, hypervigilant, motionless, sensing danger. The sweet thrill of freedom and exploration often gave way to an overwhelming awareness of vulnerability. Out of control, like a violent maniac of maniacs, a gun was held to my head, demanding the impossible. No outside threat came even close to the crazed destruction within.
And so the journey without became the journey within. I had foolheartedly believed that spectacular events and experiences would define the nature of my adventure. But as I gazed at the unmarked clearing, the truth, revealed itself: the most profound answers would always come from the journey within.
Except for the light chirps and calls of unseen birds and the swishing of leaves through the air like a milkmaid’s skirt, a stillness hangs in the air—a deathly calm that amplifies every small sound. The hot sun filters through the thinly spaced pine trees, weaving golden threads into the landscape. I stand for a moment, tilting my face upward, letting the sun’s warmth anchor me.
When my eyes refocus, I freeze. A figure sits on a picnic bench—the presumed owner of the bright white Jetta. From her silhouette, I guess she is female and petite at that, her posture slightly hunched toward something unseen. She sits facing away, her attention absorbed elsewhere, as though the world beyond her canvas doesn’t exist.
Curiosity propels me forward, my footsteps crunching softly on the gravel. As I get closer, the details sharpen: large rectangular canvas balances on an easel, brush moves in her hand, paints scattered across the tabletop. Despite surely seeing me pull in, she seems entirely unaware of my approach. Not wanting to startle her, I clear my throat and call out gently, “Um…hello?”
Her head turns sharply, her eyes locking with mine. I offer a quick smile, raising a hand in an awkward wave. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” I say, my tone more tentative than intended, as if seeking permission to occupy the same space.
Going On 40 
Your post took me on a journey, both external and internal. The vivid descriptions of the landscape and the sense of adventure resonated deeply with me. I could almost feel the heat of the sun and the crunch of gravel underfoot. The way you captured the duality of feeling both in control and vulnerable is something I can relate to on a profound level. It’s a reminder that our greatest adventures often lie within ourselves, and that the most meaningful experiences are those that challenge us to confront our own fears and uncertainties. Thank you for sharing this beautiful and introspective piece.
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