The Old Road

The Old Road

Several weeks ago, a friend and I drove from Bozeman to Minot, North Dakota. We went to celebrate the completion of the new sanctuary at a sister church. I rented a 2015 Ford Explorer for the trip. Montana recently upped the freeway speed limit to 80. So we cruised in luxury through the plains of eastern Montana and the oilfields of western Dakota. Autumn was having its way with the aspen and the harvested fields of grain and sugar beets.

Traveling that long stretch of interstate, I caught glimpse of the abandoned two-lane highway that used to carry traffic from the Midwest to the Pacific coast. Sections of the old road were used for local traffic. Some of it was overgrown with tumbleweed. Other parts completely gone except for a bare, flat stretch of roadbed.

Even though we made good time on the expanse of concrete that ran for hundreds of miles, I felt sad to see the decay of a once powerful road that carried life and supplies to far away places. As we sped over the concrete bridge that spanned the Yellowstone River, I couldn’t take my eyes off the old, rusting Iron Bridge still willing to serve any who wanted to venture into the past; a stark reminder that beauty and gracefulness are often replaced by utilitarian ugliness.

I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah’s words: “Go and stand at the crossroads and look around. Ask for directions to the old road, the tried and true road. Then take it. Discover the right route for your souls. But they say, ‘Nothing doing. We aren’t going that way.”

Oh, we almost set a land speed record getting from point A to point B and back again. But I can’t help wonder how much we missed along the way. When I travel fast I see a lot of nothing. When I take the time to travel slowly, I find all kinds of interesting people and places. As practical as that concrete ribbon is, it can never replace the back roads of Montana.