Here we are in the San Juan Mountains, heading towards Telluride. This should have been one of the more beautiful drives in America, with mist rising off the forest and streams, wildflowers, bursts of summer growth, and soaring mountains, but the path through it all is a utility not intended as a corridor of exploration and appreciation. There are just not enough pullouts to stop and enjoy the glorious views. Couple this road with the aggressive nature of those in a hurry to get to their destination as they’ve grown so accustomed to the sights that the scenery means nothing to them, and I’m left feeling that we are on a road to nowhere.

Signs used to be limited to pointing towards directions and upcoming conveniences such as hotels, food, and restrooms, but nowadays, we also must contend with a politicized thoroughfare where perpetual campaign slogans are seen every so many miles instead of being able to enjoy the birds and trees. This long drive that should have led into the wonderful becomes a maneuver through the psycho-consumptive mental illness that is modern America.

My love affair with the grand wide open spaces I was so fond of on previous visits is being crowded out by the anger of a populace that is growing disenfranchised and their mantras affirming their disillusionment. The vistas still rise majestically, but I can’t help but feel that the morass of stupidity is accumulating like molasses around the ankles of those who wish to move freely.

Pullouts are few and far between. Picnic benches are non-existent. The speed limit is 60, with most drivers pressing 70. I try to mosey along, barely maintaining 40; I am the hazard. It’s summer here at the end of July, and while the temperature is a pleasant 53 degrees before 9:00 this morning, my opportunity to listen to the silence between bursts from the songbirds with rushing water below is limited. Massive pickup trucks with a single occupant, windows rolled up tight, occasionally with bass thumping from a quarter-mile away scream past, letting me know that we are in different universes. Nature is no longer here for poets, writers, composers, hikers, and explorers; it is either a financial resource or an impediment to arriving at a destination where money is to be found.

Moving through Telluride but not stopping for more than a photo at the end of the road, I’m struck by the contrast of those walking and riding by and the Goethe’s walk along the Lahn River to the Rhein River. Goethe walked for three days to cover the 70 miles, and after his arrival back in Frankfurt, he wrote a book that led to a new era in literature. Today, people have to have the right LuluLemon tights, the best namebrand shoes, $10,000 carbon fiber bikes, kitted-out Jeeps with all the popular accouterments, and water bottles that speak to their brand loyalty. They do not move; they present.

Walking, hiking, or biking without style and the display of conspicuous consumption is for the commoner. Being mentally present for the sake of doing something of any particular meaning is passe when Instagram pages are waiting to be filled, and likes are accumulated for simply going to the place everyone believes holds a kind of cache not found in places not branded as “hip.” And what is going to lend that air of importance to a location besides the beautiful setting? It is the expensive nature that can be brought to the destination to maintain exclusiveness. Why should the poor experience “our” beautiful places when they can go to their local lake?

There’s a conundrum here as I fully understand what places like Daytona Beach, Myrtle Beach, and Atlantic City attract concerning tourism and how the exclusive natures of Jackson Hole, Telluride, and Sun Valley maintain their dignified airs. The real problem is a lament I’ve shared here far too often: America cultivates a vast underclass so that at any given time, it has massive reserves of expendable bodies to fight whatever conflict it wants to enter. As long as America’s lower and middle classes have lakes, sectioned-off segments of the coast, and places like Branson, Missouri, that are referred to as “Family Vacation Destinations,” this divide will continue to exist. I’m comparing this to Europe, where in places such as Vienna, all the economic classes of Europe mingle with the cultural attractions on offer.

Damn, this is a line of writing that I’ve grown tired of, but here I am in western Colorado, being confronted with the American reality that the haves and have-nots should remain as far apart as possible, and this makes me seriously uncomfortable.

I am on vacation with my daughter, and I can’t let go of the built-in, inherently unfair structural elements that define this country. I resent that we no longer want to do better and build a solid society but instead are cozy with our ugly mediocrity, bias, racism, and classism.

Just as I gaze out on the profound nature all around me and want to be lost in the moment within the environment, I cannot shut off the hostility pulsing through this country.

And then I realize that part of my problem for experiencing anxiety today is that I’m catching glimpses of the conditions that are leading to the re-masking of America due to the pandemic going out of control again. As the Delta variant of COVID has been ravaging corners of America, especially the unvaccinated, I’m watching people go about as though nothing is wrong. I feel like it’s the end of February 2020 all over again, where Caroline and I had already stocked up on masks, sanitizer, and food while the majority of the population seemed to think nothing much at all was going to happen.

Had you given me an all-expenses-paid vacation to Anywhere, Earth, last February or March, I would have turned it down, but here in Colorado, on our way to points north and then southeast, it’s business as usual. While my daughter and I are among the vaccinated, it’s obvious that at least half of everyone out here is not, while social distancing is nonexistent. Hopefully, when we finally start in on some hikes, we’ll find some solitude where the pandemic can, for a few days, be put out of my head.

The rainbow should be the perfect metaphor for what lies ahead, as the darkness of stupidity can’t loom over my head forever. True, I’m not out of the woods yet, and I can’t say that I’ll be able to escape the malignancy overcoming the landscape of the United States.

Here we are, America. We’ve lost our way, and our dreams no longer exist. The corpse just continues to wither away, and remnants of what was once an elegant creature are left by the side of the road, unseen by those on their way to suffering the same fate. We are now redefining our flag with various colors or trying to live with archaic symbols of an age long gone. We are pledging allegiance not to an idea but to a man some would like to be seen as all-powerful. This is the empire and body politic in decay. Sadly, I can no longer glide over the landscape without smelling the putrid stench of the rot.

Will the clouds dump their cleansing waters of enlightenment and clear our minds of the rampant hatred, or are we doomed to live in perpetual night?

Well, the sun sets over this day, too, and maybe tomorrow, the glimmers of something new will rise with our nearby star, but I will not hold my breath as while I may wake to witness beauty another day, as long as I’m within these borders I’m afraid the storm of our mediocrity will continue to rain down.