You can see the world’s largest sandhill crane statue
all the way from I-94 almost from a mile away. The first time you see it, it
surprises you cause it’s so unexpected. It’s sundown on the prairie and on the
horizon way out west for as far as your
eyes can see, and as the Greyhound pulls off the interstate and stops for
supper, the sandhill crane statue up close feels iluminated by this burning
orange prairie sunset sky which makes it an even more unexpected surprise. It
seems to stand guard on this tiny place at the side of the interstate, so far
away from anywhere, 60 miles to Jamestown to the east and 45 miles to Bismark
to the west and nothing else in between. The statue faces the interstate and up
there from its vantage point it seems to serve as a welcoming sign to the tired
and hungry drivers as it stands on the same grounds as the “Lone Steer Cafe,
Motel & Casino”.
I’ve seen quite a few places like this on the road,
but none quite like the “Lone Steer”. I step into the cafe and the first thing
that catches my attention are a couple of flies hovering over the apple pie
display case. That doesn’t help
sell the place for me but this will be the last chance for a real meal before I
reach Montana in the early morning. The waitresses seem to be more concerned
with the local news gossip on the radio than to attend to the costumers. It
seems Old Joe will spend another night in jail for riding his bicycle naked
again. That is enough to have them laughing hysterically. I wonder how old Joe
really is and how many times has he done it before or how senile or bored he
must be to keep doing it. One of the waitress keeps chewing gum while the other
is smoking a cigarette and they seem to me to be much older than they probably
are. Only after my fellow patrons in the Greyhound come in after finishing
smoking their cigarettes outside, and make a commotion, do the waitresses turn
the radio low, drop the cigarette butt beyond the counter and the chewing gum
under the grill and turn their attention to the costumers.
I’m
still not sure what I’m having so I scan the menu for anything that catches my
attention. One of the waitresses, Kitty, approaches my table and serves me
coffee and asks what I’ll be having. I ask about their specials and if she will
recommend anything. She recommends the blue-plate special with all the fixins
and that actually sounds good to me. While I wait for my meal I look at the
sandhill crane still hanging high over this place. The sunset has already been
replaced by the first signs of dark outside but the sandhill crane still seems
to cast the remains of that burning orange sky.
After I finish my blue-plate special I ask for the check and Kitty asks
if there’ll be anything else. I say no, but she interrupts me by saying “Hone,
you shouldn’t leave without trying our apple pie. It’s our specialty. We make
it ourselves”. I can still hear the buzzing of those flies, even over the
conversations, hanging over that display case, but can’t honestly have the
nerve to say no to Kitty’s big smile. I say that I’m still full from the
blue-plate special and ask her if she can wrap the pie for me to go. She says
“Sure hone, I’ll put in an extra large slice for you.” Kitty hands me the pie wrapped up in tin foil
and I pay up at the counter leaving her a generous tip.
Outside
the café it’s starting to get colder and darker. The lights of the motel office
are on but there’s no other lights on in the place, which makes me wonder if
anyone’s staying at the motel or if maybe they are at the next door casino.
From the outside, I can’t even guess if the casino is open for business. In
fairness, there’s a penetrating silence surrounding the parking lot that is
only tempered by the distant traffic on I-94 and by a few rushes of wind every
once in a while. I’m called in to board the bus and I take a long deep breath.
The cold wind on my face invigorates me and I pass the sandhill crane statue on
my way to the bus and finally take on the true measure of it. It seems to be so
much bigger now than what I first realized when I arrived here. And as I take a
final look at it from inside the bus as we’re already on our way to enter I-94,
it still stands tall over the place and seems to irradiate light to the parking
lot and the café. I fall asleep on the bus thinking who’d ever thought of
putting such a thing in that place. I awake in the middle of the night. I look
outside for a few minutes and all I see is the dark, interrupted from time to
time by the headlights of oncoming buses and trucks going east in the opposite
direction as our bus. I look around me and everyone is sleeping except the
driver and me. It’s probably 3 or 4 in the morning and there’s at least another
3 hours before we stop again and I’m feeling hungry again. I remember the apple
pie that still sits under the tin foil in the seat next to me. It’s still warm
and I eat it without leaving any single crumb. The best damn apple pie I ever
had, I think to myself, while looking outside the window at the dark cold
American night.
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