Some things are, by their very nature, hard, simple, unforgiving, and in a strange way beautiful for being so. The aging Rock Island rails slip away into the seemingly pregnant void of the Great Plains. Here everything has its own absolute economy, and there is little room for error. If your horse, your wagon, your train, or your car breaks down out here, you are a long way from anywhere.
How does knowing that affect you? Does sheer distance alone possess a spiritual quality? Is it possible that if you crossed a great space consciously, that distance would live in your mind and make it harder for you to be small minded?