A Saturday ... Finally

This has been a pretty long and strange week.

I've had a bunch of stories to write, not the least of which was the pressure-packed assignment of teasing a couple stories out of an afternoon spent hobnobbing with the governors of Wyoming and West Virginia, as well a bunch of higher-ups from Arch Coal and Peabody Energy, two of the largest coal producers in the world. (Arch and Peabody combined produce more than 10 percent of the nation's coal alone). They were in town for an energy summit of sorts, following up on discussions from National Governors Association meetings, during which the pair of Democrats pledged to form an alliance between they hope will benefit the two largest coal-producing states in the U.S.

That meant I — the hometown cub reporter — got to go on the all-access tour at the largest surface coal mine in North America, Arch's gargantuan Black Thunder mine. (Arch Chairman Steve Leer pointed out during a lunchtime welcome speech that the mine last year produced 87 million tons, more than half of West Virginia's total production of about 153 million tons, much to the chagrin of Manchin). The tight timing of the tour, combined with our morning deadline, demanded that I write a 15-inch story on a tour bus packed with power, and file it 45 minutes later from the inner offices of the mine.

Then it was off to the races -- a motorcoach tour that included stops at a dragline with a 160-yard bucket and a liesurely drive past giant dumptrucks that carry upwards of 300 tons of Powder River Basin coal, enouch to power a 40 homes for a year, a guide pointed out over the P.A. system. That, sir, is power. Jesus, it is so much power, and it's on a scale that is absolutely unimanagible. The dragline, which is affectionally called the Big Dipper, moves 200 tons of overburden from the 100-foot plus coal seams every minute. When was the last time you saw that, I ask you?

Even trippier was sitting next to Gov. Joe Manchin, D-W.Va., discussing the pros and cons of oil price floors on the way back to town. There I was in the front seat, right behind the driver, next to a man the citizens of West Virginia deemed worthy of being their executive leader, and his jacket and copy of USA Today were both folded on his lap. He would later point at an antelope next to the road that he was sure even he might be able to bring down (this is relevant only because the governors today will be hunting antelope at a charity event). You don't get to do that everyday but it makes you realize that even the most powerful people in the world are still just people. A breath of fresh air, no?

Which brings me back to my no less exciting but slightly less glamorous life. Friday's shananigans was quite a departure from the craziness that is moving into a new apartment (with a balcony, thank God); the craziness that surrounded the Sept. 11 anniversary (which conjured up all sorts of wierd emotions); the craziness of the world around us; and, of course, the craziness of having nothing more than store-bought fried chicken, Sam Adams, three assortments of mayonaise-drenched salads and a box of lard in the fridge. Oh yeah, that's what moving is all about...

What a long strange trip it's been.

This was a week of extremes.