Dust on the Trail by E. David Scott
Adapted from Rain on the Range by S. Omar Barker
When your cleats are gunked and muddy and your helmet starts to melt,
And the dust and sun are pelting you and smelting you
And Delta, Utah’s firework show is still 60 miles away,
that’s when you get to thinking of them interns by the Bay.
Now they’re maybe moppin’ laser floors, or wrestling Excel,
But they’ve got a cushy seat, a bathroom, and A/C as well.
They do their little doin’s, be their wages low or none,
But let the heat rise till Lake Lag’s a field, they’ve got shade from the sun.
Their beds are maybe toppered, or at worst they sleep on springs,
While your ol’ 4-foot sleeping pad is full of bugs that sting.
They’ve got no cleats to fret about that yank ‘em to the ground,
They don’t have to resist flinching at big rig loud horn sounds.
There’s dining halls and Coupa and a fridge that keeps food cold
Whereas you gnaw costco protein bars that someone’s foot has balled.
When you’re ridin’ through the desert and you’re caked with dust by lunch,
Your mouth is even drier than the sandwich that you munch;
The hornets are so frequent you don’t mind em’ anymore,
When they rest awhile upon your leg you wish you too could snore,
When you see mirages on the road and think of Stanford’s pool,
You think about them SLAC interns, and call yourself a fool
For ever clippin’ in and starting off toward D.C.,
Instead of moppin’ laser floors and takin’ of your ease.
You sure do get to ponderin’ about them interns by the Bay,
Where SLAC kids are not gettin’ caked with dust ‘most every day.
It’s misery in the machinery, and you sure do aim to quit,
And take most any internship you figure you can get.
But when you’ve got your mind all set to quit and turn around,
The road pulls into Hinckley, and a gas station you’ve found!
You’re chattin’ with the mayor; they’ve got neutrino machines,
Organic barley, caverns deep, and new green energy,
You pull right into Delta, with a patriotic show,
There are fireworks ablaze and grapes and Dole Whip where you go.
That’s how it is with Spokesters when the dust and sun are hit:
They just hang on till it’s over–then there ain’t no need to quit!
