Day 1 – May 20 – Off and, well, Strolling

After a night of late preparations and little sleep, I was up before the alarm, eager to load the car and take care of last-minute preparations. I had hoped to get out the door by 8 a.m., and when I started the engine to pull away, the clock read 8:30 and I was pretty satisfied.

Loaded and ready. Had to run each of the cats and Dexter out.

After a few stops in Sioux City to tidy up a thing or two at work and exchange a few goodbye hugs there, I  topped off the gas tank and dropped my resupply packages with Twila, hugged her goodbye, and headed west by 10 a.m.

I stopped in Wayne to say goodbye to Jesse, my dear friend and often travel companion. He helped me with a few last-minute tasks, insisted I sterilize my water packs, and helped me install my in-line water filter. But more than that, he offered his usual confidence in my abilities and parting words of caution to always take it slow when in doubt.

Saying good bye to Jesse is one of the hardest things I’ve done, and I was emotionally wrought when I hit the road. He’ll be gone when I return, off on his own adventure for a new life on the east coast. I’ll miss him desperately – we tried the romantic route and when that didn’t work, remained close for a lot of years, and I’ve taken for granted that he was always just a 45-minute drive away. Although I know he’ll always be just a phone call or Google chat away, the distance is a hard reality to swallow.

Endings are something I still struggle with. I know the reality that nothing really ends, just as nothing really begins, but I get so attached to the people and situations in my life. When they shift, as they inevitably do, I often spend a lot of energy figuratively kicking and screaming against the change. And although I’ve seen, time and again in my 50 plus years, that the shift is always a forward movement, working to evolve me and those others involved, I still resist.

Campsite at Fort Kearney State Rec Area

I think that resistance to change is really a desire to relive, re-experience the good things that arose from a relationship or situation. I seem inclined to yearn for more of what I had, whether it was actual experience or emotional experience. I realize the futility of such behavior, yet still I often resist and yearn. I sometimes even resist when I know things are better for the change – simply fighting to keep the familiar familiar. I see this pattern being revealed in so many situations in my life, even trivial ones. I watched the final episode of “The Office” this week and teared up over that.

These experiences, these losses, are so important for personal growth. If we didn’t have things leave our lives, we wouldn’t have room for the new, the surprising, the gifts that are just waiting to present themselves to us. It’s important to remember that once those departing relationships, those experiences, were new and eased themselves into the holes that were vacated by earlier losses. Why the attachment, then, I cannot understand. As Mr. Spock says, it’s just not logical. I already fight the changes less fervently, and look toward the new more readily, so perhaps some day it will not be a struggle at all.

So as I drive away from Jesse and the nearby presence he’s been for the past three years, I drive toward the next experience, the next connection, the next gift this life has to offer. And as I sit here near Kearney, Nebraska , writing by the campfire I built from wood I scavenged and tinder I arranged carefully, I let go of the desire to revive and relive the past, and I simply sit and enjoy the moment. It is here, of course, and only here, that I find peace and joy and all that I am looking for.

Scavenged the wood and collected tinder. Only one try in damp conditions. I was coached well.

Pre-Adventure - May 18 and 19: Preparing for Launch

Pre-Adventure - May 18 and 19: Preparing for Launch

Grades are turned in, my commitments to work or any other entity are filled, and I’m making all the final preparations for a summer away.  That sounds so benign, and it’s not at all reflective of the anxiety, trepidation, and flat-out fear I’ve experienced over the past few weeks.

Breaking food in to single-serving bags with calorie labels

It is interesting to observe my varied emotions, fears, insecurities, confidence levels, etc. as the day to leave approaches. One minute I'm excited, the next afraid, then confident, then worried. It’s been a very engaging and full experience, and when I can step back and look at it from a detached viewpoint, I’m amazed at the range of reactions. My evolution, of course, is incomplete, so I often am caught in the emotion rather than watching it, but I find myself able to step away occasionally and observe, with affection, the emotions and thoughts as they come and go, no matter how “positive” or “negative” I’m labeling them.

Lots and lots of gear. REI thanks me.

I find the sheer immensity of tasks I need to accomplish intimidating, and that intimidation is compounded by the knowledge that I’m figuring it all out as I go. I’ve researched and explored and listened to experts, but ultimately I have to put it all together myself – the knowledge and the practical tasks. And I come back to the idea, over and over again, that if I screw up, it could kill me. Perhaps that’s a little dramatic, but it is true. Of course, the chance that an error or oversight will lead to my death is slim; it’s much more likely to simply induce some sort of hardship. Neither is something I’m hoping to experience, but of course if I do it will simply add to the adventure.

The peak of my anxiety was a few nights ago. I called on my friend Jesse, with whom I’ve done quite a bit backpacking, camping, hiking, and traveling. He understands my limits and patterns perhaps better than anyone. As we Google chatted, I was furiously typing my fears and thoughts, he trying to keep up and respond, and he dropped this wise gem for me to contemplate and absorb:

"It's a very deep fear - being unprepared. But really, you are unprepared. Anyone would be. You do this not because it's easy and you're ready for it all but because it's hard and you're probably not. You do it for what you're going to gain along the way. You do it for the resourcefulness I know you'll discover again and again in yourself."

He’s right. I don’t do this because it’s easy, or I’m an expert at it, or I feel comfortable doing it. I do it for all it offers me – a new look at myself, from the perspective of one who’s in an unfamiliar, often uncomfortable, sometimes threatening environment. I do it to experience what I can do and who I really am, besides this little human personality of Leslie.  As my dear friend Kay Scott reminded me, Gertrude Stein summed it up succinctly: "If you know you can do it, why do it?" Amen, Gertrude. 

Will 10 days worth fit in the bear canister? (That's it over to the left.) Sorting a 10day load to package and have Twila mail. I'll pick up a resupply package at the Muir Trail Ranch and at Red's Meadow Resort.

Monday, December 31, 2012: Here’s to a New Adventure

Monday, December 31, 2012: Here’s to a New Adventure

Sunset coming into Denver

I’m back on the road, starting the new year doing what I love best, experiencing the world in all its wonder.

I’m in downtown Denver, just having settled into my room at the Melbourne Hostel. What a day it’s been. It didn’t begin as I’d planned, and it held more surprises than I’d imagined.

 

The day began with an adjustment in plans. I was telling my dear friend Jesse last night that I wanted to get on the road this morning by 4 or 5 a.m., and he asked if I really wanted to start my vacation by getting up so early on very little sleep. (I, of course, wasn’t packed until around 1:30 this morning.) I realized I didn’t have to start so early, even if it meant a long day on the road and getting into Moab much later than I’d intended. So I slept in a bit, unhurriedly finished loading the last few items in the car, and hit the road about 10 a.m.

My room at the Melbourne

I soon realized many things would have to be adjusted. I realized I wouldn’t be able to get to REI before they closed early for the holiday, as I wouldn’t get into Denver until around 6 p.m. I also realized I was exhausted and wouldn’t be able to make the whole drive to Moab safely. So I searched for hostels on my phone, and found one in Denver that had an opening. The cost was a very reasonable $22/night for a dorm bed, and I reserved a room.

I pulled in front of the hostel about 6:30. In heart of downtown Denver, it didn’t look like a great part of town. I had to park on the street, but did find a place immediately across from the front door. I couldn’t help but wonder if my stuff would be safe in the car. I could bring in my computer and valuables, but all my camping gear would have to be left, just sitting in the car. I sat there, looking at the people milling around the bar next to the hostel, wondering if I should revamp my plans and look for an inexpensive hotel room instead. I sat until I knew to just go in and check it out.

The woman working at the desk was very nice and I decided I might as well give it a try. The hostel was old but clean, and it was teeming with fellow travelers. The woman at the desk said the dorm room only had one other occupant, so I decided to stay. After checking in, I asked about a place to walk and have dinner. She suggested the Mercury Café, just down the block, so I headed down to it.

There were no other businesses on the block, and the Mercury’s  green awning sported stars and moons and beckoned invitingly. I walked in to a fabulously, festively decorated dining room. The staff and many of the patrons were wearing holiday gear, and I was asked if I had a reservation. Realizing I was wearing a hoody I’d smeared mustard on, my jeans and hiking boots, I started to back out, apologizing for my attire. The hostess enthusiastically encouraged me to stay, saying it didn’t matter what I was wearing. So I stayed, asking to sit at the bar to eat. As I walked to the bar, under the strung lights, balloons, and past a tarot card reader, I felt I was in some magical place. And that’s exactly what the Mercury Café is. Proof it’s magical? Even the  wonderful woman who owns it looks the part with long, gray hair, topped with a beret and who proclaimed, in a fabulous poem, that her favorite number is 13.

I decided on a few specials of the night – an appetizer called "Moon Dog Farms Jerusalem Artichokes"  and the chili rellenos – made specially only once a year. Both were fabulous. And the food served there is all organic, because "organic food is your birthright" according to the menu. But this was just the first of the surprises in store. As I was eating my dinner, a couple sat down next to me and we struck up a conversation. They told me that upstairs there was an “Erotic Poetry Reading” about to start. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I finished my meal and headed up to the next level, which was even more magically constructed. The seating was a combination of tables, theatre seats, and folding chairs. Belly dancers gyrated in the aisles as I was stopped by the doorman who collected the $6 cover charge. He explained the evening – after the poetry reading there was a dance with live music. I decided I’d just stay for the poetry and found a chair.

Enviro Toilets!

The poets were some of the strongest performance poets I’ve ever seen and heard. All of the poetry was, of course, erotically themed, and there was a lot of laughing and joy as these bards performed. It lasted more than two hours, and halfway through there was a ten minute intermission with more belly dancing.

After I returned back to the hostel, I had just settled in after texting everyone Happy New Year’s at midnight Iowa time, was getting ready to sleep, and heard fireworks marking the turn of the year Mountain time. I sat up, looked out the window, and there, perfectly placed between two high buildings, was a fabulous fireworks display. I watched until the last flash of light, then turned over and went to sleep.

What a magical night and what a way to send out one of the best years of my life. Here’s to another great one in 2013. If this is any indication, it’s going to be one helluva ride!

Day 30, August 17 - ReEntry and Epilogue, Three Weeks Later

It's been about three weeks since I returned from the west, and I'm trying to settle into the routine here. It's not easy.

Even the simple semantics create a disconnect. When I began to speak of the differences in the life I lived while on the road and the life I live here, teaching and going about my daily business, I called this life, this domesticated existence, my "real life." But every time that phrase came out of my mouth, it felt wrong, untrue. The life on the road, the life of unexpected joy and surprise, the life of setting down and picking up my existence almost every day in a new and different and wonderful place, seems more like my real life than the one where I'm constrained by habit, ease, and familiarity.

So I refer to it as "this current life," and think of the life on the road as the real deal, as that's where I feel the most alive, that's where I see more clearly who I am and what life means to me, and that's where the passion to live fully, wholly, presently, lovingly, is most awake in me.

I've had a number of people ask me about Day 30 on the trip, and who have requested either that or an epilogue or something to bring closure to the travelog. I will do both here, as the story of Day 30 is brief, and the epilogue seemingly more fitting.

Day 30 began of course in Spearfish, at the same campsite that ended Day 1. I packed up that last morning, after having been greeted with some texts from those who missed me while I was gone, and left for the long drive across South Dakota.

It was amazing how quickly I fell back into the thinking, the patterns of this domestic life. I talked on the phone with people, texted people, and made plans for my arrival. The introspection was gone, as well as the simple immersion in my surroundings. My life at home came back as if it had never left, or rather I had never left it.

I met up with Anna in Sioux Falls, and we drove up to Brookings, SD, to join up with Emilie and Nick for dinner. We had a lovely time, catching up on each other's lives, and it was great to see and touch them again. After a nice afternoon with them, I drove home to meet up with a friend. We too caught up with each other and I began the reentry process in earnest.

Trip Data:

Days on the road:            30

Miles traveled:                 7767

States Visited:                  8 plus Canada

Number of Hikes:            20

Miles Hiked:                   120

Longest Hike:                 10 miles

Shortest Hike:                 3 miles

Highest Elevation:           10,800 ft. (Glacier at Great Basin)

Lowest Elevation:           -200 ft. (Death Valley)

List of Hikes:

4              Devils Tower, WY
3              Medicine Wheel, WY
7              Morrell Falls, MT
7              Apgar Lookout, Glacier NP, MT
10            Grinnell Glacier, Glacier NP, MT
10            Plain of 6 Glaciers, Bamff NP, Canada
3              Mt Rainier, WA
6              Mt Rainier, Skyline Trail, WA
3              Crater Lake, OR
18            Glen Aulin Trail, High Sierras, Tuolumne Meadows, Yosemite NP, CA (3 days; 6 mi/day)  
9              Road’s End, Cedar Grove, Kings Canyon NP, CA
10            Redwood Canyon, Kings Canyon NP, CA
3              Sequoia NP, CA
7              Devil’s Pile, Rainbow Falls, Mammoth Lakes, CA
4.5           Rock Lake, Near Mammoth, CA
4.5           Bristlecone Pine Grove and Glacier, Great Basin NP, NV
7              Antelope Island, The Great Salt Lake, UT
4              Spearfish Canyon, SD
120 miles/20 actual hikes = Avg. 6 mi per hike
120 miles/30 days = Avg. 4 mi per day

Epilogue, September 13:

One of the things I let go that first night was my commitment to writing every night. I no longer give myself the time to reflect on the day, and I have settled back into indulging all the distractions that decorate my life. I told myself I wouldn't do that, that I would keep writing every night, but here it is, three weeks later, and this is the first I've written since returning. Shameful my mind cries. Necessary is what my "higher self" sighs. Change it my critic adds. We'll see, the realist says.

In addition to missing the writing, I miss the regular hiking. I’ve hiked a few times a week since I’ve been back, and I’m regularly hitting the gym, but that’s not the same as that constant hike in front of me and the satisfaction of it being completed behind me. And the variety of landscape. Ah, I miss that. And the mountains. Iowa offers not a lot in the way of mountains. When a picture pops up on Facebook from  Glacier or Yosemite or some other wonderful wild place, I catch my breath a little and sigh into the longing.

I know I’ll go back on the road next year, and maybe even for a shorter period over the winter break, but I don’t know if anything will ever match this experience I’ve had. The solitude, the adventure, the joy of discovery – all that is unforgettable.  I’m extremely grateful that I have a life that affords me the ability to make this kind of trip – I realize how privileged I am. And I’m willing to give up more of this current life and whatever security it seems to provide to strike out on the next adventure. Until then, I work to stay in the present moment and occasionally gaze long into the images of the wilderness and indulge in the fantasy of solitude, and for just a few moments I’m there, breathing.