"Stomp, Stomp, Stomp, Stomp. We Don't Want Snakes in Our Garden!"

Casper, WY is actually a pretty big and happening place... especially compared to some of the places I've been in the past few days.  Not that I took advantage of that fact though.  As usual, I was drained from the road, so it was a simple dinner, the pre-purchased Coors lights, and some phone chats with the outside world as I uploaded the pictures of the day to facebook.  Little did I know that so many people were following my little journey.  People were excited to see where I was, and to know what I was doing.  And it wasn't even just my mom.

I had some communication with an ex of mine that night.  Not the ex but, my first love, actually.  That felt good.  I didn't realize how dejected I felt by the ex fiance and men in general, (and by myself, to be truthful,) until he and I re-connected.  But it wasn't a love affair kind of thing.  It was more of a well rounded friendship... with sexual undertones.  It was a good feeling.  And I didn't realize that people were actually checking out my posted pictures and status updates until our conversation.  He made the age old hitch hiker joke of "Gas, grass, or ass.  Nobody rides for free" and I felt scolded when my response ("Have you seen my pictures of the 'stranger dangers' that I've met?") was met with "That's not even a funny joke.  Be careful out there."

I had felt no reason to be scared at all during this journey...save the Thunder Mountain trip... and just went about my business like I had 3 bodyguards surrounding me.  I realize that even though I felt weak and vulnerable emotionally, I had a healthy respect for, and attention to my surroundings.  It was as if my physical safety was something that didn't cross my mind because I had taken precautions.  It was kind of like when I was super little, in Africa and my mom taught me to be loud when I walked so that snakes would know that I was coming, and wouldn't be surprised and strike at me.  I felt like I was being loud enough not to be stricken.  (hmmmm... maybe that's been my problem in the past.  I just wasn't being loud enough not to be stricken.  I was wallpaper until I had something to say, and then it startled the snake.)

"Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.  We don't want snakes in our gar-den!"

But with this conversation, I realized that there are people out there expecting me to come home.  People who do give a shit.  And I owe it to them, and to myself, to make sure that I finish this story and on a positive note.  It had just been 'moment to moment', 'day to day' for me up until this point.  The bubble of my car needed to expand.  What gave me the right to be reckless in any regard, when I was out there alone?  I couldn't imagine how horrible it would feel for my loved ones if something happened to me out here, when some of them were literally pacing and checking the clock while I was on the road.  Sometimes we can be really selfish.

This song is not specific to Wyoming, but it's pretty.  And it is a love song.  This was perfect as I rode through the swells and dips of the landscape and my heart.  Ultimately, I suppose it was sent from my heart to "the Boy" but also to my family and friends because they are my world and I love them.  And they are my home.  It is a love song about being 'home.'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbKX0mb8MGo

I spoke to my Godfather the next morning because he has some property out in Nothingsville, WY where he has an old, one room school house and has erected a small log cabin.  He's been working on them for years.  There's no electricity in his buildings and no running water.  I've been wanting to go see the property forever, but have never had the chance.  And here is my chance.

  

So taking the cell phone reception opportunity that I had, I got directions to the school house: 

"Once you get to Gillette, turn left at the intersection.  Go 8 miles and you will see a mailbox inside a mailbox that has bullet holes in it.    Go up the dirt road, over a hill,  through a bunch of trailers.  Go through a gate and at the fork, go left.  Go through another gate....." And I was informed, by both my mother and my Godfather, that it was molting season for snakes... whatever the Hell that means...

The only problem with these directions was that this could be anywhere!  I didn't see the mailbox, but I had gone the correct amount of miles, so I just started following the directions... and it took me somewhere, but not where I was supposed to be.  But I could see where I was supposed to be, I just couldn't figure out how to get there.  Eventually, after a family of antelope, many gates/ trailers/ hills/ dirt roads, and multiple texts to my mother (who knows Wyoming well,) I realized that I was in the wrong place and wouldn't be able to get there from here.  I turned around.  Once back on the main road, I found my way and it was exactly the way he had described it... starting with the bullet filled mailbox.

He told me that I could stay there for the night if I wanted to.  Ummm.... no thank you.  Maybe I'm a priss, maybe I'm spoiled.  I'll take it, but I'm not hanging out in a snake ridden, no water or electricity having, only an outhouse for a bathroom, place overnight.  Nope.  No way.  No how.

But driving up, my heart swelled once again.  Even out here, where it hasn't been inhabited for months, there are molting snakes, and no plumbing, I felt such joy.  I know how much time and energy my Godfather has put into that place.  And I know how pure it felt. A simpler and harder time is out here.  It's raw and beautiful and natural.  It's perfect.  This is America, right here, right now.  This is sweat, sunburned necks, working from dawn til dusk, honest living.  When he comes out here, he stays on the property, uses the outhouse and buys water in town for bathing and cooking.  Hell, he dug the damn hole for the outhouse and came into contact with a rattlesnake while doing so.  Oh Helllllls no!  I respect it, but I can't do it.  They made them stronger out there.  I'm grateful for all that I have.

I hopped the fence (it was stuck due to lack of use) and gave a wide berth to the hole dug under the schoolhouse by an unknown creature.  I walked with a heavy foot and had the cast iron gnome in case I had to beat down a reptile (Yup that's me, the tree hugger).  I peered into windows as much as I could and gazed out at the prairies that surrounded the property.  I took breaths that filled my lungs and soul.  You have to be there to feel the sounds out there.  It really is nature at it's finest.  You know you are being watched by everyone around you, but you know that it's not humans.  Out there, it's snakes, antelope, bugs, and foliage that examine your every move and breath.   I felt at peace... even though I was sort of like a peeping Tom.

"Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.  We don't want snakes in our gar-den"

I wanted to live "off the grid" for a while.  visiting this property made me realize how romantic/ not-for-me it was.  I can't look into the eyes of Little Bunny Foo Foo before I kill, skin and clean him for my dinner.  I can't live without a hot shower.  I don't want to smell myself without Lady Mitchum.

So way later, I found out why I was warned about snake molting season:  When rattlesnakes molt, they lose their rattles, so you don't get the fair warning before they strike.  Good to know.

After I got a fill of the ol' homestead, I kept trucking northeast towards my next destination.  When hearing that I was going back through Wyoming, my mother told me that I should go see Devils Tower.  Personally, I had never heard of it, but I was game for anything.  She just told me the roads to take and that I would know when I got there.

"N'ok."

Here I go again, on my own.... But she wasn't kidding.  

So, Devils Tower literally rises out of nowhere and it's the most bizarre natural sight I've ever seen.  You may know of it if you've ever seen "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" (Steven Spielberg, 1977) which features the monument.  I had never seen the movie and still have only seen parts.  Upon later research, I found out that Devils Tower is our first National monument and has amazing folklore attached to it.  There are stories of bears, girls, American Indians, God's intervention and the Devil attached to the tower.  Had I known, I would have gone as close to it as I possibly could, but I thought it would have been restricted for some reason, so I didn't pursue as far as I should have.  But I kid you not when I say that all of a sudden, it's just there.  And it's astonishing!  Breath-caught-in-your-throat type astonishing.  Next time, I'm going up as close as I can.  If I can handle Thunder Mountain, Devils Tower should be a piece of cake!

"When you call me that, SMILE"

I love traveling.  And driving, if I have the time and opportunity to do it right, is divine.  I like to do things on my own timetable, pop out and take pictures wherever I want and, take in my surroundings.  Unfortunately, at this point in my whole trip and for the day, I'm excited and anxious, lonely and tired, and losing interest in the scenery, gorgeous as it is.  I mean it's beautiful but, damn, I'm bored.  I want a base for the night and for my home life.  Neither of which is visible right now.

Nevada drained me for the day, but I was also itching to get to the next spot.  The last few road hours were long and flat.  And though the mountains in the distance were majestic, there's not much out here.  Get gas where you can!  I eased over the Utah ("Where Ideas Connect") line close to sunset a found a rest area in the salt flats to stretch my legs a little.

Salt Flats, UT

Back on the road, I realized that I should probably find a place to stop for the night.  All along the highway, they warn you that there are multiple miles between services, so keep your eye out for that.  Stop when you can for food and gas.  And if you need to stop for the night in Utah, call ahead!  Just a word to the wise.  There is NOTHING out there pretty much until you get to Salt Lake City.  At night, you can see it for miles, but it feels like forever to get there.

Once I saw a Gas-Food-Lodging sign, I squeeled off the exit in hot pursuit of a meal and a bed!  Alas, I was thwarted here.  I was in a town just outside of Salt lake and there were No Vacancy signs on even the most derelict looking motels.  No room at the Inn.  Anywhere.  I refueled (because you just never know out here) and continued on to Salt Lake City.  I visited 3 hotels before I found one with any availability and I got the last room.  Apparently, even in off season, you have to call ahead because this is a nightly thing out here.  Why?  Because, as I said before,  there is NOTHING out here!  It was about 9PM and I was so beat that I was seeing pink elephants dancing along the road.  After I had my key card in my hot, little hand, I had only enough energy to pop over to a gas station and grab a sandwich for dinner.  I'm eatin' well out here!

The next morning, I greeted the new day with new vigor.  That's the way it goes most mornings of this trip:  I go to bed beat from the road and my own emotions, but get a night of rest and I'm ready to conquer the world again the next day, excited for what I might see, learn or find.  And this morning was beautiful!  The colors were starting to change on the mountains and it warmed my being.

Okay, I'll admit it: Utah is stunning.

And now I'm back in Wyoming ("Like No Place on Earth.")  Last time I was here, I wasn't able to get into the old house or find my grandparent's graves.  By the time I rolled back into Elk Mountain, WY, I had to pee so bad, my eyes where yellow.  For as much as I have to pee on a regular basis, I can't believe that I have yet to pull over and squat on the side of the road on this trip.  But here you have it, it's time!  At least I did it on the family property... which is a corner lot ... and I couldn't even make it to the back of the house, so it was right there out front.  Oma (my grandmother,) please forgive me.  But this is why I always have provisions in my car and know how to pee in a bottle.

After another attempt to get into the house, I'm thoroughly disheartened when I can't budge the old lock.  Even though the house is deserted, at least the local animals have found it a good pass through for wherever they are headed.  I wasn't the only one to relieve myself at the ol' house.  I snapped a few shots around town, letting the memories of my childhood wash over me, and headed to the "Trading Post" to see if someone could tell me how to get ol' the old cemetery.

The Trading post used to be the old general store.  I remember the old days when the aisles were filled with dusty cans, bottles, and anything that you may ever need to feed or take care of your family.  The taste of cherry chapstick always takes me right back to that store, in my mind.  Eventually, they added a little cafe onto the side of the store to bring in a little more money.  A few years later, the shelves were all removed and it turned into a museum attached to the cafe.  Now, it's a strange building with maybe a table or two in a large open room and a hodgepodge of  pictures/ artifacts from days of old and more recent years.

As the Trading Post had been through so many changes, I hoped that there was at least some sort of store back in there.  I needed to buy a trowel to dig up some sage.  My favorite smudge stick is made up of sage that I cut at my grandparents grave site years ago and tied with thread that I found among my grandmother's things.  I wanted to dig up a plant and bring it with me to help start my herb garden.  Maybe that sounds strange to you, but, as mentioned before, I have a bond with my ancestors and what better way to honor them than to be able to grow it and be reminded of them every time I use that sage? Well, that wasn't meant to be anyway.

Something that I need to mention about Elk Mountain is that there isn't much life there anymore.  And being the smallest of towns that I've ever seen means that I am an outsider that they can see coming from 12 states away.  And I'm not really what you would commonly think of as the right age around here for being single.  Lets put it this way, if I lived here, I would either have been married for the past 15 years and have at least 3 denim clad offspring, or I would be the town spinster.  So right now, with my clean fingernails, nose ring, and lack of flannel shirt, I'm being looked at as a mixture between "fresh meat" and "a damn fur-ner." 

I walked into the main building that seems to still be a strange little restaurant.  After being ignored by the sole person working there and the 2 patrons that were the lunch rush, I walked directly up to the waiter/owner/cashier/chef/... and asked if there was anywhere that I might be able to find a trowel and where the cemetery is.  This probably sounded strange to the guy, and his facial expression confirmed that.  I then introduced myself as so-n-so's granddaughter and was informed that it would be an hours drive back the way I came to get a trowel.  So that's out.  But he pointed me in the direction of the cemetery anyway.

 That's what small towns are all about.

I found the cemetery with no problems, after following directions that sent me on dirt roads and through multiple cow gates.  The view from up there is really awe inspiring.  Elk Mountain is in the distance, and there are creeks (pronounced 'cricks' to the locals.  Something that drives me batty) and cows doing all of their creek- and cow-like things.  It's the "old cemetery" so it's pretty deserted and Wyoming weather can be pretty harsh.  It doesn't seem to have regular maintenance so it's wildly overgrown with sage and weeds.  The soil is not moist and fertile.  There are no rolling hills of lush, groomed grass.  There are very little adornments on the graves and what there is, is faded and wind-torn.  But the smell is sweet, delicate sage and the feel is peaceful and respectful.  Something about the harshness of the terrain, the spectacular view, the high altitude air, and the slight breeze carrying the aroma of herbs, makes it a comforting resting place.  But deserted and sad at the same time.

The ground was too hard to pull out a sage plant.  And my knife could barely cut the pieces that I got.  But even the handful of leaves that I took, filled my car with a rich, earthy scent that carried me through many more miles.

Once the family affairs were done, I stopped to fill up on my way out of town (at a gas station that used to employ my only Wyoming crush of many moons ago) and grab a 6-pack of the 'local' flavor.  My choices were Bud or Coors products.  From here on out for a little while, I'm off of the highway.  AKA very little cell service and few passing cars.  Destination: Casper, WY.

The little road took me through Medicine Bow, WY which should be mentioned as it is the setting for the book "The Virginian"  by Owen Wister.  Aaaaand that's pretty much all there is to say about Medicine Bow.  There is a little museum dedicated to this fact, an old timey hotel that makes plate sized pancakes, and a plaque with the famous quote: "When you say that, SMILE"  which makes more sense if you've read the book or have at least read the Wikipedia description.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Virginian_%28novel%29

But as I entered into Medicine Bow, there was a great shot of an antelope silhouetted with the town welcome sign.  Of course, by the time I had stopped the car and grabbed my camera, the antelope had moved and I was at a horrible angle, so this is what I got.  Just pretend that this was the perfect picture, with the nothingness in the background, the fact that there is no one around, and in my mind, there are more sunset-y colors.  It was actually pretty cool in person.  You feel like you are the only person in the world out here.  And you might be... at least in Medicine Bow.

And so I continued on towards another hotel, alone, for the night.  To the booming metropolis of Casper, WY.

Dear God, I come in peace, I mean no disrespect.

Roughly twelve minutes after leaving my family at Donner Lake, I entered into Nevada ("Wide Open" or "Battle Born" Either one works for me) and soon found myself in "The Biggest Little City In The World:" Reno.  I think there is a $1 a minute cover for Reno, because I dropped $30 in just as many minutes while there.  And it wasn't on gas or food.

That being done, I continued east

Somewhere on the 166 mile stretch of I-80 between Reno and Winnemucca, there is a little known gem called Thunder Mountain.  Trust me when I say this, folks.  There is pretty much nothingness surrounding me here.  But as I was tootin' along, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a building, looking sad and in disrepair and surrounded by a high wire fence.  Now, I've seen some things in my life, but this was one of those that takes you off guard.  There were tall white dome-ish things on top and statues all around.  And some sort of sign on the fence that I couldn't read at 75+mph.  Of course, this is something that I can't just pass up, so I resolved to pull off at the next exit and turn around.

Fifteen minutes later, I get to the next exit... which isn't looking too promising if I'm seeking large populations of safe looking people.  So I pull into to the gas station/cafe/general store looking place, complete with some sort of animal skull painted on the sign, and go on in to ask what the Hell that place was back there. 

"It's a strange little place, that is.  There's a brochure 'round here somewhere"

And popular too, it seems?

The brochure didn't tell me much so I just headed back towards it.  It stated that it was some sort of American Indian memorial, but that's about all I got from it.  Once off of the exit, all you see is little dirt roads.  What they are leading to, I have no clue.  But a rusted little sign directed me to follow one of them onto some property with a ramshackle structure or two, and led me through another gate.  Every inch that you struggle down, you feel that you are trespassing even though this is where you have been guided to go.  I started feeling unsettled, but ignored it and went on.  I parked in a dirt parking area and made sure to lock my car.  There is not a human in sight as far as I can see.  I really was starting to feel strange.  The building area, if I may call it that, was surrounded by a fence made out of random wood posts and wire, complete with a sign that stated "Enter At Your Own Risk."

Yup.  Feeling REALLY good right now.

The wooden gate was somewhat closed when I walked up, but as I got closer, 

*creeeeeeeeeeek* 

it opened up for me.  Weird.  I walked through and (I kid you not)  

*creeeeeeeeeeek* 

it closed behind me.  At this point, I'm in rapid prayer mode. "Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect. Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect.  Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect."  This coming from a girl driving a gas guzzling SUV, and carrying a gnome prop for pictures.  

But I stopped by the Visitor Center,  AKA four posts in the ground covered by a corrugated tin roof with some yellowing pages on a cork-board and a donation box.  I deposited my measly offering in the box as I continued to pray and headed towards the building.... which is surrounded by yet another tall, barbed wire fence.


The lack of any sound whatsoever, besides my footsteps (and prayers, of course) in the dry climate is unnerving.  But not as unnerving as how palpable the air is.  There is someone here.  I know it and can feel it.  He is male and I don't know if he means me harm or not, but he's watching my every move.  There may even be more than one.

The building is a hodgepodge of stone and bottles and other materials held together by cement.  It's truly astonishing, but I couldn't take the time to take it all in because I was so rattled.  How I didn't wet myself, I'll never know.  Besides the main building there are statues and brik-a-brak all around the area.  Pieces of automobiles, animal skulls, dolls and a smaller building to the side that I couldn't go near.  I've never toured any place so quickly in my life.   There was one part of the compound that caused me so much anxiety, that I turned around and went back the way I came, quickly.  I mean, I was damn near running to get out of there.  I peeled out on the dirt road as I flew back towards the highway.  I was left reeling for a good half hour after leaving there.  Maybe it was just a very powerful place and in my state, I couldn't handle it.  I hope that's the case, I really do.  Maybe it was just so forgotten and crude that it made me feel that way.  I found a link to the site once I was stationary.  It looks more welcoming in their pictures and I understand it a bit better.  It's worth a look-see if you have time.  Maybe you can get a better feel for the place through their words and photos.

http://www.thundermountainmonument.com/ 

Dear God, I mean no disrespect.  I come in peace.

Onward-Ho!  Winnemucca is calling my name!  

Or not.

All I'll say is the city welcome sign is on the same plot of ground that the cemetery is on.  The entire place is run down and long ago left to die.  But it won't, it seems.  Poor little Winnemucca.  Seriously, from what I saw, all that's there is ancient casinos, fried food and drag races.  But it's where you stop on your road trip because there isn't much out there in Nowheresville.

8000 Feet Above Sea Level and Ready to Jump

"Remember, if you come this way, don't take no shortcuts and hurry along as fast as you can." (Virginia Reed, Age 12, Donner Party Survivor, 1847)

Just a few days before my departure, I found out via a popular social media website that the ex had a special lady friend.  This all occurred while we were conversing via texts about me trying to sell my engagement ring.  He never told me.  He let me find out over facebook while we were communicating.  Who knew that a broken heart could break more.  It can.  And mine did.

I went back into full on panic mode.  I don't know why.  It had been months at this point.  We had sporadic communication, I realized that even though I loved him, he was living the life that he had to live for himself and I was doing the same.  But I still loved every fiber of him and missed him something awful sometimes.  This is the point that every ex dreads.  This is where the other one has moved on and has a new partner and you are single.

My partner was myself.  And by that I mean, I shaved my legs for me, I cooked foods that I wanted to eat, I put makeup on and realized that I was pretty... without someone else telling me that I was.  I was dating myself.  I was proud of that fact to some degree, but on the other hand, I was envious.  I have an aversion to what I call 'the empty orgasm' so I wasn't out there hopping into bed with people.  At some points, I really wished I could, but I just couldn't force myself to do that.  I didn't see the point. He had been the man that I was going to spend the rest of my life and raise our family with.  No drunken night or piece of 'strange' was going to replace that.  I'm looking for quality in my life these days, not quantity.

  Armed with a freshly filled i-pod, a tank of gas, and a google map, I headed out.  Gnoman and Somo were buckled into the passenger seat next to me and the stereo was on full blast.  I had a car stocked with instant oatmeal, a bag of nuts, and a box of ginger snaps, all within grabbing reach.  It's time to roll!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCRqK8_w6EI

The date was September 8th.  Not a date that I will forget for a long, long time.  Even though I had spent a good deal of time in Washington healing and starting fresh, this was  the start of my "road trip back to right."  I started heading South.  My parents were due to meet me for a family reunion in Truckee, CA in a couple of days so that was where the compass was pointing.

I said goodbye to Washington ("Experience Washington") and crossed into Oregon ("We Love Dreamers"), heading towards beautiful mountains,  gorgeous gorges and my family.  At a rest stop, in the light, ever present rain, I met a scruffy, unwashed guy with a beautiful white kitten named Snowy.  you KNOW I couldn't just walk away from Snowy!  It was raining, for Heavens sake!  So what does my shy ass do?  I walk up to this pungent fellow and start talking.  

"May I take a picture of you and your cat?"

"Sure.  I'm trying to get back to Oregon, I had a gig in Seattle .  I'm in a band.  They want to record us.  My girl was in a car accident and she can't travel and I'm trying to get back to her.  I'm out of money and I've been going back and forth for the past few months recording...."

Of course you have.... with a cat.

"I don't have much and I can't take you with me, because my car is full, but here is a little gas money if that helps." Get the cat some food and get her out of the frikin' rain, Mick Jagger!

  I made it to a small town called Grant's Pass ("It's The Climate,") Oregon  for the night.  I had a family dinner with the cousins, saw the babies from years ago as adults, (which is startling no matter how you look at it,) and slept in the most comfortable bed that I have EVER slept in!  It just pulled me in and cocooned me for the best night of sleep that I've had in years.  I had no worries that night.  I was safe and loved.  Nothing else mattered.

The next morning, I headed out ahead of my cousins who were going to the same reunion.  I had printed out a map and figured with me stopping to take pictures and my slow, meandering ways, I would get to Donner Lake about the same time that they did.

Soon after I left Grants Pass, I entered into California ("Find Yourself Here") and had a bit of a scare when the state line border control almost took my sad little ailing orchid (gift from his mom) that had traveled from Naples onward with me.  Luggage has been dropped on this thing, animals have munched on it, it's been on the floorboard of my car for weeks at a time, never complaining.  Hands off the orchid, man!  It's tougher than you will ever be!  but I can't bare to lose that too! (Okay, maybe I DO hold onto things a little to much...)

The road took me through beauty, desolation, abundance, and national forests where the speed limit went from 55MPR to 25MPR in a blink of an eye and around hairpin curves.  I'm just going to put it out there that if there isn't going to be a gas station for 100+ miles, someone should let a sister know.  And if there is a gas station in the middle of the National Forest, but it's only open on weekdays/ in season/ between the hours of 9AM-11AM same day, again, let a sister know.  Fuuuuuuck!  I sent a text to the family to let them know where I was at the one spot for 300 miles that had reception, and kept on truckin'... with about 1/4 tank of gas... in an SUV... and a prayer.  Yeah, that's going to get me far.

I saw Mt. Shasta in the distance, where there is supposedly a monastery where I wish I had visited, I went through Shasta National Forest (imagine that,) tree lined and lake spotted.  Beginning to think I may have taken the long road, at the entrance to one of the National Parks, I told the ranger that I was trying to get to Truckee, and asked if I was going the right way.

"You CAN get to Truckee going this way and you should.  It's a beautiful day.  That'll be $12."

  I ventured into Lassen Volcanic National Park ("Leave Only Footprints, Take Only Pictures."), where I was 8000+ ft above sea level and the view from there is utterly breathtaking, I inhaled the rotten egg smell of the gaseous discharge from the rocks, and my heart sang the entire way.  I rolled into a tiny town with a name that I can't remember, on fumes, and almost fell to my knees in thanks that I wasn't stranded in the wilderness.  This town looked like the Old West had come to claim it back, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble.  Even the stray dogs looked like they could 'shoot 'em out' if they had to.  This town was desolate.

 

God, this land is astonishing.  The air is so crisp (or thin... depending on how you look at it,) the scenery changes from second to second, and if you can't find peace here... well, you need a Buddhist temple.  In the forest, there are pull off points where you can fish and camp and such, Port-a-Potties or brick buildings with a toilet shaped thing but nothing else, and Smokey the Bear letting you know what the fire alert is for the day.  The crystal clear, babbling brooks babbled away, the birds chirped and sang, and the soil sent out the sweet aroma of new growth and life to my nostrils.  I had my windows down and the air off, partly to save gas and partly to make sure that I experienced this beautiful moment.  Every precious moment.


After about 12 hrs of driving, multiple calls to the family to flag me in, a quick detour unexpectedly due to construction, into Nevada ("Wide Open,") I pulled into the Donner Lake Inn.  My tires were smoking and my car smelled like burning rubber/oil/not good things, but I made it and the family had saved me a plate!  And the cousins that I had left earlier that day were sitting there waiting for me... for the past 4 hours.

A couple of my cousins own the Donner Lake Inn (shameless plug for the B&B.  It's great and the people are amazing) but they were closed to the public and let our big, loud, Italian famiglia descend upon them and take over.  It was awesome!  Some of these folks I haven't seen for years, if ever.  Some I had seen that morning.  Either way, we fell into an easy routine of good food, hilarious family stories (note to self: next time bring a tape recorder) and sight seeing.

Like every family, we have secrets and drama and bad blood mixed in there somewhere.  But none of that was present.  This was a group of people age ranged from infant to 80+ living, laughing and loving together.  There was no agenda and very little itinerary to deal with.  We went on the stunning, toothpaste blue waters of Lake Tahoe ("Keep Tahoe Blue, ") where I drove the boat briefly, we visited the Emigrant Trail, where we marveled at the construction of tunnels and walls that were built so crudely and beautifully,  visited the Donner Museum and Donner Lake, which moved us all in ways that can never be explained.

Do you know much about the Donner Party?  I didn't.  Read up on them if you ever have a moment.  Maybe I was so taken by it because I was on the verge of my own voyage, maybe just because it is an astonishing story.  Seeing the craggy rocks that they navigated wagons over, the visual of how deep the snow was (22 feet,) how there was strife in the party that started with 87 and ended with 48, how a man that they ostracized was the only one to go on ahead and send a rescue team back for them, how some had to turn to cannibalism, understandably, to stay alive.  Truly a nonfictional page turner.

But under that umbrella of rich history, loving family and delicious sunshine, I let go.  I covered myself with the blankets of stories that flowed every night about my ancestors, swam in my own memories, and relentlessly asked for ideas of where to head next.

I learned that Winnemucca ("There's More Than Meets The Eye",) NV is where everyone has to pass through to get where you want to go.  I also learned that there ain't shit in Winnemucca!

Drying out in Washington State

"What brought you to Washington?"

"A new life"

There it is again.

"Warrants?

"Funny you should mention that."

Washington is just beautiful.  It was the the perfect backdrop to be reborn.  The area code where I was is 360.  It took me almost the entire time that I was there to realize that that is what I was doing.  A 360.

Let me just go and get it out there that I'm a throwback hippie.  I'm a tree hugging, animal loving, make-love-not-waring fool.  I analyze my dreams and listen to my intuition.  Freak?  Maybe.  Observer?  For sure.  I love people watching.  And where I was in my psyche at this point, this is what I was here to do.  I needed to listen to myself and to observe everything around me.

I don't know if you noticed this or not, but 2010 was a hard year.  Not just for me, but for millions of people.  My situation aside, the stories that I heard of tragedy were astonishing.  Starting with the earthquake in Haiti everything just seemed to go downhill.  Natural disasters, relationship mayhem, job loss, personal tragedy, death, and general unease.  You may have felt it, but didn't have anyone to talk about it with.  You were not alone.  To this day, I still have conversations with people that say (mostly March-June) 2010 was Hell.  In the the shop that I worked in, (staff count of 8,) there was divorce, separation, serious marital disconnection and general romantic pain during that time.  And that is just 7 people that I know.  This does not include the deaths, illnesses, and geographic disasters.

But there were also births, milestones, pregnancies, and inspiration.  There was a lot of joy in 2010.  People that quit their jobs to follow dreams, did just that and succeeded.  Hard births turned out healthy babies and mamas.  Couples that seemed to be on the rocks found each other again.  Cancers that came back went into remission again.

To quote Kahili Gibran,

"Sadness is but a wall between two gardens."

We made it through.  I celebrated my 33rd year of life, in Washington.  I froke out only a little when I realized that I was a barista, unattached and with no children at 33.  When I was young, I thought I would be married, with children, by 21.  Thank God for small favors.  I have a friend that had a stroke at age 21.  She called me one day and said that she had learned to pucker again.  This is what I was doing; learning to pucker again.

The friend that took me in is just as kooky as I am.  She sees the spirits that walk around, she picks up on energy, and she is rooted into this world more than most "normal" people.  I love her.  She never let me get away with any s#@t!  she forced me to deal with my pain.

"The best way to get through something is to live it.  Feel it."

Ef you!  I don't wanna!

But I did.  On her porch, I shook, cried, trembled, laughed, sang, and talked.  She relived the past few years of my life with me, some that she was there for and some that she was not.  I relived her life too.  I was reminded of the fact that when we are off living, others are too.  Lives filled with so much joy and so much pain and a lot of filler in between.

We planted a garden that mostly died, we cooked some really good food, we bounced ideas off of each other, and we listened.  That was the biggest thing.  We just listened.  To each other, to the night, to the animals in the neighborhood, to the kids down the street that only liked one Lady Gaga song, to our family and friends, and to ourselves.  Funny that, listening to yourself.  You say some insightful things, but unless you have a sounding board, most of the time, it just gets lost.

I shucked my first oyster out there.  I was okay with it until I realized that it was my hand that killed the slimy little bugger, and I couldn't even eat it.  I met beautiful people, older and younger, that became my rocks.  I fit right in at work.  I am as sick minded as the rest of them and also as human.   I inhaled pure, salty air.  I relived and healed every day as my co-workers told their stories of loss and love.  I battled with the DMV from 3 different states to get my license back in good standing.  I drank a 4 Loko and smooched with an 18 year old.  I wish I knew his name.  Every Wednesday when I went to work, my co-workers would cue the i-pod to play "Shots" by LMFAO.  That was the joy of my day.  Horrible song, great memories though.  Before I left Naples, I filled out the census card and included myself on it.  I just wanted to be counted.  Here, in this strange little Navy town, I didn't need a census, I was counted.

While there, I formed a new relationship with the ex.  Not a good one per say, but a new one.  One that I was good with sometimes and sometimes not.  He may have felt the same way.  In some exchanges he was apologetic and I missed him so.  Some were more raw.  I hope I'm not alone in saying this, but there is something with an ex.  1st off, the comfort level.  2nd (and in this case) the need to know that you still have it.  We had dirty exchanges and sometimes even ones of real substance. He is an amazing person.  So simple and predictable, but also full of the complexities and passion that I fell in love with him for. 

His mom's cancer came back soon after I moved out there and I felt so helpless.  Now, I'm not "in" his family, and I never really was officially, but I still love his family.  From the moment that I met them, I included them in my prayers. (Yes, I pray.)  So when she got sick again, I felt it.  Every doctors appointment that she went to, every cough his grandfather had, I felt it.  I have been told that I hold onto people too much but, at least for now, I'm okay with that.  I'm Italian, so family (and food) is life.  When I met them, I stuffed them into my pocket to be held dear for all eternity.  I'm not going to let a break up get in the way of love for good people.  His family means the world to me.  And as it is with all of my friends, all become my family.

But I was scared.  It's silly, but I felt like I had deserted her.  Not that I could help her, but just to be with her if she needed anything.  Again, I was angry with him. The drive would have been much easier to go and see her when I lived in the same state.  It wasn't his fault.  I was scared and I looked to the easiest scapegoat.  It wasn't fair of me to do that.  I was scared because it wasn't just her cancer.  It was the health of my parents, the growing up of my niece and nephew, the births of babies, my cat.  I was missing out on their lives and the time difference made it hard to catch people on the phone.  Just to hold any one of them in my arms was what I longed for.  And just to have them hold me in theirs.

My paternal grandparents are buried in Oregon.  Just a few short hours away from where I was staying, an old world life became the American dream.  I won't go into that story here, that is for my dad to write, but I'll tell you about going to "see" the grandparents while I was out there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdP3nZMZQbs 

My roomie wanted to do something nice for me.  As said above, we are both woo-woo people.  I 'talk to' my ancestors every night before I go to sleep and I wanted to 'see' my grandparents.  I know that they guide me (Maybe this comes from a childhood in Africa.  Maybe I'm crazy.  Maybe it's just the way it is.)  So we set out, with music in tow (thank God she is as musically driven as I am,) through a landscape that would take your breath away.  And she is so giving; she let me jump out and take pictures whenever, shared stories with me, and drove the whole way so I could stare out of the window.  And I was in a very bad place at this point.  I couldn't tell my ass from my elbow then.  I needed help.

We found the cemetery with little confusion, and I wandered over to the graves.  I knew they weren't 'there' but as soon as I saw the names, I teared up.  I didn't know this at the time, but their wedding date was one that he and I had talked about for ours.  Ouch.  And I felt like I had failed them in some way.  I have no idea how, but that's how I felt.

I fell to my knees (this is cliche, movie-like stuff) and talked to them.  It was a holiday weekend, so there were fresh flowers and flags on most of the graves.  I told them that I missed them and that I was happy to see the old neighborhood.  I have very few memories from my childhood, but the ones from here are fresh and sweet.  The rain started to fall and I looked around the cemetery.  There were a few other families there, but I didn't pay them much mind.  Instead, I lost it.  So here I am kneeling on my grandparents' graves, fists of lush grass in each hand, hair falling in my face, and I'm sobbing!  Tears mixing with rain.  All that was missing was the old man in a trench coat in the distance, watching.  My poor friend came over to see if I needed anything, but I had no words to give.  I was so lost.  This trip was really a test of our friendship.  She had planned for almost every situation, except the one where I was a detached, sobbing, bumbling fool.

But she took my hand and walked with me through it all.  And so did everyone else.  I can't even express to you the gratitude I felt towards everyone around me.  My family and friends, old and new, the man at the store who asked about me to my friend and then made a special point to come and tell me "He's an idiot," the neighborhood animals that would come to greet me every morning (because we fed them) and crawl into my lap, the guy at the convenience store who always had a smile for me.  Truly amazing.

I had the opportunity to go and visit some family a few hours away for the 4th of July.  We lost my cousin to cancer a few years ago and a hole was created never to be filled again in all of us.  My favorite family memories are of being with him and his family for the 4th, so there is no other place in the world that I could be for the holiday.  Sitting there missing him with a heavy sadness,  but also looking around at his wife, kids and grand kids, sharing memories, laughter and beer.

This was why I came here.  Family and food, laughter and love.  And I was finding it.  I was finally healing!

I flew home towards the end of my stay to say goodbye to the only constant in my life (please don't be offended people) for the past 13 years.  My cat got sick and I got the call from my mom telling me that she wasn't well.  My roomie and her family made it happen on short notice and with no questions asked.  I can never repay them for their kindness.  Some would think that this is silly, but she really was the world to me and they saw the terror in my eyes.  Animal owners know what happens when you live with them.  They become part of you.  Your daily life, your considerations, your family.   She had been in on every adventure, every move, every lover and every state for the past 13 years.   I just couldn't stand any more loss at this point.  I was still as fragile as cotton candy and this would surely be the death of me.  The plan was to get her as soon as I could, but I wasn't fast enough.  When she was healthy, she would pee on the clothes of my boyfriends, drink gin out of my glass, and comfort me daily.  Now she had shrunk down to less than 4 pounds, her eyes were sunken into her tiny skull and even her fluffy fur lay dead against her.  She couldn't move, wouldn't eat or drink and just stared at me with glazed over eyes.   I had left her.  I left her with people that she knew and loved, but that was cold comfort to me because I wasn't with her when she got sick.  I left her when she needed me after she had been the ever-comforting stability in my life.

The rage started to rise again in me.  He took away the last five months that I could have had with her.  And when I contacted him in my despair, he wasn't around.  He never, to this day, said anything about it.  Until that day, I had felt as if I had lost my best friend (in him) but from then on, I realized how wrong I was.  He was never my best friend.  I created that job for him, but he wasn't the one who should have been given the title.  And that's okay.  I love him for who he is and for never taking the title even when it was thrown at him.

That was the biggest setback for me. I truly did not think I would bounce back from that.  All of the pain that I had so carefully been chipping away, came back.  The steel walls grew around my lead-filled heart again and I felt that if anyone touched me, I would shatter into millions of sharp and deadly pieces.

But as all things, this passed.  Slowly and painfully, but it passed.  I threw myself back into work, looked to my friends and family once again for help and moved forward.  Maybe this was her way of letting me do what I needed to do.  I tell myself that and I hope it's true.

I went to the lake with friends, visited a lavender farm, went to festivals, read a lot of books, experienced some great live musicians, gazed at the landscape and took a bunch of deep breaths.  I think it worked too.  By the time I packed up to leave, I was at least at 324... not quite 360, but close enough for me!  It was time to find myself on the open road....

The Scenic Route Part II

Where was I?  Oh yes, crying on the side of the road in Indiana.  (Don't worry, it gets better.)  I gathered myself to just a whimper and pulled back onto the highway.  The scenery remained the same as I tearfully meandered through more farm lands, rest stops and gas stations that smell like stale fried chicken.  Over and over I kept replaying what the officer said: "All it said was license returned, undeliverable."  Because I moved to Florida before my renewed drivers license was delivered in Virginia.

And then the rage started to take over.  No, it doesn't make sense.  He's not responsible for the choices that I made.  I am.  But in the demise of any relationship, "logic" becomes a little... how shall we say... blurred.  And right here, in this car, in the presence of mind that I'm in, in this damn "I" state, it's his fault.  If he had just let me move when I wanted to, this would not have happened.  If he had not been the assclown that promised me forever, had me quit my job, move to a place that I resisted, left me lonely, broke and unhappy and THEN cheated on me and kicked me out, this would not be happening.  I would have healed from a break up, minus the salt in the wound.  At this point in the emotional roller coaster, I might even have felt hatred towards this poor guy.  But I still loved him so.  Yes, sometimes feelings have a way of baffling a girl.  And making them down-right crazy.

That day I made it through Illinois and Iowa and pulled into Omaha, Nebraska right as rush hour hit... going below the speed limit, of course.  I have to say, so far, I'm not the biggest fan of the "I" states, so I was pretty content to sit in a little bumper to bumper traffic if it meant some distance from that long and frustrating road.

So that night, after I checked in with my parents, sent a scathing, anger and pain filled text to the ex (something along the lines of 'I may be a crazy bitch but you are a pathetic D-bag,) and showered, I went to the hotel bar... as you do.  I had some food and met my first single serving friends for the trip.  I have to say, and this is not to sound discriminating in any way, but girls have it better when it comes to this.  Food and drinks are paid for, stories are shared and who knows what kind of fun you can get into.  For me, I met a few good people, and ended the evening with a great guy, with a slight Irish accent (swoon,) wanting to follow me to Washington.  Now don't go getting all crazy and thinking dirty thoughts.  I was hurt (and as noted from the 1st blog, horny) but thanks to a recent visit with an old friend, I refrained from adding 'strange love' to the list of activities on this voyage... at least for that night.  Just as well because I ended up having a pretty good conversation with the ex that ended on a happy note for both of us.  And with me still heading West.

The drive through Nebraska was crazy.  The winds were out of control (the "expert," Mr. King, tells me it's because there are no trees.) and I was scared that I was going to either blow off the road or that someone else would and blow into me.  I couldn't even go the speed limit here.  Thank goodness for the the weight of my clothes, shoes and products in the back weighing good ol' Gabby (my jeep) down.  And even though there wasn't much to see out there on I-80, it was beautiful.  The endless expanse of fields, farms and road ahead made me smile.  Each mile somehow brought something new and I could feel my heart changing composition from lead filled to a little more like gold filled.

Next comes Wyoming.  A large square state with prairies, mountains, cowboys, my maternal family history, and the sight of my 2nd ticket on this trip.  Yes folks, you heard it right, my family is from Wyoming.  This is where I turned vegetarian in Jr. High (my mom hit a rabbit (or a jackalope maybe?) on the road on a trip out there once.  She had to re-run over it to put it out of it's misery, ) where I "necked" in the park with a guy named Dale (pronounced Dell to the locals) who looked like Wally from Leave it to Beaver, and where my mother did the town census (because she helped deliver the milk from their dairy farm) as a child.  I visited the family home, armed with a key to get into the dilapidated house, but walked away with only a pictures of Gnoman.  Gnome on the Range....  My Mountain Gnome....  Well, you get it.

Oh, you want to hear about the ticket?  What's to say?  I was 12 minutes into the damn state and since I was out of Nebraska, the wind died down and I didn't realize that I was speeding up. (Note to self: next car has cruise control.)  So here I am puttering (to be fair, the 'puttering' limit is 70MPH) along approximately 300 feet into Wyoming and I see the lights.  So Good ol' boy pulls me over and is super sweet.

"Where you headed?"

"Washington State"

"You're a long way from home, what's out there?"

Do they get this in the handbook?

"A new life."

Hey... it worked SO well the last time!

He has me come sit in the front (that will make sense later) of the cruiser and pulls my information.  I was going 7 (seven/ sept/ siete) miles over the speed limit.  Se-ven!  Really dude?  Well, as we wait for my information to come in for him, I start to get nervous.  I could be thrown under this small town jail if he wants, so I spill it.

"So... um... I need to tell you something"

"What's that, ma'am?"

Ma'am?

This little 22yo tried not to laugh in my face when I told him about the ticket the day before and issued me a driving on suspended.   That night I transferred my car insurance to WA before the 2nd driving on suspended could show up.

And on through to Northern Utah where I saw my first Mormon graffiti (you haven't lived until you have!) and some beautiful, but desolate, landscapes.  Next, it's time to start heading North into Idaho (Oi Vey! Another "I" state) and northeastern Oregon.  Not the prettiest part of of the country, but again, there is something to be said about the miles of NOTHING and that was the first time I had seen that part of (not as lush and green) Oregon.  Every incline, decline and curve held a new image of this great country for me and my breath was caught in my throat every few miles.  Every time you think it can't get any prettier, it does.  I can't lie.

And then it's Washington.  Now this is God's country.  Or at least one part of it.  I can't even explain the natural beauty that Washington contains.  The Evergreen State is just that.  The mountains, snow (in April,) foliage, people, birds and animals, ... I could go on.  My only fear was when I saw signs for "Chain up" areas.  What?  "Wha that mean?"

During this entire journey, my ipod never rested (unless there was no reception for the converter thingy... then it was country, western, church or nascar.) soothing my soul, re-opening wounds, coaxing out every buried emotion, invoking tears, drying them, making me smile and helping me to scream and find my voice.  The voice that had been so long in hiding.  And playing my wedding song.

 

I made it.  I made it as far (physically) away from what I felt as my biggest failures as I could.  It's time to heal and turn this around.  I can do this.  "Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends."