April 23: day 2 on the road

MORNING

I crossed the Mississippi last night as dusk settled on the plains. In Illinois the trees of Michigan and Indiana turned into fields, and at times, the air was heavy with chemicals. I just said goodbye to someone I’ve spent nearly the past 120 days with. Friends and family frown and ask me why I am leaving then. Well, I am always leaving something behind. I couldn’t stay right now anyway.

I slept on some hunting grounds north of Des Moines. Those places are always good because it’s public land. The night was mild with starry skies and I awoke only once from coyote cries blaring from just beyond the bushes. It had been so long since I’d heard such sounds and the volume alarmed me at first, until my sleep soul remembered they are just fiends in the night. In the morning I awoke just after sunrise to a full choir of red-winged blackbirds and a screeching jay leading the bunch. It is Sunday morning.

 

EVENING

Exhausting being on the road – lots of time for the mind to wander. I made it within 20 miles of Wyoming but I can’t go any further tonight. Very defeating to drive through Nebraska all day and not make it out. Driving straight into the wind, might I add. I had no sleeping locations in mind tonight but I found a park on the map that I was hoping I could sneak into for the night. Turned out to be a free campground… so I am not even breaking any rules this time. I am excited to sleep under the stars for the first time since the fall. I hear a duck from the dark void to my right which is the reservoir. A few chirping frogs. Something unknown. Periodic splashes, large ones – geese? Distant drone of highway men. So happy to be horizontal (and) on the earth.

Feb 9

I am back where I belong in eastern Arizona. When I arrived at my campsite long after nightfall there wasn’t a question in my mind about whether or not I would sleep outside. I feel safe here. I’m sure there are the same animals as the other places I’ve been, but something about the energy of this landscape is so welcoming and nurturing. All was silent across this land as I fell asleep, aside from a low peeping – maybe a quail having a bad dream. I awoke once during the night from coyote melodies and fell back to sleep with a smile. This morning I opened my eyes just as the start of dawn again. Watched the colors morph in the sky and color come to the landscape. No moon this time but that star in the SE shone brightly into the dawn. What is it? Brightness on the horizon gathers in one spot and intensifies until you think it can’t get any brighter… and then she appears. And a few chirps can be heard here and there, very distant coyote, and then the raves croak.

Feb 6

I opened my eyes this morning right at the break of dawn. What a relief to see color on the horizon after opening my eyes a dozen times prior to gray, trying to use the movement of the stars (Orion) to figure out how much time has passed. FYI the stars move fast, meaning not a lot of time goes by. If you aren’t eager to get up and start your day this would be the opposite of a problem. But I am eager. Through creosote silhouettes the sun sits on the horizon and peers at me. The crescent moon to the southeast is barely visible now. How to keep track of time? By phases of the sun rise? I awoke only once to coyote howls and many other times to silence. Sun now hangs just above the land and is pushing me out of my cocoon.

A great-horned hoots ever so softly just beyond what I think might be the edge of this camp. Lots of cars are about on the 3 surrounding highways, a dog barks, and campers are lively. I can’t wait to see what this spot looks like the day, like a trailer park, like slab city. Maybe I’m tired enough to sleep through it tonight? Might lay awake in anticipation of all the hummers I’ll hopefully see tomorrow! I started getting all sentimental within miles of the Colorado this morning… and then I crossed the river and that Arizona State Line sign got me all chocked up. It’s good to be here, driving down state highways through small decrepit Native towns. I went into a Bashas and the signs were in their native language. No beer to be found. Did find a rare streak-backed oriole today! Such a hefty bill. Drove for way too long today so I can awake beside Madera Canyon tomorrow. This is the place for birders.

Feb 5

Puppy prints in the wash. So much bird chatter by unnamed fellows… it’s hard to sneak up on anything in the desert!

Watching the stars come into view is something that’s been missing in my daily life for a few months now. And I’m sure part of the reason I haven’t felt well in a while is because I haven’t been sleeping outside. Each time I woke up last night there was fresh air on my face, so I reckon I can’t complain. I birded the Salton Sea today and got a little pink in the cheeks! Driving between sites I found a pair of burrowing owls standing on the side of the road!! Got fairly close and they were much less thrilled about the encounter than I. I stopped in the good old town of Brawley where I once bought a tube of toothpaste. Found the bakery I went to before but they no longer have avocado smoothies! Because I was probably the only one who ever got one. I left at dusk and ended up driving and seeking camp in the dark, can’t wait to see where I am once the sun comes up! Besides 15 miles from Mexico. Arizona plates flew past me on the 8… I’m not there yet but I’m getting close! I wish the cars were a little quieter and that I didn’t always end up sleeping within earshot of a dang railroad! Coyotes sung a short tune as I got in my sleepingbag! Music to my sleepy ears.

Feb 4

Tears in my eyes as I bid the ocean farewell… I don’t know when I’ll see the sea again, you know. I now sit on a ledge overlooking an expanse of desert. Harsh rocky land with ocotillo, cholla, yucca, and my beloved creosote. How overpowering to take my first whiff of that beauty after so much time and so many miles and smiles and tears have passed. I feel almost like I never left. My first solo camping trip was here last January and I again feel uncertain yet liberated yet lonely yet proud… sad and happy and heartbroken and overjoyed.

Boy does it get chilly as soon as the sun isn’t hitting anymore. Twas 60 when I got here and could got in the 30s tonight. I’ve got my 2 sleeping bags, blanket from Connie, and liner all prepared… on top of 2 sleeping pads. I am not going to be cold tonight! I am thrilled to not only sleep outside in the desert, but to do it with my head in a creosote bush. This place really is something. Something that people don’t ever see. People know about mountains and beaches and sandy deserts because they’re in movies, paintings, postcards… but rocky desert hills like these with cholla that glow at sunset and ocotillo that wave hello and the tiny pincushion cacti that crouch in cervices and wait for you to stumble upon how cute they are… and the silence, the silence is something unfathomable, you hear your heart beating and maybe the low chatter of black-throated sparrows… and all the while you’re cradled in the aroma of creosote, that unmistakable odor that smells like earth and joy and gravel washes… the stuff dreams are made of. The hills are darkening around me and the salmon clouds have faded to a light gray. Something lets out a series of peeps to the west. A car bumbles down the road here and there. I have 2 neighbors tonight. I’m hoping coyotes will sing me to sleep, or even awaken me in the middle of the night! I must go about without comparing my experiences to past ones. Is that an impossible or unfair task? I do feel a calmness and connection here immediately that I haven’t for a while. Back in the ole American West! That is for sure because I saw a saloon advertising cold beer and hot chicks, a bakery advertising beer and apple pie, and on my hike I found an American flag stuck in a cactus, waving before the desolation. Amen.