Day 1: Skeleton Forest, Slot Machines and Long (Loooong) Stretches of Nothing

Yesterdays drive was smooth. Full of shifting beauty, heat and silly roadside stops.

Two hours out and it was already 99 degrees and I was traveling between golden hills that remind me of childhood. Hills that I can’t quite call beautiful. That look dead. Like they might catch fire any minute. Then it was 87 degrees with evergreens to the left and charcoal gray trees to the right. Those trees were bare, the ground like ash, the rocks jagged and perfectly placed. But just across the highway there was life, was river. Like somebody had moved through with thoughts of destruction but changed their mind.

I listened to mixes given to me by people I care about and satellite radio. Hours passed singing country music from the 90’s. Pam Tillis, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Patty Loveless. Songs full of strength and story. Songs that were familiar.

And then there was Reno and the El Dorado Hotel. I forgot there were places where you could still smoke indoors. Reminded me of when we used to go to Tahoe for family vacations sometimes. My dad and stepmom’s family tried hard to win their fortune while my brother and I did our best to entertain ourselves. We’d spend hours at the child’s arcade that usually only had about 3 games to choose from. But this time I was in the casino alone. Got to play 10 dollars split between three different penny slot machines. I didn’t win. But I did feel the class shame swell and panic as I hit a button and watched my money disappear. As I felt my chest tighten with the hope that I might just get rich. And I understood, for a moment, the appeal. Why my family was willing to save all year for a few days worth of hoping. And I was glad I’d only put fifty cents in the parking meter because you never get rich when all you can afford are the penny slots.

After Reno there was empty road, deer in the brush and small towns that took only seconds to drive through. I did well until night fell and I’d been driving for hours, sharing the road with no one. Until I began to think that perhaps this road would go on forever. That I would never find people again. So when the lights of that green pickup truck came into view it felt like friendship, like connection. I hung behind him, happy to go slower just to be near somebody. Happy to add time to my trip just to know that if my car were to crash somebody would see it. This is where I go when my mind has time to wander. If I died who would find me? How would I get home? How long would it take for them to get to me on this long stretch of nothing? I used to think that I’d die young. Not on purpose. Maybe in a car accident or a wrong time/wrong place kinda thing. Everything shifts when you plan on living.

Now I’m sitting in a Super 8 by the Boise airport. Just finished my breakfast of peanut butter and apples. Am planning my day. And this room feels like my car. Sweet and safe. Mine. But isolated. Like there is no world outside of me. Like I could be in Boise, San Francisco, Cleveland and it wouldn’t matter. But I’m glad to be on this trip. Glad to take my time, breathe. Happy to have the trouble of choosing between summertime swimming and city exploration.