A big life change? Maybe.

 This road trip is different. 

It’s not about adventure or travel.  It’s not about photography, visiting national parks or about getting back to nature.  This road trip is different because it’s about finding another place to live that’s not in California.

Normally, I am well prepared, packed a week ahead of time, but this time everything was done at the last minute.  It wasn’t from lack of planning, but from my wanting to put off for as long as possible the emotions that I knew would come.  There have been fleeting moments of excitement for this “new chapter” in my life, but mostly there has been guilt and indecision. 

When most children are returning to their elderly parents to care for them, I am abandoning mine.  It seems selfish for me to want to leave San Diego, the place I was born and raised. It seems selfish to leave my parents at a time when they are needing my help the most.  I can afford to live in California, but I can’t afford to live my life in California. 

The decision to move was not one made in haste.  These thoughts have been in my mind since 2018, actually for much longer.  Moving was something my ex and I discussed doing when we retired.  I’ve been retired now for over three years; however, it’s taken me this long to get the confidence to even consider it.  It is a huge life change for me and I’m not sure if I am ready for it or if I can do it on my own.

The rollercoaster of emotion is fast and fierce.  I don’t know if I am making the right decision.  I make excuses as to why I should stay in San Diego, but then I use the same excuses as to why I should leave. The arguments within my mind are endless.   Half the time I am excited, the other half I am crying.  And then there are those rare times when I am absolutely terrified by even the thought of leaving San Diego and it takes a moment for me to catch my breathe.  I wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like?

The road to Utah is long and the severity of my mood increases with every mile.

I’m driving north on Interstate 15 when there is an accident, or so I think.  Otherwise, why would traffic be at a complete stop on the freeway?  It’s stop and go for twenty minutes, but there is no sign of anything that shows cause for the traffic, but in that time, my mood worsens. 

I am tired.  I got on the road at 6:30am, but it wasn’t early enough to beat the heat of the Nevada desert.  It’s 100-degrees when I reach Las Vegas.  I am irritated at everyone and everything, so it only seems fitting that when I cross the border into Utah, a rock hits my windshield causing a crack to snake its way across the window. 

I’m wondering if this is a sign.  Maybe I should go home, abandon all thought of moving to Utah?  Maybe I should return to the familiarity of a lifetime spent in San Diego?  But I don’t.  Instead, I check into a Motel 6 in Cedar City where the lobby smells like poop.  How apropos.

The next morning, the lobby still stinks, but now the entire hallway does as well.   The woman behind the counter puts down her spray bottle and rag that she’s been wiping everything with to give me my receipt at check-out.  I consider telling her about the smell, but then I wonder why she can’t smell it on her own?  Plus, I don’t have the energy.  I let her go back to sanitizing against COVID without saying a word.

Focusing on getting to Draper, where I have made hotel reservations at the Hampton Inn, has helped to subdue the voices in my head, but my thoughts are still heavy.  Doubt creeps in at every opportunity and I feel myself returning to the foul mood of yesterday. 

Along the freeway, I see a sign for Cedar Breaks National Monument.  I have never been, so I quickly exit.  The drive from I-15 to Brian Head along Hwy 143 is a pretty one.  My thoughts soon drift to nature and my mood improves. 

Cedar Breaks is a natural amphitheater, stretching across 3 miles, with a depth of over 2,000 feet.  The rim sits at about 10,000 feet in elevation.  The rock of the amphitheater is like that of Bryce Canyon National Park, but unlike the national park, Cedar Breaks attracts less visitors.   For the most part, I am alone.  It takes me only an hour and a half to drive through the park and back again, but it is exactly what I need to soothe my soul. 

The next day I begin my search for apartments, but it is disappointing.  I cross many off my list without even touring them because I don’t like the location.  And those in my preferred location don’t have the amenities I am looking for, like a garage, or they are older builds when I am wanting something new.  I have a long list of apartments to see, but there is white smoke billowing up from behind the Wasatch Mountains.  The air is thick and it is difficult to breath.  I cut short my apartment hunt and retreat to the air conditioning of my hotel room. 

Maybe the fire is another sign I shouldn’t move to Utah?

The Parley Canyon fire was caused by an overheated catalytic converter on a vehicle.  It is east of Salt Lake City on the south side of Interstate 80 near Park City. I am in no danger, but the air quality is horrible.  It is Sunday and the leasing offices of the apartments I want to look at are all closed.  I knew the offices would be closed, so instead, I planned on going to Antelope Island State Park to see birds and wild bison, but it is recommended that people stay indoors because of the smoke.  So I stay indoors.  It is like being at home.  I watch TV while not wearing any pants and snack on trail mix.

Monday morning is spent getting my cracked windshield replaced and then it is back to apartment hunting.  The air quality is still bad, but I wear a mask and spend as little time outside as possible.  During my downtime on Sunday, I re-prioritized my wants and have decided to add townhomes to my list.  From American Fork to Ogden I drive, identifying possibilities and eliminating others.  The next day I drive back and forth again looking at more and more apartments.

Over the past six days, I have looked at dozens of apartments and townhomes and have a folder full of literature, along with a binder of handwritten notes about each one.  It has been overwhelming and exhausting.  The internal bickering resumes as do my tears.  More questions, more doubts.  I have had a stomachache for two days.  Because of my mood and of the wildfires that are burning pretty much in all the western states, I decide to end my trip early and return home. 

The uncertainty and doubt that plagued me on my trip to Utah, stay with me all the way home.  I am even less sure as I sort through all the information I have gathered.  I ask myself the same questions, make the same rationalizations, and experience the same guilt and anxiety as before.  However, it all comes down to one simple question that I’ve asked myself a million times over the last few days:  Should I move to Utah?

And the answer is YES.  Yes, I am moving to Utah in October.

Part 2 of 2: Potatoes, dead fish and no cell phone reception

It’s 36-degrees and sunny when I say farewell to West Yellowstone.  I drive south on Highway 20 and further still on Interstate 15, but I don’t get very far.  I have my sights set on Salt Lake City, but I see a sign along the freeway that reads, “Potato Museum next exit” so I exit. 

The Potato Museum in Blackfoot, Idaho was built in 1913 and originally a railroad depot.  It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.  However, in 1984 the Union Pacific closed the depot leaving the building abandoned.  It became the Potato Museum a few years later in 1988.

I’m not expecting much but I am pleasantly surprised. 

The museum is small, but full of potato paraphernalia as well as a few pieces of machinery used in harvesting.  I never thought much about potatoes, but the history and trivia are interesting.  Did you know the largest potato ever grown was 7 pounds, 1 ounce?

Welcome to Utah!  

A night of rest in Brigham City and then a short drive the next morning to Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.  The refuge contains nearly 80,000 acres of marsh, open waters, uplands, and alkali mudflats.  It lies along the edges of both the Pacific Flyway and the Central Flyway, making it an important area for birds.  More than 250 bird species use the refuge.  It is my first time here and I am excited to do some birding.

Right away I see a Ringed-necked pheasant.  I get some decent shots and that makes for a promising day.  In the Bear River Channel, there are ducks and a few American White Pelicans, but then I see something that isn’t familiar.

It swims along the water’s surface and then lumbers briefly onto shore.  It’s a beaver! A big, brown blob and all I see is its butt.  Then it’s back in the water and swims away.  This is the first beaver I have ever seen in the wild!

I follow the auto tour route along a dirt road through the refuge.  The road and channel parallel one another, but then the water level gets extremely low.  The main channel has taken a turn and, I think, this shallow pool is overflow.  I’m not sure, but it is full of dying carp.

They flounder and float on their sides while seagull’s peck at them.  It is a carp graveyard with fish carcasses in varying degrees of decay and bones scattered along the shoreline.  The carp are an invasive species, so I’m not saddened at their demise.  Plus, I know their death is a benefit to other wildlife in the area that will feed on them.

It stinks and the seagulls squawk loudly.  As disgusting as it is, I am very fascinated and get out of my truck to take a closer look.  However, I am suddenly attacked by large flies that bite my back and shoulders through my shirt.  It hurts! 

I jump back into my truck to escape the flies, but the interior is now infested with mosquitos.  I have left the windows open!  The mosquitos cover the inside roof like a carpet.  I turn the air on super blast, but it does little to dispel them. 

I take a few quick photos of the seagull-carp carnage and quickly drive away.  The flies follow me, however.  I roll up the windows, but they keep pace with me.  They are so big that I can see them flying next to my window and when I stop, they land on the windows and hood to let me know they are still there.  It’s as if they are stalking me!

I grab a can of bug spray from my camping gear and attempt to spray both the inside of my truck, which is still covered with mosquitos, and myself.  However, the nozzle is broken, and it doesn’t spray properly, just bubbles, but I’m able to get enough on my skin to keep the bugs away.  

The flies quickly lose interest, but the mosquitos remain.  I squish a few, but they leave tiny blood stains on the fabric of the roof.  Since they are not biting me, I leave them alone. 

The bugs are horrendous and it’s scorching hot.  Apparently, the entire western half of the United States is in a massive heat wave.  I have picked the wrong time of year to visit, but the birding is good, so I see the positives in that.

Sandhill Cranes with a colt, Yellow-headed Blackbirds, Cliff Swallows, egrets, herons, coots, ibises, baby geese, and Black-necked Stilts…I am getting some great photos, but my favorite are the Western Grebes with chicks riding on their backs.  Adorable!

I exit the refuge 5 hours later with a card full of great photos and go to Salt Lake City in search of a laundromat.  Some of the mosquitos are still hitching a ride with me and I continue squishing them for the next several miles until they are all gone.

The next day, I meet my friend Christy at the Radisson SLC Airport.  She has flown in from Denver to help me look at apartments in the Salt Lake City area.  We spend the next three days driving from one side of town to the other touring apartments and stopping every so often for ice cream because it is over a 100-degrees every single day. 

We also take time to eat delicious Mexican food at Red Iguana, which was featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives with Guy Fieri.  The food is good, and the waiter is a cutie.  He charms us two old ladies with his smile and customer-service flirtations.  It works.  We leave him a big tip.

At the Capitol building, we take a self-guided tour.  I ask Christy if it is illegal to have a gun in the building.  She responds with an expletive.  I tell her I’m asking for a friend.  I don’t know what the statue of limitations is, so I will neither confirm nor deny anything remotely associated with anyone possessing or not possessing a firearm inside or outside of a federal building or any building for that matter.

Our stay at the Radisson SLC Airport is only three nights, but unfortunately, they are not good ones.  From mold and a persistent musty smell in the bathroom to highly incompetent staff, our time there flat out sucked.  Plus, the cleaning staff threw away our personal toiletries that we had in the bathroom.  Including my purple soap box that I’ve had for, like, 20 years!

My numerous complaints are met with half-hearted apologies, and not once did they offer to replace any of the items they had thrown away.  Not even with cheap hotel soap!  I give them one star in my Yelp review only because I couldn’t rate them a zero.

After saying our goodbyes, Christy heads east and I head west on Interstate 80 towards Great Salt Lake State Park.

Great Salt Lake is one of the major tourist destinations in Utah.  It is the largest saltwater lake in the Western Hemisphere at 75 miles long and 35 miles wide.  It is too saline to support fish and most other aquatic species.  The only living things in the lake are algae, bacteria, brine shrimp and brine flies. 

It is also a popular spot for birding as it provides a habitat for millions of native and migratory birds.  However, I am disappointed when I arrive.   There are no birds, no shade, and the visitor’s center isn’t open yet.  I walk around in the 85-degree heat for about 45 minutes waiting for the visitor center to open only to discover that I am at the wrong part of the lake. 

I am at the boat marina. 

If I want to see birds and other wildlife, I should have gone to Antelope Island State Park, but that is an hour away and back the way I came.  It’s a disappointment, but all part of my journey.  There will always be highlights and lowlights to my trip and this just happens to be a lowlight, but at least I can say I saw the Great Salt Lake. 

With a pocket full of caramel candies I bought at the visitor center, I continue west on Interstate 80.  Past the Bonneville Speedway where many speed records have been set, the first being in 1935 by Sir Malcolm Campbell and where I wish I would have stopped. At West Wendover, I turn south on the 93 towards Ely and spend a quiet night at La Quinta planning my next stop.

I have my America the Beautiful park pass ready, but Great Basin National Park does not have an entry fee.  It’s a beautiful morning, sunny with wispy clouds, but at 8:30am it is already 80-degrees.  At Lehman Caves Visitor Center, I am met with another disappointment.  Reservations are required to tour the caves and I haven’t made any.  The next available time slot is a month out! 

Great Basin National Park was established in 1986 and is just over 120 square miles in size.  It’s known for its groves of ancient bristlecone pines and the Lehman Caves at the base of 13,063-foot Wheeler Peak, as well as Wheeler Peak Glacier.   

From the visitor center, I drive Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive.  The road twists and turns as it snakes up the mountain, however there are very few turnouts for me enjoy the views, and no vast meadows where I can view wildlife.  I stop when I can to take pictures and then the road ends at a parking lot. 

There is a kiosk showing the many trails branching out from the parking lot.  I’m not dressed for hiking, I’m wearing jeans, but I stuff several waters and a first aid kit into a backpack and wander off down the trail. 

The high elevation is making breathing difficult, and I stop frequently to catch my breath, but I don’t want to turn back.  It’s quiet, beautiful, and I want to push myself, but then I start thinking about bears.  I have left my bear spray in the car and I am hiking alone.  I wonder if I should turn around for safety reasons, but I think, “oh well” and keep hiking. 

I am hot and sweaty in my jeans and it feels like I’ve been hiking for days, but it’s been less than a hour and I’ve gone only ¾ of a mile. The trail has steadily gained in elevation and for a moment I think I might vomit, but just up ahead I see an opening and a sign that reads, “Teresa Lake, Elevation 10,230 feet.” 

I’ve made it and I’ve done so without hurling my breakfast.

Teresa Lake is a small, glacial lake near Wheeler Peak along the park’s Alpine Lakes Loop Trail.  Most of the water comes from snowmelt, but it also has a spring flowing into it.  I find some shade along the rocky shore and soak my feet.  The water is very cold but refreshing.  It’s been another good day.

When I leave Great Basin National Park, I have two options.  I can drive east and eventually connect with Interstate 15 that I’ve driven a thousand times, or continue on Highway 93 and see all new territory.  I opt for the unfamiliar and head south on Highway 93 in search of a hotel, but there are none.  In fact, there are no services at all, including cell phone reception.  I am a bit uneasy about my choice in routes, especially when it starts to rain.  I wonder how long it would take someone to find me if something happened….

I drive almost a 100-miles without services, but I eventually reach Panaca, Nevada where there is a gas station.  Civilization!

Another 150 miles on Highway 93 gets me to Interstate 15 just north of Las Vegas.  It’s 111-degrees when I arrive.  I want to make a mad dash for home, but I am too tired.  A Motel 6 near the Las Vegas Motor Speedway provides adequate accommodations for the night.  

The next morning, the last 340 miles home is a breeze.

Total trip mileage: 3,362.

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Yellow-headed Blackbird at Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.

Part 1 of 2: Open road therapy, bison, and a baby bear

At the end of Day 1, I am almost 560 miles from the comfort of home, but lately, home has been a place of restlessness.  Restless because I have not traveled in six months, and I am feeling stagnant and depressed.  All my attention was devoted to college, but now that the semester is over, my focus has quickly shifted.  My road trip could not have come at a better time.  I am in desperate need of some therapy that only the open road can provide.

And the open road is currently leading me north on Interstate 15. 

The midday sun is sweltering and when I reach Las Vegas, it is already 108-degrees.  Sin city is coming to life now that Covid restrictions have loosened, but I find no glamour in it, only irritation at being stuck in traffic.  And the heat is ridiculous.  Just north of Las Vegas, the temperature gauge on my truck reached 111-degrees!

I cross into Utah and the oppressive heat follows.  

Near Beaver, the temperature has cooled to a tolerable 91-degrees, but I am still grumpy.  I pull off the highway for a break and the hot gusting winds suck the life from me as soon as I exit my truck.  Not even an ice cream helps my mood, so I call it a day. 

Day 2 is another uneventful travel day, but it adds an additional 420 miles to the odometer.

I continue north on Interstate 15 and into Idaho where the air is cooler, fresher, and invigorating.  My excitement propels me forward through Pocatello and into Idaho Falls.  I want to keep going, but I don’t check into the hotel near my first planned stop until tomorrow, and after consulting my map, I think Idaho Falls is the best place to rest. 

The next morning, I long to stay snuggled in bed with the air conditioner on artic blast mode.  I have only 110 miles to go to my next stop.  It’s a short drive compared to the last two days, and since check out at the Super 8 isn’t until 11am, there is plenty of time for laziness.  As tired as I am though, I am also energized by the thought of today’s adventures.  Fortunately, my excitement prevails, and I get an early start to the day. 

It is an easy and beautiful drive along Highway 20 to West Yellowstone.   The line of cars at the park’s entrance winds slowly through town and after a 20-minute delay, I am finally where I want to be:  Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone was established in 1872 and is the first national park in the United States.  It spans approximately 3,468 square miles and is the largest and most famous megafauna location in the contiguous United States.  

Herds of elk and bison, along with a few scattered pronghorns, welcome me as I head towards Mammoth Hot Springs and then to Lamar Valley.  

Wildlife is abundant, which is good, because that is what I came for.  Bears, wolves, and moose are the Top 3 on my list of what I want to photograph, but the bison are so awe-inspiring that I stop frequently to admire them.

These animals are beasts!

A bull can weigh up to 2,000 pounds and stand 6 feet tall, while a cow can weigh up to 1,000 pounds and reach a height of 4-5 feet.  Bison calves, which are called Red Dogs, can weigh anywhere from 30-70 pounds at birth.  They look docile and slow, but don’t be fooled.  They can run up to 35mph and have been described as having a “wild and ungovernable temper”! 

The herds in Yellowstone are also rather unique. 

Yellowstone is home to the oldest and largest public bison herd in the United States and this is the only place in the U.S. where they have lived continuously since prehistoric times.  Their population within the park fluctuates anywhere from 2,300 to 5,500.

I leave the bison behind but continue stopping wherever I can.  Pictures of Canadian geese floating in a pond, an osprey successfully fishing in a river, and pair of sandhill cranes with a colt (the name for baby sandhill cranes) fill up my camera’s memory card.  

The endless views of valleys, mountains, and meadows are stunning.  Click click click.  More photos of bison, clouds, flowers, trees, and whatever else catches my eye.

And then there she is.

The traffic jam is a giveaway.  A Park Ranger is trying her best at traffic control, but it’s complete chaos.  In their excitement, people aren’t paying attention.  They stop in the middle of the road and hold their cell phones out their windows in hopes of getting a picture.  A passenger jumps out of a car and runs through traffic to get a closer look.   

The ranger toots her whistle toot toot to get people’s attention.  She frantically waves cars forward and yells at people to get of the street, but her efforts do little for crowd control.  I am lucky and get one of the last available spots on the edge of the turnout.  I join the throng of spectators to see what they see, and my heart skips a beat. 

This is what I came for and she is beautiful.

A cinnamon-colored black bear is radiant under the afternoon sun as she forages in a grassy meadow among fallen trees.  She climbs atop a log and looks at the people looking at her.  She is perfect.  But wait! There is movement at the base of a dead tree not far from where she stands.

A murmur arises from the crowd as two adorable cubs scamper up the tree!  They are so tiny and one of them sits on a branch with one little baby bear leg dangling.  It is the cutest thing I have ever seen.  

I realize that if I am to die today, it would be because I tried to hug a baby bear and was mauled to death by the mother.  Part of me thinks that would be okay because they are that precious.

**

The following day begins with another early start. 

Just a few miles past the west entrance gate is a small, paved parking area that is easily overlooked.  Most people zoom past as their enthusiasm pushes them towards the tourist-friendly attractions, like Old Faithful and Mammoth Hot Springs, but it is a stop worth taking. 

The air is clean and crisp at 52-degrees.  

I walk to the edge of the Madison River and a  raven caws loudly in response to my appearance.   The gurgling river and chirping birds drown out the buzzing of tires on the road behind me.  An occasional small chunk of ice floats by on the current as the spring thaw catches up to the upper elevations.  The water is frigid as I dip my fingers in it.  

The entire scene is ethereal as clouds filter the morning light.  I try to capture the magic with my camera, but it’s not the same as seen through my eyes.  More importantly, I can’t adequately portray the emotions welling up inside of me.  I put my camera away and sit in silence. 

I was last here in 2011 and from this exact spot I saw a bald eagle perched high in the trees across the river.  

I scan the treetops, and in the distance, I see a far-off speck.  It is a bald eagle, and she is majestically backlight by the rising sun.  It’s probably not the same one from twenty years ago, or maybe it is, but either way it makes me smile. 

It’s going to be another good day.

Yesterday, while watching the mama bear and her cubs, I overheard another photographer telling someone in the crowd where to see wolves.  From the size of his camera lens and his knowledge about the park, I knew he was a professional and inched closer to eavesdrop on his conversation.  He said Slough Creek on the way to Lamar Valley was a good place and that is where I planned to go today. However, after seeing the morning light, I change my mind.  

Instead of wolves, I concentrate instead on landscapes and, since it is still early enough to avoid the crowds, visit the more popular areas. 

Causal strolls through Lower Geyser Basin and Black Sand Basin to photograph geysers and hot springs make for a relaxing morning.  

At Old Faithful, I am about 40 minutes too early to see her erupt.  I sit for maybe five minutes, but impatience gets the best of me, and I continue on. 

Yellowstone Lake is 7,733 feet above sea level and the largest high-elevation lake in North America.  It is roughly 20 miles long and 14 miles wide with 141 miles of shoreline.   

I find a quiet picnic area along Gull Point Drive with views of the lake.  I sit under a canopy of pine trees and and heat up a can of beef stew for lunch.  Boats cruise the lake, birds chirp from above and a group of six talk loudly at a nearby table. 

At first, I am irritated because they are disturbing my peace, but as I watch them, I can’t help but smile.  They are of retirement age and all have gray hair and wrinkles.  They crowd around a table, sharing sandwiches while they chatter and laugh.  I smile at their good time and when they leave, they drive away in jacked-up Jeep Wranglers. 

My smile remains as I spend the next four days racking up the miles driving from one corner of Yellowstone to the other.  From seeing wolves in Lamar Valley (albeit about three miles away) to at least a dozen black bear sightings (eight in one day!) to hunting badger with no luck, and simply being in nature has done wonders to reinvigorate my spirit.

My time at Yellowstone National Park has come to an end, but my journey has not....

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A black bear looks back at the traffic near the Roosevelt Lodge

The meaning behind an original drawing by Me

When I sat down to start this drawing, I was unprepared for the level of emotion that emerged.  Of course I can't create without some degree of feeling, but the intensity was surprising and overwhelming.  I don't usually share much about the meaning of my art.  I like to let the viewers experience their own emotions without influence.  I want them to imagine with innocence rather than to try and see my intention.  However, I think this piece needs the story behind it to be told, not only to show how I create, but also the degree of my vulnerability while creating.  Besides, I am really proud of  it and kind of just want to show it off.   And hopefully after reading the short story,  you will see where my emotions are reflected in the drawing and perhaps relate to them in your own life as well.  Enjoy.

Sometimes you find yourself on a path in life with no clear direction.  You follow, not sure of where you are, but you keep going because you know no better. 

Sometimes the walk turns into a climb.  It is hard and you struggle.  You want to quit and return to the easy path, even though you know it was not right.  From somewhere a whisper urges you forward.  You do not recognize the voice, but you are compelled to go on.

One, two, a dozen hurdles overcome.  

With each step you become stronger physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  The whisper becomes louder.  It is encouraging, supportive, reassuring.  It sings in your ears. A beautiful and melodic expression of love.  Your confidence grows.  Your steps quicken.  You recognize the voice now.  It is your own.

You strive to climb higher and higher and then suddenly, you find yourself on another path, in another place.  This path ventures further outside of your comfort zone.  Further than you have ever been.  Further than you have ever imagined.  You do not know where it leads or what lies ahead, but as terrifying as that is, you continue to walk because you like the direction in which you are headed.  

You do not know when it happened, it just was, but no longer are you following a path, you are now creating one.  This new path is of your own doing.  You are forging it for yourself and no one else.  The only footsteps you see and hear are your own.

You do not know when it happened, it just was, but you have found that you like walking.  Sometimes you even run because it feels like flying and that makes you feel free.  And after what seemed like an eternity, you are no longer afraid to be yourself.

And with that discovery, you are finally happy with the woman you are.

The process of my drawing

Pandemic Road Trip: Thanksgiving 2020 "Always find a way back to myself" - The End

It's a beautiful day.

Sunny and 65-degrees, but the weather is deceiving. 

The wind chases after me as I leave Bosque del Apache and head towards White Sands National Park. My truck rocks from side to side with each gust, but I don't realize its strength until I stop for gas in Alamogordo.  As soon as I open the door, the wind rips it from my hand, but as a side note, gas is only $1.96/gallon.

I'm rethinking my decision to visit a place with 'sand' in its name on such a windy day, but this is a new National Park to be checked off on my list.  Regardless of the weather, I don't want to miss the opportunity to visit.  Besides, I am only 20 minutes away so I drive on.

Traveling has taught me many things.

It has taught me to be spontaneous and flexible.  It has taught me to be open to new experiences and trust myself.  It has taught me to be confident.  I've struggled, but at various times during this trip, I've been all of those things.  I am proud of myself, but traveling has also shown me how alone I am.

It's not so much being alone that bothers me.  I've always been good with my own company, but it's the loneliness that sometimes accompanies it.  It is on this trip that I experience it the most, especially after photographing birds in Bosque del Apache.

My excitement was palpable, but there was no one to share it with, no one to laugh with (especially when I thought I was going to die at the jaws of a javelina), and no one to talk with.  And of course, people tend to look at me a bit funny when I'm laughing and talking to myself, although I do it anyway.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't so alone.

White Sands National Park covers almost 146,000 acres, including 275-square miles of white sand dunes composed of gypsum crystals.  It is the largest gypsum dune field of its kind on Earth. Although White Sands has been a National Monument since 1933, it is a fairly new national park, having gained national park status in 2019.

The Dune Life Nature Trail is a one-mile loop hike and my first stop inside the park.  People are scattered across the dunes as there really isn't a trail to follow, just signs marking a self-guided route.  I try to follow them as best I can, but get confused as to which sign is next.  I stray from the route and become just like everyone else, aimlessly wandering about.

I stop next at the backcountry camping loop, but don't follow the trail as I have no idea where it begins.  Instead, I trudge through the sand making my own way.  I drop down into the dunes and my reference points disappear.  I am in complete isolation and it's disconcerting.  Hurrying to the top of the dunes, I reorient myself.  I keep the porta-potty in view so I don't get lost again.

I am fascinated by the textures, patterns and shadows cast by the late afternoon sun and I stay in the park much longer than intended.  There is something comforting about the dunes and I don't want to leave them just yet.

Yes, I may be lonely at times, but other times, like now, I enjoy the solitude. The only energy mingling with mine is that of Mother Nature.  I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, feeling the heat of the sun on my face and the tickling of wind on my skin.

The mountains turn a radiant purple as the sun dips low and its only then when I finally say farewell to White Sands National Park.

...

All pre-planned stops have now been checked off on my itinerary.

It is exhilarating to have no clear destination in mind.  I can go in whichever direction the wind blows, but it is also stressful.  Prior to my road trips, I check mileage and estimate travel times.  I check weather patterns, notate potential attractions, and identify accommodations along every possible route.  Spontaneity doesn't come easily.

The next morning, I leave the Motel 6 in Las Cruces a carefree spirit and ready to embrace the open road, but the planner in me can't help it and sets the GPS for Tucson.  However, I don't get very far.  On impulse, I detour north on Hwy 180 towards Silver City.  Along the way, I see a sign for Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument and just like that, my next stop has been decided.

It's only 45 miles from Silver City to the cliff dwellings, but NM-15, although beautiful, is narrow with lots of twists and turns.  It's slow going.  I'm uncertain if spontaneity was a good idea and am doubting myself.  However, as I pass several campgrounds, I know I have a place to stay if necessary.  I have packed some camping supplies and having the ability to be self-sufficient, at least for a few days, is reassuring.  Once again, I drive on.

After about an hour and a half, I arrive at the cliff dwellings.  I see a couple of small buildings, a few cars, and a park ranger sitting at a table at the trailhead, but I don't see any dwellings.

The ranger gives me a rundown of COVID protocols.  She instructs me to wash my hands in a makeshift sink.  The water is absolutely freezing!  She apologies but says it's procedure before I'm allowed to enter the dwellings.  I am also reminded to wear my mask and social distance.

She then gives me a brief history of the area.  The Gila Cliff Dwellings give a glimpse into the lives of the Mogollon people who lived here from the 1280s to the early 1300s.  Teddy Roosevelt designated the area a national monument in 1907 and it sits in the middle of the Gila Wilderness, the nation’s first designated wilderness area.

Before I start down the trail, the ranger asks me if I'm in good health.  "Of course" I respond and then she adds, "because the cliff dwellings are there" and points halfway up the cliff face.  Oh boy.  But I suppose that is why they are called cliff dwellings because, well, they are on a cliff.

The trail is a switch back and not incredibly steep, but because I’m at 6867-feet elevation and fat, I struggle to catch my breath.  I gulp down my water within the first 30 yards and the battle within begins as it so often has during this trip.  The part of me that is always fearful wants to turn around, to go back to where it’s easy and familiar.  

However, another smaller, but rebellious part, pushes back.  She knows the anxiousness of the moment will subside and the effort will be worth the reward of a new experience.  She wants to live in the present, not in her past. Luckily, that is the me who wins, at least for now.

When I reach the dwellings, it’s quiet.  Birds, the wind, a gurgling stream, and my gasps for breath are the only sounds I hear.  I think again how nice it is to be alone.

...

Chili bubbles in the pot on the camping stove as I set the picnic table for a party of one.  A Cactus Wren gives me the side eye, while a Curve-billed Thrasher scurries to the cover of a nearby bush. Two new birds to check off in my field guide, along with the Gila Woodpecker I saw earlier.

It’s sunny and 59-degrees.  A perfect Thanksgiving morning in Saguaro National Park.

The park is named after the giant saguaro, a cactus native to the Sonoran Desert, and is about 92,000-acres in total but divided into two separate areas.  The Tucson Mountain District is about 10 miles west of Tucson and the Rincon Mountain District, which is where I am enjoying my Thanksgiving meal, is about 10 miles east of the city.  

The Rincon Mountain District was the original section of the park but called Saguaro National Monument at the time.  It was established in 1933 by Herbert Hoover.  John F. Kennedy added the Tucson Mountain District in 1961 and renamed the original tract the Rincon Mountain District. Both sections were combined in 1994 to form what is now known as Saguaro National Park.

The Cactus Forest Scenic Loop Drive is about 8 miles long.  Because it is paved, it is popular for bicyclists and joggers, but very few cars are here this morning.  I drive slowly looking for wildlife.  I only have one near miss with a bicyclist and that is because she yelled, “on your right!” startling me which caused me to swerve to my right.  Fortunately I was driving like a sloth so she had plenty of time to get out of the way.

After I finish eating, I decide to hike the 2-mile Mica View Loop trail.  However, just as I get to the trailhead, a group of screaming children run down the trail in front of me, shattering the tranquility of the morning.  They are closely followed by several loud-talking adults.  I do not begrudge them their family time on Thanksgiving and am glad the littles are having fun, but….ugh!

Instead, I go to the end of the trail to begin my hike, thinking I will go in the opposite direction of everyone else, but it doesn't take long for me to become disoriented.  I follow what I think is the trail, but it ends in a tangle of brush.  I back track, find what looks like a possible trail, but it's another dead end.  I listen for the noisy children, but they are silent.  I wander further and further away from where I should be.

My ex-husband once told me I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag and it's true.  If I don't have the ocean in view, then I have no idea which way is south, east, up or down. There is no water in sight and  I start to panic.  I don't have much, if any, wilderness training, but I think what would Les Stroud do.  Or maybe Bear Grylls, but he'd probably drink his own urine and I'm not quite ready to do that just yet.

I stop and assess the situation.  The sun is there, I am here, and a tall saguaro rising above the rest is near the bathrooms.  I bushwhack my way towards the cactus, eventually finding my way to where I began, which is less than a 1/4-mile away from where I got turned around.

How easy it is to become lost!

But I always find away back to myself.

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