To People or Not to People

 

Thomas Canyon Campground, Lamoille, NV

One of my goals this year is to become more generous with my spirit; to be more open with my fellow human beings; surely there are some interesting people out there, right?  And, surprise!  I don’t know everything.  Maybe someone can teach me something at some point. 

Maybe.  Perhaps.  We’ll see.

(You see I have a way to go on this.)

I am making an effort and so far it is 50/50.

I last left you at the Bob Scott Campground near Austin, Nevada, having (but not reported) a serious attack of loneliness.  This surprised me as I had spent way more than my usual Human Interaction Allotment Time that day.

Before leaving Lee Vining, I had a nice long conversation with my neighbors who turned out to be from a town on the central coast, were spending a month traveling out to the Grand Tetons and, you may remember, were traveling in an Airstream.  They gave me some insider information about where to camp out there, which I will surely use.  But, when I noted that there was a Four Seasons in Jackson Hole and that I might need a few days with long, hot showers, the lady replied, “Oh, if you need a long shower, they offer them free at the Yellowstone Visitor Center.” 

Clearly two nights next to me is not long enough to understand Kitness.

But they were nice and I hope to run into them again.  

Continuing my interaction on the drive, I had a great telephone conversation with my sister-in-law and then, of course, the hours spent with Mr. Motorcyclist as we patiently awaited the return of our freedom.

So I was surprised by the loneliness and thought, maybe you feel more lonely when you have spent time with others versus just always being alone.  Using my “you don’t feel happy unless you sometimes feel sad” theory, I asked Google, “What is the antonym for lonely?”  Google replied, “The antonym for lonely is social.”  So there you have it.

In any event, the next morning I decided to take Opus on a long hike back into the hills behind the campground.  As we were hiking, first over small hills and then steadily climbing to where we were joined by some kind of short, fat pine trees, I began to feel like my peeps were around.  The trees, the grasses, the dirt, the birds, and Opus of course; soon my loneliness dissipated.  We reached a plateau where you could see for miles all around and I stood, took some deep breaths and acknowledged how grateful I was to be a part of something so magnificent.

Originally I had thought of staying two nights but it wasn’t thrilling me; typical dirt road/dirt pitch Forest Service Campground so we packed up and hit the road.   Since we were getting a late start, it was fortunate that my next stop was only about two-hundred miles.  Truly a never-have-been-to stop:  The Ruby Lake Wilderness outside of Lamoille, Nevada.

And here I sit.  This place is magical.  There is no cell service of any variety which usually makes me keep moving down the road (for safety reasons), but the minute I pulled into Thomas Canyon Campground  I knew I was staying as long as possible. 

Some campgrounds feel spooky and some feel just right; this one felt like heaven.  It is nestled in a valley completely surrounded by sharp, rocky mountains and a small stream winds its way through the pitches.  I found a sunny spot for Beagle (the weather was dropping below freezing at night and I knew I needed my solar panels to recharge my battery each day) and parked so her front windows looked up one of the valleys to the snow-patched peak in the distance. 

Who knew this place existed?  It reminds me of the Italian Alps with the sharp-edged mountains and valleys filled with coniferous trees.  I could not wait to get on the trail.

So this morning, after walking River, Opus and I headed up the valley we had been staring at from inside Beagle.  It was a grueling uphill for at least thirty minutes and I was noticing how out of backpacking shape I am.   I came across a couple on their way down and remarked how challenging the climb was.  They agreed and said they didn’t go much further; I replied that I was just hoping to make it to a sunny spot for my morning coffee.  Which the gentleman took, apparently, as an invitation to lecture me. 

He went on and on and On and On about the position of the sun, the peaks casting shadows, and the time of year, all in a tone that indicated I might just be an idiot.   As I watched him, I silently chanted, “generous with my spirit, generous with my spirit.”  He finished with, “I doubt you will have sun for at least an hour.”

Ten minutes later, sitting in the sun enjoying my coffee, I acknowledged that some people are still going to be challenging.

Opus and I persevered (I am also working on patience and perseverance) and I was sure glad we did!  The climbing trail opened to a vast meadow with the mountain peaks coming together in the center and a small waterfall off to the right.  I could have sat there for hours but I knew we had to get back down to River.  So after a brief pause, I offered a quick thank you to whoever gave me this Earthly assignment and provided me with this delightful vessel filled with courage.

-K

PS:  More photos can be found here.

Ode to Ghost Rider

 Bob Scott Campground, Nevada

Two months ago a friend suggested I read Neil Peart’s memoir Ghost Rider.  I started it two weeks ago and have found it to be equal parts solace and inspiration.  After Neil’s daughter and wife died (separately) within ten months of each other he was close to suicidal.  He took off on his BMW motorcycle and chronicled his grief and growth in this well-written book of adventure.  I highly recommend it to anyone but particularly to people who have lost a spouse.

Neil's love of being on the road matches mine and his stories made me want to leave as soon as possible.  There is no measurement for grief, but losing a spouse is not something people understand until they, sadly, come to know.  There is great solace for me in reading his words; I do not feel so alone.  In addition, he and I have traveled on many of the same roads, including my route today which, on the Nevada road map, is labeled “The Loneliest Road in America”.  I kid you not.

As is usual for both Neil and myself, I was anxious to get on the road this morning.  But I made myself take time for a walk with the Noses over to the Mono Lake Visitor Center (closed for winter) where we took a few minutes to sit on a bench and enjoy the view. 

Sitting there, I was filled with gratitude for living on this planet and enjoyed noticing how the pixels aligned themselves into tall, distant mountains, then closer, rolling hills, then the water, then the islands and the birds.  I felt a pang when I realized I would love to share that moment with someone; someone I trust who is different from me.  Their perception of the morning might bring about even more appreciation.  That, to me, is one of the greatest parts of sharing your life with someone—it makes the world twice as big and twice as beautiful.

I found myself talking to Alan which is a rare thing indeed; I have often yelled at him over the past few years but rarely do I speak to him.  This morning I said, “I hope you are somewhere as magnificent as this planet, sitting with Rosco and enjoying your place.”  Just like Neil would, I let myself cry which felt good. 

And then I realized that I had thought of Alan as not being on Earth. 

For the first time.

Ever. 

In over three years.   

And so I borrowed a phrase from Neil who simply said, when he walked back into his house after months on the road and saw pictures of his wife and daughter, “I know.”

After saying goodbye to my camp neighbors, I set off down an unfamiliar highway.  It was early and there were very few cars.  Just a long, straight road leading from California into Nevada.  Honestly, I was a bit scared so I tried to focus on the lovely scenery.   (Back at home I wrote on my white board, “Remember Kit, if you aren’t a little scared you aren’t getting anywhere.”)

About an hour into the drive, I saw a sign, “Accident Ahead” and thought, wow, it must be some accident for someone to put up that sign.  Then, in about half a mile I came to a complete stop.  There was a line of cars ahead of me and, as we sat there, the line grew longer and longer behind me. 

I ventured out of the car and the motorcyclist in front of me struck up a conversation.  I immediately thought of Neil Peart—here was the Ghost Rider right in front of me.  We sat for over an hour before the cars began to come toward us in the other lane.  We would move about a quarter mile up and then have to stop again; clearly they were alternating the east and west bound traffic through one lane.  Our final stop was just as Mr. Motorcycle reached the accident.

It was a horrendous site; a semi and a motorcycle.  The semi’s front fender was bent under, the truck on its side, the motorcycle in a million pieces, the body of which had clearly lit on fire.  There were no survivors present, the cyclist’s helmet sat, oddly shining and seemingly unscathed, amongst the rubble.

I briefly closed my eyes and wished his soul a quick departure for places unknown and sent a wave of compassion toward the people who loved him but must remain.

Then I wished Mr. Motorcyclist a safe journey.

-K

The Road Less Linear

 

    

My more astute readers will recognize the fact that I missed the biggest expectation of them all:  That I would wake up in the morning.  But wake up I did, to a gorgeous day in Morro Bay, the kind for which I have been waiting all summer.   A perfect day to drive away; I had spent two days preparing for departure and happily set off knowing I had put myself in the best possible place for success:  All Beagle’s and Wurzig’s systems were working, I had an order of Luciano’s Duck a L’Orange in the fridge and, because I knew my first stop would include an electrical hook up enabling me to use my toaster, two Pop-Tarts (among other necessary food items like Cheese-Itz and gin.)  We were on the road by 7:30.

Holy shit! Well, this will teach me for not starting a post by setting the scene:  I had just finished that paragraph when River began barking, I looked up to see a Coyote staring us down from a mere twenty yards away.  Opus immediately launched into Killer mode and the two of them tried their best to break their tethers.   It was the biggest coyote I have ever seen.  And not mangy, he was beautiful with a shiny full coat and well-developed body; and he clearly was not afraid of the dogs.  So I jumped up, grabbed my large canteen (the only heavy thing I had near me other than my laptop) and quickly took a few menacing steps toward him (stop laughing), telling him to get away.  He gazed at me rather sardonically before turning and slowly walking back into the brush.

So where is all this taking place?  I am sitting in dappled sunshine, it is about 75 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, an occasional soft breeze, and the Noses are laying in the grass (albeit facing the way the coyote departed) at the Mono Vista RV Park, a place I have raved about before so will not do so again other than to say, I was planning on only one night (intending to get the heck out of California ASAP) but I can’t help it, I am staying for two; this stop is one of my happy places.  My pitch is at the end of a row, Beagle’s door opens to the mountains (and wildlife lol) and my neighbor is a 16’ Airstream Sport.  Just prior to sitting down under the leafy trees to write, I was washing my dishes, looking out Beagle’s wonderful front windows and marveling, “This is my life!  I can do this as long as I want.”  A perfect moment in time.

To top it off, getting here was one of the most splendid drives I have ever done, certainly since owning Beagle.  Nearly 400 miles and nine hours on the road garnering exceptional external beauty and a deepening internal peace. 

To avoid Yosemite (you currently have to reserve a spot to just drive through due to the fires) I took the Road Less Linear:   Highway 1 to 46, my local stunning drive, then over 41 to Fresno (smoke from the fires burning my eyes and stinging my throat), up the 99 (a break from the beauty just to give my senses time to adjust because beauty, like happiness, only exists if the opposite is sometimes recognized), then 59 opened up to rolling hills dotted with oak trees, hardly a soul on the road, to 108 through Sonora Pass and down to 395.  Although I enjoyed all of it, it was during my time on 108 that I felt completely at peace.  It starts with tall trees and climbs to the typical high-Sierra landscape of light-colored boulders, wide open spaces and grand vistas highlighted by the occasional gathering of trees.  No one in front of me and no one behind me, we meandered, it was heaven.

***

Most of us learned in high school that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.  Being an efficiency expert, this knowledge served me well in business:  I could look at a process and eventually find the most efficient way of getting the result.  (Thankfully I sold the highly configurable SAP software suite which could support my creative solutions.)  But what worked great in business doesn’t work well in life.  Because, in life, if you are at Point A and focusing on getting to Point B, you have two major issues:  (1) You are creating expectations about Point B (the most basic being the assumption that you really want to be there)  and (2), you are likely to overlook all the wonderful pixels of light just to the right or left of the most efficient route.

This is not to argue against having goals.  I think goals are very important.  The difference to me is that I think goals are generalized, for example, I want to be open to feeling like I deserve Joy again in my life but the shape in which that Joy might appear is comprised of almost limitless pixels.  Only in appreciating the moment do I realize that those pixels are all inside of me and it is up to my very human senses to bring them to light.

Here’s to the Road Less Linear.

-K

The No Expectations Tour

 

 

OK, I am breaking a rule; I am posting on the Beagle blog but not actually traveling in the Beagle.  Yet.  She is parked out front, I can see her through my den window, all hitched up and ready to go first thing in the morning.

Almost two years ago I set off in Beagle to discover my new life, study the difference between free will and fate, and other lofty goals.   But after three tiring months on the road, the 2018 Tour quickly turned into a hunt for a winter home.  I knew I had found it the moment I drove into Morro Bay.  That remains true to this day; even more so as I have discovered friends and talents I never knew I possessed.  All of which I will dearly miss on this trip.

But I have a simpler goal this time:  To go wherever I want for whatever reason and to travel and arrive with no expectations.  “Without expectations, everyone is perfect.”  Sorry, cannot remember the author of that quote, but I am going to expand it to, “Without expectations everything is perfect.”

Before I start out, I want to record this feeling of joy in the unknown.  I love this moment in life when you know something is about to happen (truly know it, not just feel it, I know I will drive away tomorrow) and you have no idea what is going to happen; it is one of the greatest feelings on earth, at least to me.

And I truly have no expectations.

Somebody check the time.

-K

PS:  I was thinking today while packing up that I will make an effort to have fresh flowers in Beagle.  After dining at my dear friend’s restaurant, he gave me a rose as a parting gift.  Life always has my back.