Headed West 2018

Headed West 2018

 

Gunnison, Colorado

Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah

That drop in my stomach. The mingling of fear and wonder. Traveling into the unknown. Leaving behind the comforts and routine.

I have no idea what to expect around the corner. I am driving in uncharted waters. The false safety of four walls and a roof are absent. I once again sleep and wake beneath the sun and the stars. It takes time to get used to again.

This isn’t our first time living out of our car. And this time we have more luxuries with our built in bed. Yet it takes adjustment. I get all settled into a place. I get acquainted with a routine.

But these uncertainties keep me awake, keep me aware, keep me grateful.

Eldorado National Forest, California

 

 

For me, this picture holds so much irony. Now, I see peace. The soft pink light. The subtle silhouettes. The rolling hills of varying shade.
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And yet. I think about this moment captured. Sitting there, reading Psalms to calm my anxious heart. Before finding this overlook, we drove away from three campgrounds closed for the season. I had this dread that we would come upon sign after sign reading Closed.
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All we had left for the night was a name and longitude – latitude coordinates. No website, no pictures, no information. The coordinates led us up steep windy roads with a nasty drop off the entire way up. “Prepare to park your car” popped up on the GPS in the middle of an intersection. We still had about five miles to travel.
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I was so anxious about all these unknowns – all these uncontrollable – all this fear. I had no idea where we were headed or what we would find. And now I sit back and look at where it led me.
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The battle of fear -the battle of the unknown – rages on. Yet the drive of wonder, the call of adventure, and the desire to explore presses me on.

 

Mendocino Valley, Ukiah, California

 

 

 

Mattole Beach, Petrolia, California

 

 

Flint Ridge, Klamath, California

 

 

In Search of That Which We Never Knew Existed.

I’ve been pondering what we are currently in search of on this journey. A few days ago we camped on the beach near surfers, parasailers, and mountain bikers. The surfers were in search of the perfect wave, driving from Alaska and Florida to find it. The parasailers were there for the bird’s eye view; the bikers for new terrain. I’m reading Travels with Charley where John Steinbeck is in search of the America he has been writing about. He is studying the people and the cultures from coast to coast. •
So what is it we are searching for? •
Beautiful sites. National Parks. Views that take our breathe away. Learning about life on the road. Finding places we could picture ourselves settling down in one day. Hidden gems. The unknown. •
In search of that which we never knew existed. •
Our journey grew out of opportunity. It grew out of a desire to see and explore. In grew from that itch of being indoors too much and stationary for too long. •
We are in search. We are in transit.

“The redwoods seem to be out of time and out of our ordinary thinking. The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe… Respect — that’s the word.”

~ John Steinbeck

I wrote this in the summer of 2015. Pretty amazing to see what’s transpired since then.
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I want to take hold of this life, not let it simply drift by. I want to sleep under the stars. I want to backpack and hike mountains and live off the land. I want to run through the jungles barefoot. I want to lifeguard on the beaches of California, drive from one coast to the other, read book after book, and listen to music. I want to be with people unlike me, learning from them, learning what love is. I want to see and do things that take my breathe away. I want to create and live in creativity. I want to spontaneously say yes to unexpected opportunities. I want to live and laugh and work and play and move with the seasons.

 

Humbug Mountain State Park, Port Orford, OR

 

 

 

Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum, McMiniville, OR

 

 

 

Henderson Flat, Smith Rock State Park, Culver, OR

 

 

 

We pulled into the Visitor’s Center at four in the afternoon, with two more hours left of sun. We were looking for a place where we could sleep in our car. It looked like backpacking would be our only “legal” option. The parking lot where we were to leave our car was packed. It was going to be a challenge to sneak inside for the night.

We parked a mile up at Discovery Point to scope out backpacking and check out the lake. We saw the clean blue water in all its grandness, looking as if God had scooped a handful out of a mountain.

I opted for backpacking. I thought trying to be sneaky would just get complicated. I thought we were starting to get soft – always choosing our warm bed inside the Sequoia.

We watched the sun set, cascading colors my smart phone couldn’t pick up. Mountains of layered blues receded in the distance. As the colors grew in brilliance, Jaap and I made a run for it toward the West. We ran across the soft, squishy dirt avoiding hazardous rocks. It was a moment of childlike joy and wander.

We stood in the cold to watch the sun recede. Our dinner consisted of mini tortillas, sliced ham, and saltine crackers. To create a bear line we put everything into a plastic bag, tied it up tight, and then found a very very long (at least six feet) broken branch to hang the sack into the tree.

With that we folded into the night.

Until 11:30 pm, when I spoke up and asked if we should head back to sleep in the car. Neither of us had gotten any sleep.

We hiked uphill to reach the road. Then followed back on the road for one mile. We whistled and cleared our throats from time to time to keep any animals from being started. Once we cleared off the mess we left from our backpacking scramble, we slept warm and sound.

 

 

Crater Lake National Park, Oregon

 

 

 

 

Forest Road 1N10, Groveland, California

 

 

Jaap and I spent nearly six hours staring out at this view, watching the sunset progress, watching people come and go, watching selfies and family photos. There’s much value in being in a place. Fully being in a place. Because it takes time to know a place, to experience a place. I’m thankful for the time we spent watching colors unfold, taking in all the smells and sounds. I have an imprint that will not soon fade.

 

 

Camp 4, Yosemite National Park, California

Spent our morning watching the big wall climbers at El Capitan from predawn until lunch time, after finding our way into Camp 4. This heart of adventure was hard to leave, no doubt.

 

 

 

Frosty mornings

Numb toes and fingertips

Bug splattered windshield

Dirt caked tires.

 

 

 

 

 

Benton Crossing, Mammoth Lakes, California

 

 

 

BLM land, Alabama Hills, California

 

 

 

 

Dinners were a plastic fold out table and a couple of lawn chairs, a two-burner stove and a couple cans of soup. We soaked in each waning sunset, thinking over the present day, the discoveries and exploration, before planning the day to come. One meal, one day at a time. Never able to get too far ahead of ourselves. This was never a planned journey after all.

I grew to better know the habits and characteristics of nature’s rhythm. But in the consistent observing of each sunset, I began to recognize the unique beauty. The extensive range of colors, the reflections cast across varying textures of rock and features, the clouds – present or absent. Each slight alteration created a grand display. As the colors gradually lessened in intensity – a signal for the gradually waning day – a chill washed over me. The dark and the cold of night ushered us into our three-sixty room with a view. We were now on nature’s clock, slowly learning its rhythms.

BLM land, Joshua Tree National Park, California

 

 

 

 

 

How would we have known?

The bumpy washboard roads of the desert shook our car for far too long. Our shocks were breaking and wearing – a problem we knew was in our future. The hectic tossing around of the car caused by the insufficient shocks snapped the break line. Brake fluid poured out of the car, coating the inner face of the tire.

Brakes were completely shot. In the middle of a desert. No cell service.

We slowly made it to a dirt road intersection, where Jaap further checked the problem at hand.

A ranger pulled up and then called some back up. Two more rangers arrived to check on us five minutes later. One of the rangers followed behind us as Jaap and I drove the seven miles in low gear, coasting at a crawl through the dirt roads of washboards and strewn rocks.

We immediately reapplied for AAA. But we had to wait 24 hours before we would be covered as members. So we wait. In the Mojave National Desert.

The bump in our journey didn’t bring us too far off course, but now tomorrow holds even more unknown. Praying for a tow truck and the chance to get to Laughlin, Nevada, where a meal, a warm bed, and my grandma awaited us.

For now, we will wait and take in the marvelous desert plateaus.

 

It’s a funny thing being stuck. Our plans on the whole haven’t changed drastically. But we are more at will to our circumstances. We are instantly dependent on others.

 

After 24 hours, we put the call into AAA to get a tow truck. After some confusion, we got through, and an hour later the truck pulled up.

We took Stanley to Laughlin via a soft spoken man with a ponytail. We had much havoc and confusion in getting it dropped off, but we made it to the RV park.

 

 

 

We’ve been on the road for a month now, traveling and living out of our Sequoia. I can’t say it’s been easy — much harder actually than I had anticipated. I didn’t factor in that, though we are far south and among desert land, it is wintertime. I didn’t realize I would wake up each morning to below freezing temperatures. I didn’t anticipate slush accumulation on our metal plates while doing morning dishes. I didn’t anticipate the inconvenience of spending so much time in such a seemingly little space. I took for granted many things I hardly think about throughout the day. • And yet, I must say, I never anticipated these moments where my heart pounded faster and my smile spread into my one sided dimple and my voice grew pitchy and shrill with excitement.

Hole-in-the-Wall, Mojave National Preserve, California

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Observation Point and Angel’s Landing – all in a day’s work

 

Smithsonian Butte, Zion National Park, Utah

 

 

We laid in our car bed reading. It was 7 pm, but had already been dark for nearly two hours.

We both froze and looked up in sync.

It sounded like clunky footsteps running. It could have been in our direction. But wherever it was going or coming from, it sounded awfully close. But in the open plains of this valley, it was hard to tell its true distance.

I didn’t get the most peaceful sleep after that.

 

This morning, we woke to crystals and frost covering all of our windows. It was a whopping 19 degrees outside. It was bearable with our mattress and all of the blankets. But getting out of the car always takes a lot of willpower. Or a full bladder.

 

Rim Rock Road, Escalante, Utah

 

 

 

Capitol Reef Overflow, Torrey, Utah

 

 

 

“Wilderness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separated from.” – Terry Tempest Williams

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An open fire Thanksgiving

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple is one I won’t soon forget. It was a feast we had to eat quickly, before it turned to icy temperatures. We threw the corn in with the mashed potatoes and buried our chicken under the pillows inside the car to keep warm. That little Moab supermarket sure was a lifesaver.

 

 

Our car, the cold, and our spirits were telling us this journey had come to a close.

Willow Springs Road, Moab, Utah

 

I always romanticized van living. I wanted a VW van, blue of course, since my first days of high school. I since dreamed of living and traveling cross country in said van from that moment on.

I never dreamed up how difficult it would be. Traveling, living, and sleeping out of an SUV at the cusp of winter laid cause for many adjustments. I thought backpacking, working full summers at a camp, and two week long car camping would have prepared me.

But the cold! Oh how I admire full time van lifers. Being cramped in the SUV from 5 pm – 7 am was not always easy. But the alternative was standing outside in 14-20 degrees Fahrenheit.

Oh how I missed my early morning routine with my quiet hours of writing and my steaming cup of coffee (that I could microwave each time it started getting cold).

But these days. Oh how I miss waking up to watch the sun rise, snuggled beneath my sleeping bag and four layers of heavy comforters and blankets. How I miss my busy-bodied self being forced to sit and watch all that transpired before. I miss the red frosted windows. I miss dancing and hopping around in every layer I brought for warmth and blood flow. I even miss having to chug my room temperature coffee or tea. I miss a new home each night. A new adventure to find where our wheels would stay put. We wouldn’t know until we got there. I miss the uncharted waters of unplanned days.

Oh how there’s beauty and adventure wherever we find ourselves today.

But we have to look up.