Maybe I should have been offended by the comment a business acquaintance of mine made recently. She called me a hippie. The connotation of such is typically negative, particularly for a preppy girl from Connecticut. But I embraced the label and thanked her. Beamed actually. I knew she was referring to my insatiable and regularly indulged wanderlust of late.
As kids we traveled across the country with our parents in a camper for six weeks at a time. Since then I have yearned to wander more, wander farther, wander deeper exploring this country again. My thinking was that I needed an RV. And a lot of fuel. Both required the kind of money I didn't have. As you might expect, time and obligations were two other big hindrances. But kids grow up, commitments lessen, time frees and sometimes you get lucky and opportunity presents itself.
My twenty plus year old son Robert was moving to San Diego to pursue life. I invited myself along for the road trip. I told my sister, Kimberly. She invited herself along for the road trip. And since my recently graduated niece hadn't landed that post-graduate job yet, Mackenzie came along, too. The dogs couldn't be left behind so we packed them up. Spud, the older goldendoodle was fresh from surgery having had a tumor removed from his eyelid. Simon, who my husband nicknamed the "lucky bastard," rescue doodle, remained exuberantly clueless but eager. Robert was a saint for letting us all crash in on his adventure which transformed from a solo, direct drive from east to west to two cars, two dogs - one donning the cone of shame-, two moms and a cousin meandering the highways and byways of America without an agenda or timetable. No doubt he wondered how to call us all off before the journey began but alas. the camping gear was being packed...
It is amazing how fiscally creative one can be and how far one can go when a desire smolders strong enough. The key is both spontaneity and planning, plus a strong dose of flexibility. (And someone crazy enough to join you for the ride.) These traits have taken years and dedication to develop, hone and master. An RV was not an option so my Honda Element fitted with a Thule rack, a tent and a few miscellaneous pieces of camping equipment would have to do. And so it was with a nickel and a dime and little more we took to the road for an extended cross country trip.
Some nights we cashed in hotel points and squirreled away breakfast bars, bananas and hard boiled eggs from their free continental breakfasts for eating on the road. Between the coasts we collectively know a lot of people which equates to a lot of places to bunk. We availed ourselves of dog-tolerant friends and family in Chicago, Breckenridge, Santa Fe and beyond on our very indirect route to California. The non-linear course would become a recurring theme of our trip; a mirror of our lives.
During the ten days we spent in Carlsbad, California using timeshare points, we explored several potential 'home' towns for Robert, looked at 14 or 15 apartments some of which were downright scary, secured the perfect little apartment and decked it out, and Robert had two job offers. We'd been successful on all fronts. The reality, though, of leaving Robert 3000 miles away crept in. I tried to suck it up. Sometimes putting on my big girl pants is entirely overrated.
I couldn't escape the inevitable. No amount of deep breathing, swallowing and distraction could keep the tears from spilling. I was so happy for Robert; he wasn't just wishing he could do something different he was making it happen. And what better time in life can one make dreams like this come true? Go forth and see the world and live your dreams.... But it hurt like hell and I was sad for my poor self. I know; a little pathetic but some times no amount of logic can usurp the power of a mother's heart.
With no real agenda other than to leave San Diego county we pointed the car towards Joshua Tree National Park. I'd read good things about the desert and it's only about a 4 hour drive from Pacific Beach where Robert now resided. Mackenzie bailed on the camping thing opting instead for a flight back to Rhode Island.
With comic ineptitude amidst a stiff breeze we eventually assembled our tent for our first night camping. Talk about overkill. The tent Kimberly dug out of her basement for the trip was slumber party size.
"You have an extra pole over there?" I asked.
"Yeah," Kimberly replied. "Where's this one go?"
"Over here I think. Part of the rain fly?" And so it went but at least we had a place to sleep.
For years the understanding that I lacked any real camping knowledge held me back from doing it. I could spend hours perusing camping stores marveling at the gear and ingenious gizmos designed for survival in the great outdoors. Neither Kimberly or I took a class or talked to experienced campers or read instructional books. We still didn't know what we were doing. Obviously. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that we were doing it. And learning as you go is not just an option but a rite of passage if you've ever had a dream worth pursuing.
That night temps plummeted and we wished for more warm layers. The coyotes howled and carried on very close by. At some point I heard an animal drinking from the dog's full water bowl we'd left out. In a desert. The animal got stuck or startled or something which sent the bowl clattering. A little while later I heard paw steps in the sand just outside the tent. Simon and Spud were up and anxious. Sleep was not plentiful and I learned I am a lot older than I once was though in my mind I've still not left my twenties or thirties.
In talking with fellow campers we generated the first of many not-to-be-missed-places list. After a couple of nights in Joshua Tree, bouldering and exploring followed by several hours to break camp - oh, the rookie life - we headed north. Kimberly chose Mineral King as our next destination based on the description in our 'Oh, Ranger' camping app; less traveled and touristy than the often over populated center of Sequoia National Park.
We turned off the main road at about 5:30 p.m. and disregarded the sign that read "90 minutes to Mineral King." It couldn't possibly be right. It's only about 20 miles in.
The road quickly became windy and steep. It's beautiful and we ohh'd and ahh'd for several miles. After nearly 40 minutes we encountered a car on the narrow road.
"Do you know how much farther it is to the campground?" we asked.
"Well, this is about mile seven and I think it's at mile 19. So you have a way yet."
"Is the road like this the whole way?" we asked.
"Yup it is. Take it slow."
Like we had an option.
Night fell. The road serpentined and switched back hundreds of times. After another 90 minutes we pulled into the campground. Apparently there was something to that "90 minutes to Mineral King" sign.
Once in the campground there were more signs. They were loaded with advice on bear safety in this "active bear area." A list of things that will attract bears included - aside from the obvious foodstuffs - toothpaste, fragranced lotions and soaps, shampoos and kids car seats. More reading cautioned; everything is to be stored in the bear boxes provided, remove everything on the list from your car and store it in the bear box, bears can open a car like a can of sardines.
We decided we should pay attention to the posted signs because evidently someone around there knew more than we did. Just the idea of bears made Kimberly distraught; seriously full on white-faced, cold sweat fear. Helluva camping partner. We drove around the campground looking for a spot. There was not one, I repeat not one, other camper there. Kimberly went from distraught to distressed on steroids. We were not allowed- Kimberly's rules - to cook. We were allowed a PB and J if we were quick about it. Her stress level was contagious. My jitters set in.
We set up the new, downsized tent we'd purchased en route in 30 seconds. In the dark. Now that was a cool trick. Ate a PB and J. Called it a night. It was 8:30. We felt so much safer behind our 5 deniers of nylon.
We woke amidst towering Sequoia trees and found that a young couple had just arrived. There is safety in numbers and we were happy there were now other bear hors d'ouvres on the menu.
As we would continue to do for the next four weeks, we hiked, investigated, learned, camped and reveled in the glorious outdoors. Tent camping proved to have an edge over RV-ing; the opportunity to become ensconced and participate in nature and the experience is significantly heightened. Our itinerary was non existent beyond a day or two. Whenever someone asked how long we'd be traveling or how far we'd be traveling we invariably shrugged and answered, "We don't know. We're just winging it."
From the Sequoias we traversed west to Big Sur and the Pacific Coast Highway where people pitch a tent or hammock on the side of the road and camp to the beat of the ocean waves. We traveled further north to Monterey then east again to Yosemite. From there we went east to the 1880's ghost town of Bodie followed by a westerly course to camp in Lake Tahoe then east towards Jackson Hole, Wyoming. On to Yellowstone and Chico Hot Springs where we soaked our weary old bones for two days. Continuing east we marveled at the Badlands and the quirky roadside American trappings of Wall and Mitchell, South Dakota home of Wall Drug, and the Corn Palace respectively. Our final hoo-rah before the heavy snows began was Custer State Park in South Dakota.
If you plotted our course on a map it would be a zig-zagging seemingly disjointed tangle of lines. In a weird way this free-form excursion lent a certain balance. It was the detours and tangents, spontaneity and freedom from normal constraints that made it all so rewarding. Expectations were naught. Delight around every corner and over each horizon befell us.
Camping, exploring and discovering the varied cultures within our own American culture, being awed by the majesty of nature and the possibilities of simplicity were a distraction from the realities of normal daily life. The independence we felt after after decades of child rearing and work was nourishment for our souls. Our confidences were buoyed by knowing we were, if not expert, at least aptly capable. We could set up or break down camp in about twenty minutes or less; a far cry from the two hours it took us that first night in Joshua Tree. We could provision ourselves and the dogs for extended forays, live without running water or flush toilets for days, maybe weeks if needed. We made so many mistakes along the way it's embarrassing. But we didn't care. We lived out a dream. One checked off, many to go.
I was telling a friend recently how lucky I am.
"We're all lucky," she said. "The rest of us just don't do anything about it."
I am Lucky. And I will continue to do something about it. You?
Comments