Okay. I think most of the links work.
Please excuse the bad cathartic poetry.
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A trio of college graduates, out of the
institution only a year, embarked on an ambitious road trip to
the West Coast. We were a little scatterred, no purpose, no
cohesive comraderie; yet, Beth and Shaun arrived in
Chicago late Sunday
(August 18, 1996) night to try to find parking. ANY parking.
They spent Monday relaxing and taking in sushi and a movie, while I had my nose to the grindstone. I get home from work to find them antsy to go to Milwaukee. Oh. Okay. Laverne and Shirley, Richie and Fonzie. We drive two hours -- yay sudden showers yay stick shift -- and try to find the red-light district of Milwaukee with the help of Shaun's Gayellow Pages. We find... well... something. Experienced unrequited desire from Shaun and Beth to go cowtipping. We drove into Chicago late Monday night to try to find parking. ANY parking. We departed on Tuesday, August 20 -- cooler filled with food, coolness, and my guacamole. The flat farmlands of Illinois gave way to government pork. Dixon Mounds -- once an archaeological site researching the Mississippian people -- was now a beautiful, huge, empty museum with an exhibit that did not give much information about the Mississsippi people of 1500 years ago. Except for a haunting multi-media presentation in a theater-in-the-round, it definitely did not give the sense of life that should really be a part of any curated exhibit dealing with the history of man. We continued on to Missouri and spent some time with Shaun's father and cousins. Spent the night in Kirksville, MO. Northeast Missouri State University is no more; it is now called Truman State University. I don't know why. Shaun and Beth went paddle-boating early the next morn -- we stayed in a nice little cabin on Thousand Hills Lake -- I slept in and finished my guacamole for breakfast. Mmmm-mmmm good. Shaun's father and brother saw us on our way. On Wednesday, August 21, we drove through Missouri and found more of Shaun's long-lost cousins in Kansas City, KS. We found another black sheep of the family (which was a relief because I was seriously wondering if Christianity always yields pretty and perfect people). As we drove away late that afternoon, we wondered about the importance of family.
We continued driving through Kansas. And driving. The highway makes slow bends and I follow. Arc-ing toward forward. Breathless.Shaun sleeps curled in the passenger seat; Beth and I talk. Darkness wraps around us like a comfortable blanket.
About 30 miles before we stopped for the evening in Liberal, KS,
we smelled a meat-packing plant. Shaun was able to email some of his work to the office using the internal modem on his laptop and the motel's phone line. This was the most technologically savvy road trip that I'd ever been on -- both Beth and Shaun had a cellular phone for emergencies. On Thursday, August 22, we drove through the panhandles of Oklahoma and Texas. Boring empty land gave way to a lone oil well or a mass of cattle on a beef farm -- makes one want to be a vegetarian.
Just north of Amarillo, TX, we came passed a Lao Buddhist
temple and HAD to stop. Looking lost in the lot, we
wandered until a monk in orange robes asked if he could help us.
I immediately asked questions and he answered in broken English.
He was a refugee from Laos. There are evidently 4000 Lao people
in Amarillo. He invited us into the temple and taught us how to pray. I made an offerring to Buddha. He asked us where we were from, and when Beth answered, "Pennsylvania," he said, "Ah, Pennsylvania, number one woman in America. I see on television." It took a moment for me to comprehend, but luckily, I had glanced at the front page of a paper the night before in a gas station and knew that the Miss Teen USA pageant was going on. So, here was a Lao Buddhist monk in Amarillo, TX, who watches beauty pageants on television. We thanked him for his time and as the door closed behind us, Shaun realized that he might have left his sunglasses in the temple. It's always odd to go back after goodbye's have been said, but Shaun needed his shades. When we entered the temple again, I heard the voice of the monk , "Yes, can I help you?" Shaun, shoes off, disappeared around the corner and explained that he might have left something in the temple. I heard the monk say, "Ahhh... I'm old man and forget things. You're young man to forget things." He laughed and Shaun reappeared with shades in hand. We said our goodbye's again, and in the parking lot, Shaun said that he had to repect a man who could make fun of him. Immediately after crossing the state border from Texas to New Mexico, I felt the difference in the highway. Smoother. I saw the difference in the scenery. Wilder. Gradations of depth. Desert and mountains. Gray clouds ripe for bursting and rays of the sun peeking through. Just outside of Santa Fe, NM, we met with my friend David (also a recent release from the college institution) and his mother. They were a good source of the culture of the area. They have yucca plants. yucca yucca yucca. I've gotta get the word outta my system. yucca. there. yucca. excuse me. yucca. Santa Fe was beautiful. Hurricane Dolly was spreading tears throughout the area which ended a summer drought. Unfortunately, when you're travelling in a group, you have to make compromise, and Shaun and I had differing agendas. I had anticipated this and we were able to come up with a plan. On Friday, August 23, I spent time relearning all that I forgot about the Anasazi Indians at Bandelier. Shaun hiked with me while Beth had some much needed alone-time. That afternoon, we visited the Bradbury Museum (which details the history of Los Alamos during WWII and the A-bomb). I also saw some very expensive Pueblo Indian pottery. Unfortunately, we just missed seeing a Feast Day of one of the Pueblo San Ildefonso, but I plan on visiting Dave again and I will hopefully get an opportunity to indulge in more things I want to do.
Dave and I On Saturday, August 24, we drove through treacherous twists and mountain inclines to Telluride, CO. There seemed to be a good balance of life and tourism, but I saw signs of "Vail-gentrification" in the new construction occurring at the outer portions of town. ("Town," by the way, consists of a five-block long main street.) We caught the tail-end of the Mushroom Festival. Hippies from the 60s and 90s hobnobbed with the touristy crowd. Everybody was very friendly. Shaun and I paid to attend a lecture on Saturday night which was interesting, if a bit over our heads. After the lecture, there was a dance. I had a good time bopping about by myself and with Beth. Smiling at those around me. It was not Shaun's kind of scene. There was no voguing or "Dancing." There was, however, a bunch of happy people swaying and expressing themselves through their movements. Nobody danced with each other, but everybody indulged in self-expression that created a communal mood. Everybody danced with everybody else. Catching a person's eyes and smiling. No posing. No agendas. Happiness. I met some interesting people there. People who scorned money and materialism. I sat on the Community Center steps with my new friends as Beth and Shaun went to get food. It was a relief for me to meet these boys. Pretty boys. (Interesting, I seemed to be one of the few girls in this group. There were more in the dance area.) One pretty boy was staring at the sky -- starless because of the clouds -- and giggling for about an hour. When he joined the group, he asked, "What is money?" which started a lively round of comments about a defunct society and consumerism. I had a staring contest with this pretty boy which he will either not remember or remember as being a silent communication. Who knows what it was? There was a happy, jolly man from Prescott, AZ. Looking a bit rough and tumble, but his demeanor was gentle. I gave him some M&Ms. There was a pierced boy who had a one-way ticket to India where he was going to hike and learn Buddhism. I told him about the Buddhist monk in Amarillo and wished him well on his journey. Nobody I met that night was originally from Colorado. There was a weary-looking father/son team who lived in a town not far from Telluride, but they were originally from New York. And there was a couple of boys from the midwest -- Ohio -- who had come in to learn more about fungi. I would have liked to talk longer with them, but they were tired and I was to depart the next morning. Friends Beth and Shaun returned and we shoved off. We gave a hapless hitchiker a lift for a few miles to his home. (He, too, was not originally from Colorado but from Virginia.) Our headlights did little to penetrate the black night. Conscious of the dark, the drizzle, and the high elevation, we drove tensely. We took one turn slowly and our lights reflected off the bodies of three long-eared deer. Tired and stressed, we pulled off to the side of the road and prepared to rest for the night. I awoke on Sunday morning, August 25, at 4:30 because I was cold. I decided to go for a walk and watch the sun give light to the sky. At 5:30, Beth joined me. We drove as Shaun slept in the back seat. I love the clarity of early morning light... the silence of the Earth lazing in bed until the next snooze alarm goes off. We drove through the northern part of Arizona and touched the Four Corners, which was lame ($1.50 per person), but sorta de rigueur when you're going through the area). I found myself driving through the dry red land as Shaun and Beth snoozed. The highway cut through the Navajo Reservation and I was able to catch a glimpse of homesteads and their traditional hogans. The land was quiet and red. Mesas appeared from the horizon and grew larger. The land began to change before my eyes and I could not help but romanticize the Old West and the gunfighters that might have rode into the canyons, desperately driving their horses to out run the lawmen. I became aware of the Grand Canyon before I actually entered the National Park. Huge obnoxious signs loomed to the sides of the endless two-lane highway. "IMAX in the Canyon." "See the Canyon by air." "Chief's trading post just 2 miles ahead." "You just missed Chief's trading post. Turn back!" The pock-marked, scarred land ushered us into the park. First on the agenda was to seek out lodging for the evening. Camping or Lodge? Lodging was DARN expensive, but because our car did not lock, we opted to enter the comfort of a hotel. We were three very tired travellers. To our punchy, hysterical dismay, we found out that Arizona does not do daylight savings time. This meant that we had to kill one more hour before we could shower and crash! We decided to drive to some of the Canyon overlooks. We saw clouds opening up on the North Rim. Watched it rain somewhere else. Lightning flashed. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand,... Twenty-seven one-thousand. Thunder rolled. Shaun wanted to see the Canyon at EVERY ONE of the overlooks. After the first three overlooks, Beth fell asleep in the car and I got my exercise opening and closing the door to let cool air in while Shaun jaunted off to take the requisite picture. We attended a park activity with one of the Rangers, then went to bed early that evening. 8:30pm. I think the last time I went to bed that early was when I was five -- and even then it was because I had skipped nap time at kindergarten. Monday morning, August 26, Beth slept in, but Shaun and I woke before the sun to hike halfway into the canyon to see the sunrise. We almost missed it. It was disconcerting to be racing the sun. It's a futile desperation, made more so because of man's misguided sense that he can control nature. Hiking down was easy. I greeted fellow hikers with a smile. The canyon was magnificent. The early morning sun give the sight more depth and a different character than the afternoon sun which flattens out the view. I had been there years before with my family, so it was like being with an old friend. I communed with my old friend. I perched on a rock, had a little snack, and waited for the Canyon to speak to me. Every so often, the blue sky pulsed with energy and the shadows in the Canyon began to form into human shapes. Every so often, the red and ochre layers of the Canyon walls sparked rainbows. It was pleasant and mellow, but I was ready to hike back up before the sun heated the trail too much. How pathetically out-of-shape I was (and am)! Shaun was charging ahead and I was struggling to keep up with him and I made him stop often. I realized that I was expending way more energy trying to keep up with him than if my short legs were to plod along at their own pace, so I sent him on his way. He was kind enough to give me the water bottle, which I didn't need because my body seemed to be producing a lot of saliva as a result of the snack that I had eaten. My eyes were also losing their ability to focus. An interesting, but annoying side-effect. I was able to trod along at a slow tempo. I heard a high-pitched sound while hiking. The Canyon was laughing and goading and teasing. I laughed with it and told it that I was tired, but I would make it back to the top. I greeted fellow hikers with a weary wave, a roll of the eyes, and a grin which promised that they, too, would have to hike back up. When I neared the top of the Canyon, I could hear Shaun's voice. He had found a pay phone and was talking to someone from work. Here we were, facing this beautiful wonder of nature and Shaun was obligated to call into New York City. Strangely, I felt comforted by this -- but only after I got over my amazement. Shaun is an astounding man. My eyes were still not focussing when we got back to the lodge. Shaun lifted weights (he brought along a portable gym), Beth woke up and did laundry, and I crashed. As soon as I closed my eyes, I entered REM sleep. It was amazing. I don't remember all the imagery. I was hiking in my dream (go figure). I awoke at one point choking on my spit because I was still salivating a lot. Amazing, really. And again, I immediately re-entered REM. I awoke refreshed, yet clumsy. Pack. Pack. Pack. We drove out. Destination... Las Vegas. Ya know, the desert is HOT. (Passed Hoover Dam. I felt the electromagnetic fields from all the power lines penetrating my body and mutating me at the cellular level.) Las Vegas is a strange city of performance and lights. Even the news is weird -- after being on the road for a week and out of touch from the "news," to see breaking news about people winning $2 million jackpots can fuck up a person's head. On top of all of that, there was news about Michael Jackson, a lawsuit, and Prague. I thought that I had gone back in time, or that I had stepped on a butterfly and history had changed. I had been to Las Vegas with my family when my father had a reunion there. There was not much for a 17-yr-old to do in Las Vegas. And when you're 23, you can do a lot, but it's all so neon-saccharine sinful-like. Sorta like eating too much cake. Speaking of cake, at Circus Circus, we timed it so that we could see one of their center-ring acts. Lo! and behold! Human sculptures!! A pair of finely-honed men twisted, turned, and balanced on, through, and between each other before the lusty gaze of three sex-starved travellers. They were wearing nothing but metallic-colored speedos and some body paint. Purrrrrr... in preparation of sin. We found a couple of gay bars (and it seems that we found all the gay bars in Las Vegas) to begin our debauchery. A bit to drink. Dancing. Not the happy bopping of Colorado. But posing. Sexual. Shaun and I posing. Shaun moving incredibly smoothly gracefully. Pretty boys who were gay. Talk about frustration. Totally out of my league for the mere reason of "lifestyle choice." So much for sin. Beth was the designated driver for the evening. Shaun and I had a little snack. Shaun felt nauseous, but was NOT going to throw up because he hadn't thrown up in 10 years. I guess that was a good reason. Dunno. I would have thrown up if I felt nauseous. Interestingly enough, I observed Shaun sleep and REM and salivate back at the motel. "The power of the mind," he says before he drops off to sleep. He also confirms my theory about The Place.
He's okay. He's not okay. He has to follow and find and come with me. We lost Tuesday, August 27 to sleep and recovery. Beth was a godsend and I'm ever indebted to her for taking care of reality. I felt trapped in Las Vegas, but I also knew that I had to rest. Wednesday, August 28, came and we were on the road again. Escaping the suffocating feeling of Vegas. We drove through more desert. Desert that scared me. I was spasming and had a neck tick. I was frightened that I had permanently damaged my nerves from the past events. I did not say much and the desert was a trial. We arrived in Los Angeles. We stopped off in one of the suburbs at a mall. Go figure. The suburbs of Los Angeles. It WAS Los Angeles. The freeway infrastructure of the city frightened me. The idea that someone would have to drive on a freeway every day, that one has to own a car... it didn't make sense to me. Give me a good ol' Eastern City any day! We found my cousins' house in Cerritos. I hadn't seen them in seven years and I was still a little ragged from my journey. So, I wasn't my most charming self that day. We relaxed at the house until after dinner. My neck injury was bugging me so I begged off the evening's activity to rest. Beth and Shaun went with my cousin that evening to explore a bit of Los Angeles. The next morn, August 29, Shaun and Beth left for Northern California. They had a lot of ground to cover if they were to return home in time for Shaun to go to work. I had less time off from work than he did, so I planned to take a cheap flight back from L.A. I was sad and a little scared to see them go. The abrupt end to our companionship was a little odd, but I felt it was the only way that it could have happened. Cold Turkey. I realized, though, that they were very dear to me and that this was not a "real" goodbye. Our journey together would continue no matter where we were. When my cousin came back from work, we went to Venice Beach to people-watch. I had the most excellent white-chocolate ice cream and another scoop of rose petal ice cream. Venice Beach of tourists, of families, of hippies, of bikinis, of bronzed skin, of muscles, of freaks, of politicos, of vendors. Venice Beach was of everything imaginable except beach. On Friday, August 30, I spent the day with my uncle and I read a draft of the first five chapters of his novel. I also did a bit of letter-writing. It was a relaxing day. The journey was winding down. I had a splendid evening with my relatives at an all-you can eat Japanese restaurant. You don't get those in the Midwest and I ate enough to make my stomach hurt. gorge gorge glutton. I took the red-eye flight back to Chicago. I unfortunately left the letters I had written on the plane. I left bits and pieces of myself all over the United States on this trip. I had written postcards, and stamped them, but left them in a motel in Las Vegas. I also left a notebook there. A part of me is now a little public. From those postcards, letters, and this website. I've come to terms with it. Those *things* are open and gone, but not lost from me. I have a new enthusiasm and ambition for life that comes from this trip. I am not searching too hard for meaning. I'm not obsessing over it. I know that I will eventually return to the infinite reality of God's world and I will have to face that final moment. I cannot search for meaning. I will not find it that way. The only way I can reach that final moment is to successfully complete the journey. And the accumulation precipitation graduation of my travels will determine that final word. Peace.
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