Winter Warmer

Saturday, December 8th, 2012

Panamint Springs, CA

I was brought back to California as abruptly as I had left it. Humans aren’t meant to fly. We were meant to take long arduous journeys on foot from place to place. Instead we transport ourselves much faster than our natural speed would allow, disorienting us once we arrive at a far off land much too soon. My cat Edwood made the journey with me, and she continuously howled on both the flight from Boston to D.C and D.C to San Francisco, despite the xanax I had given her. However once on flat ground and out of a shoebox-sized kennel of torture, she’s adjusted very well to the transient life. 

            The first four days after my return were spent in my boyfriend’s damp VW van in Big Sur amongst sopping wet redwoods. It would rain one day and try to dry up the next, only to rain again the day after. It was time to find the sun.

            On the fifth day he packed up his VW, I my Honda, and we made our way off the coast and inland towards the desert. Neither of us knew that highway 58 towards Bakersfield was a windy mountain road. And neither of us knew that our road had no services for 83 miles, nor that there would be a blanket of fog and rain surrounding us as we descended into California’s valley. But we found all this out, and that the VW will stop running if it has to travel 83 miles on a ¼ tank of gas. My GPS told me that there was a miraculous shell station along a farming road. There was not. We ditched the van, Alma, alongside a field of freshly turned with soil that would stick to our shoes in clumps 2 inches thick.

            After getting gas in my car and buying one of those red tanks for Alma, we were on our way again. I woke up in the back of Alma on a residential street in Bakersfield to cloudy skies once again. Angered that such a flat, low valley would have any weather other than sunshine, I felt the need to press on until the weather I sought was attained.  We continued along 58 through small hills and more windy roads until, quite suddenly, the wall of fog ended and we were slung into the relentless sunshine that I had been seeking.

            The desert slowly presented itself, first in yellow hills speckled with green shrubs, then with Joshua trees playfully announcing themselves out of the earth, and later with not much to speak of but sandy soil. The road became straight and monotonous, yet soothing to the traveler who has constantly been turning their steering wheel in one direction, then all the way in the other.

We stopped at a Mexican restaurant in Olancha, which is essentially a converted gas station advertising jerky made from all different kinds of creatures.  The restaurant was across the parking lot from the jerky store and there was a window that looked out upon the desert stretching on and on. I felt as if the window had this scene painted on it instead of it being my reality. I admittedly still feel very uncomfortable in the desert.

            On we pressed and suddenly down once again. We had gained about 4000 feet on our drive and we needed to descend to 2000.  Edwood could not believe that a landscape could be so vast when she saw the overlook to Panamint Valley. She stood at the door of the van for an awe-inspired moment before coming outside.

            Panamint Springs resort is a privately owned restaurant, cabins, and gas station at the mouth of Panamint Valley, just across a mountain range or two from Death Valley. My boyfriend will live here and wait tables while I will be about an hour and a half south in Inyokern. They’ve given him a trailer to live in, which I see as a deluxe suite. The bedroom is one of those lofts and there is a kitchen nook, a bathroom and shower, a stove, and a couch, and millions of cabinets. That one can pee, wash their hands, take a shower, and then cook dinner in this thing is almost unfathomable to me. Luxury wilderness.

            Edwood and I will shove off tomorrow to begin my life as a cowgirl once again. 

Intermission

Tuesday, November 21st, 2012

Newton, Massachusetts

In 12 hours I was transported from my cross country adventure in California to the grayscale mundanity of New England. As I re-entered my childhood home on the busy suburban street of Newton, I felt that the last 5 months as a horseback guide, traveler, and newly created backpacker had vanished. I'd returned to my starting point quite literally, and I had to remind myself that this is only the intermission, and the show will proceed in about 10 days. California is still back there, it is not Neverland.

I haven't written a blog since I arrived at Yosemite in June, and I need to admit that the reason for that is I've been Living. I have begun to realize how much or little I am Living my life by the lack of writing I'll do, or the lack of reading, or the lack of painting. Living by my definition is a return to a more primal, more survivalist mode. When I produce knowledge in myself by reading, or oil smeared on canvas, or a journal entry such as this, I've noticed my life is usually a trickle in a stream bed. The 5 months I spent in Yosemite and traveling about the mountains, lakes, and coasts of California have been a flash flood.

The amount of flow in my life are neither good nor bad, they are similar to the ebb and flow of the waterfalls at Yosemite. People on my trail rides were automatically disappointed by the lack of water coming over Yosemite Falls this summer. I'd just turn in my saddle and smile, telling them that the summer is the dry season. Yosemite needed a break, it isn't able to turn on the water full blast all the time. I need a break too.

Now I don't want to brag, but, in California I got scratched up constantly by hay poking into my skin. I was usually lethargic from lack of sleep. Mules became my co-workers. My hair was usually tangled and my nails always had a layer of filth under them. It was the best thing I've ever done for myself.

My next adventure will take place in the high desert on a Horse Ranch. I believe that this will be a lonely experience save for the interaction I'll have with the horses. I plan on writing about these interactions come December. Please tune in if interested.

Yosemite National Park

Big Surà San Franciscoà Georgetownà Yosemite National Park

Monday, June 11^th, 2012

On my way to San Francisco I bought a bunch of fresh strawberries at a farmstand and meandered up route 1. When I arrived, my friend was still working so I drove around looking for thrift stores to buy a fleece at, inadvertently seeing a lot of the city in the process. I met another friend of mine at a bar for happy hour and my Bostonian friend met us there. That night became a bit of a culture shock as we went and danced at a club with a guy spinning techno. I felt very much out of my element, having not been surrounded by so many people and sounds in a little while.

After a S.F brunch of crab cakes benedict, I kept driving North, but now also East to the small logging community of Georgetown, CA. My friend is researching spotted owls there. She lives in a dorm-style cabin in the middle of a logging road with about 8 other people. It takes about an hour to get anywhere you want to go around the winding backcountry roads. On Sunday we went to a falls which had three sets of steep rocks with water cascading into pools below. We slid down the slickrock into the pools. The drop and the cold water made the experience incredibly refreshing.

Today I woke up without an alarm in the nick of time to head to Yosemite. I gathered my belongings, walked out of the research station and down a winding dirt road about a mile to my car. I got into my car, drove 5 hours down more winding roads, up some mountains, and into Yosemite Valley. Seeing half dome and other cliffs in the distance gave me goosebumps when they came into view from the East. It’s as if a higher power as touched this land and made it unique specifically for my eyes to enjoy.

So I upbruptly came to a halt on my tour of this country. But the journey is long from over, it has just changed it’s pace. The route will now be repetitive and there will be four legs carrying my body instead of four wheels. I will meet more people and I will gain more friendships. I’ve found another new home, for now.

Big. Sur.

Morrow Bayà Big Surà San Francisco

Friday, May 8^th, 2012

I drove North towards Big Sur, a destination on my itinerary since day 1. I’d had some high expectations for it because I watched a National Geographic special about it. As I reached my location, I realized that there would be no actual town to be had there. The road leading through it was the only one there, bordered by mountains to the East and ocean to the West. I stopped at a gift shop which had some hiking information and I decided to climb Mt. Manuel. Peaks are important for me to summit first thing upon reach a destination in order to get a good look around the area.

I found a campsite at Pheiffer State Park. The valley that it lies within featured redwoods and I was completely in awe of their size and their ability to change the amount of sunlight allowed through their canopies.

Once at the trailhead, I was eager to get to the topmost point of land. The path was a disaster. Created as a mountainside road would be, the trail meandered along the side of the slope instead of zig-zagging up as it should. Vegetation covered the path most of the way to the point that I couldn’t see where my foot was landing in front of me. Onward I climbed, determined to summit this S-O-B. And summit I did, with a clear view of the Pacific stretching out west and more peaks to the east.

On my way down I intentionally picked each type of wildflower that I could distinguish. I was convinced that since the trail was so poorly maintained, not many people traverse it and therefore the rule of “if everyone picked a flower” did not apply to me here. I got a good bunch together and that’s all I had to show for the day. That and a few sore feet and a good buzz from this beer.

I took a walk on the coast the next day and the views were overwhelming. Succulent covered bluffs leading down to the turquoise to cobalt blue water. The shallows were dotted with large rocks being baraded by waves every other moment. I realized then that Big Sur is more of a place to behold than to utilize. I couldn’t jump into the ocean because it was too rough and cold. The wind was also a constant factor near the shoreline. I suppose the price a human pays for the beauty of this place is that it does not care whether it pleases us or not. What a useful defense it has to remain wild! I was humbled by nature as I should be.

Island Packer

Point Maguà Channel Islandsà Morrow Bay

Wednesday, June 6^th, 2012

I found a State Park called Point Magu to camp at on Monday night. I slept beneath a gigantic live oak and though I could hear the sound of waves crashing along the shore, I couldn’t see the ocean behind the cover of trees. The next morning I woke up and made my way to Ventura in order to catch a boat to Channel Islands National Park, specifically Santa Cruz Island.

I had everything I would need for 24 hours loaded on my back. It was heavy. The ferry ride took about an hour and I watched dolphins surfacing on the open water. As the island came into view, I was taken aback by the lack of human-made structures upon the land. Since the island chain is a National Park, the only buildings on it are what were left there from a sheep ranch from the later 1800’s, and an old rusting oil rig.

I hiked to the top of the islands’ peak, which was actually a former volcano rising above the plane-like plateau of yellow grass and old service roads. A dense fog blew across the rising land before me and I truged through it until I was much higher up along the ridge. I thought of turning back when I began to see the outline of the sun attempting to burn through the marine layer. So I proceeded on until, fairly suddenly, the fog dispersed and what my eyes beheld was something to humble the bitterest of cynics. To my right, sloping down the ridge where I stood were rolling hills which stretched down to the cliffs and coves of the ocean beyond. To my left, a similar sight. I was in an elated state, completely separated from the anxieties and needless worries I’d had on the mainland.

The wind picked up that night back at the campground, which was nestled in a canyon. It bent my tent poles and woke me sporadically. Once the sun had risen, a ranger “knock knocked” on outside and told me that the only boat leaving the island was do so at 12 noon due to increasing wind. I took another walk along the cliffs edge overlooking the beautiful yet daunting pacific, until I had to pack up my things and return to my semi-reality.

On the return voyage, the waves were beginning to act up. I would estimate that they were 5-10 foot swells. Apart from being a little scary, the ride was exhilarating. The boat would ride upon the swells, then surf down the longside of the waves. As I was looking out a window, in a flash a pod of 8 or so dolphns dove through a swell, exposing the entirety of their figures for a split second before being submerged into the water and disappearing once more. I yelped, but I don’t think that anyone else noticed of were otherwise unimpressed by this chance and wonderous moment.

Once back to the parking lot and my car in Ventura’s harbor, the elation I’d felt on the island didn’t cease. I was at ease as I drove North through rolling hills of yellow grass and coastline of route 1. I came to rest at a State campground in Morrow Bay. There I found a bar in town on the hazy and blustery harbor, where I sipped beer and chatted with Drew the bartender about my island adventure and the road ahead.

SoCal

San Diego

Monday, June 4^th, 2012

After my encounter with the pacific I collected my belongings along with myself and proceeded to my uncles’ house. He, his partner and I drove up from San Diego to L.A  and went to the county museum of art for the day. The collection there varied greatly and I attempted to absorb the culture like a sponge. After this outing we made our way up the hills to an observatory which sat perched atop the steep ridges overlooking the city. The location provided quite a glance at a place that I have attained such an expectation for through the media’s influence over me.

Today we all took an urban trek through the lush and uninhabited canyons of San Diego until we reached a true Italian restaurant for lunch. I was delighted to be served a salad that wasn’t butts of romaine lettuce and shreds of dried out carrots or purple cabbage. Maybe I’ve become a snob, but dining where the management truly cares about their products is incredibly refreshing to me at this point. I left San Diego in the late afternoon with a new found appreciation for the relatives that I still feel a true kinship to.

Before today, I have never seen more of the Californian coast than small portions of San Francisco and San Diego. Malibu was everything and more than I’d hoped for from imagining the coast. It reminded me of my excursion to the Italian city of Salerno, just south of Naples. The place was gritty and desperate for survival on close inspection, but breathtakingly beautiful from afar. I ate fried clam strips and onion rings at Neptune’s Net. This place reminded me of P.J’s, a walk-up order joint on the coastal area of outer Cape Cod, with indoor/outdoor seating. Endless summer indeed.

Coast to Coast

Bryce Canyon--> Joshua Tree--> San Diego

Friday, June 1st, 2012

The thickness of silence in the desert made my ears ring. After departing from Bryce I drove a whole day in order to reach Joshua Tree. I had planned on going to Death Valley, but considering that I could barely stand the heat in Las Vegas, I'm glad that I skipped it. I was also planning on swinging by the Hoover Dam, but the traffic was backed up for 10 miles leading to it, so I made a u-turn.

I really already needed a shower and to wash some clothes yesterday, but the only campground providing both of those services near Joshua Tree did not in turn provide any shade. In the 100 degree heat I was wilting, even getting slightly delirious. I decided to skip both shower and laundry and proceeded into the park both low on water and on gas. I camped out at Jumbo Rocks and realized that I might not be thinking clearly as the sun set and the air cooled.

This morning I woke up to people rustling about my tent at 3am, on some nighttime hike. I held my mace close and it took me awhile to fall back to sleep. Finally I awoke at daylight, determined to escape the desert. As I drove south through the park, I was reluctant to miss the beauty there, but also heart set on reaching the familiarity of the ocean. I drove on, through more heat freight trains on route 66 until I reached the lush hilly country of Julian, CA. At last! I felt that I head crossed into the land of milk and honey.

I didn't stop driving until I saw the pacific, and even then, as I exited my car I kept walking toward the coast dropping my backpack and towel on the sand until my toes finally met the foamy bliss of cool saltwater. I must be a water creature. There is no reason behind my discomfort of being without a water source other than that my soul simply needs it. The sky is overcast unlike how I idealized my reunion with the sea, but I don't care. I am free.

Hoodoos

Page, AZ--> Zion National Park--> Panguitch, UT--> Bryce Canyon National Park

Tuesday, May 29th-Wednesday, May 30th, 2012

Tuesday

I woke up in Page, AZ on Sunday and got the hell of there. I arrived at Zion National Park after being instructed to stop there by some fellow hikers at the Grand Canyon. Not knowing what to expect was exciting, as each turn within the park was a personal discovery. Very fortunately I acquired a campsite and got onto a shuttle bus to the Angel's Landing trailhead, a 1500 foot climb to the top of a jagged and narrow cliff in the middle of the canyon.

The ascent to the top of the peak is along a ledge in which one must grab ahold of chains secured into the rock in order to keep from plunging down into the valley. I'm glad that I did it, even though it was certainly the most terrifying hike I've ever done. 

I don't think that I feel more of a purpose than when I'm moving. Hiking or driving, I just feel more productive on the go. Is this anti-instinctual I wonder? I don't feel that I am running more than I am seeking, something more, always something else.

Yesterday I hiked into the heart of the canyon where the walls narrow and the creek touches both sides of the rock at some points. I walked for 3 hours by myself, then met up with some guys that I had met the previous day at Angel's Landing and walked back out with them.

We all got dinner together at Wildcat Willies in Springdale, UT. This was my first spontaneous meetng of new people while on the road. All good folks.

Today I woke up after a very windy pre-dawn swept across the canyon. I became increasingly annoyed as the air whipped my tent, inflating and imploding it, wacking my walls around and waking me up at regular intervals. I decided to take a day of santuary at the Blue Pines Motel in Panguitch, UT. I am watching Rocky Horror Picture Show and feeling quite disconnected from reality.

Wednesday

For the rest of the day I sat on the bed of my motel room and watched T.V, allowing my muscles to hear. During times of hunger I'd wander through town to find a diner to eat at. The day was restful but began to feel lonely, secluding myself in room alone in a town full of people, or strangers rather.

This morning I woke up and drove south to Bryce Canyon to hike for the day an camp for the rest if the night. Bryce is a beautiful ampitheater full of "hoodos", or pillar-like rock formations. Though it is dazzling to behold, the landscape was kind of one-noted. Turn a corner, see hoodoos, turn another, more hoodoos. I could have just come here for a hike but I'd aleady paid for my campsite so I am trying to make the most of it. I bought a ticket for the 7pm Rodeo at Reed's Inn, so hopefully that will lift my spirts.

(it did.)

The Grand View

Mesa Verde--> Flagstaff--> Sedona, AZ--> Grand Canyon

Saturday, May 26th, 2012

One could spend an entire lifetime gazing across the rim of the Grand Canyon and still not be able to absorb the overwhelming vastness which it possesses. I left Flagstaff early yesterday morning after visiting with my sister-in-law's family. From there I traveled to Sedona where I meandered through the curves of a red canyon until I finally arrived at the Baldwin hiking trail. From there I walked about a mile and a half to a small pool along the creek where I relaxed and eventually took a dip.

I felt the Grand Canyon calling to me, as it was expected to be the most supreme feature of this trip. Once I arrived however, no campsites were available within or even outside the park, it being memorial day weekend. I turned around without even seeing the canyon and convinced a French couple to let me set up my tent by their RV about 10 miles south of the rim in a flat, piney area.

Anxiety about being kicked out of the full campground kept me from sleeping easily, and I awoke at 4am with the first signs of dawn. Up I sprang, breaking down my site as quickly as possible. I sped back to the park in order to be sure that the first glimpse I would ever see of the Grand Canyon could be during sunrise. And come over the opposing rim it finally did, as if for the first time the sun's yellow beams crossed through space and hit the unique landscape that I'd never seen before that day. Once our sun had risen do did I, needing to find something to eat and more importantly to warm my fingers and feet which were at this point freezing.

I passed a couple male elk grazing on my way to the tourist trap McDonald's about 15 miles away from the park. I returned full of 2 egg biscuits and was ready to explore the GC. I found the Bright Angel trailhead after a short shuttle ride and began to descend. Quite an odd sensation, descending on the first leg of a hike. I promised to pace myself, and allowed for twice the amount of water and time on my way back up. Down and down I went, zig zagging through switchbacks on a trail about 7 feet wide until I reached a gentle slope half way down the canyon (about 3000 feet). On I marched, out to a place called Plateau Point. From there I could both see down to the Colorado River and up to the rim from which I descended. Never a hike like this before.

After ascending like a mule and entering the comfort of my metal horse and home, I proceeded 80 miles North to the town of Page, AZ, founded 1957, where I am in the desert just a few miles south of the dammed up river known as Lake Powell.

The desert makes me uncomfortable. I thought that I would love such a strange and foreign landscape, but instead I just feel that any human being should not settle so far away from a natural water source. The middle of nowhere seems an unfitting term, since I am in a town, but still I feel like that is exactly where I am.

Out West

Santa Fe--> Great Sand Dunes--> Durango, CO--> Mesa Verde

Thursday, May 24th, 2012

Yesterday I packed up my campsite in Santa Fe and proceeded to Great Sand Dunes Colorado. The road was washed out with eroded hills at first, then flat land with just shrubs. Later on a smooth, rounded mountain came into view and beyond that in the hazy distance were the Rockies. I traveled north on 285, took a right in Almarosa on 160-East for about 15 miles, and then a left towards the dunes. Laying out before a row of mountains were a blanket of gigantic sand dunes, placed there over time by high winds.

I arrived and got my gear together. Once I walked beyond a small barrier of juniper trees, a shallow stream flowed over the sand before the dunes. People were arriving and plopping down as if they were at the beach. I in contrast removed my hiking boots and continued through the stream and to a 1/4 mile stretch of flat sand before the hills began. I assume the flatness is the dry river bed. I plotted my path along the ridges of the dunes, leading up to the top.

The climb was tough on my lungs, and at times the wind would kick up, spraying sand across my exposed legs until I wondered if it would take a layer of my skin off. Still I proceeded onward, ever seeking the summit. It wasn't pretty to behold I am sure as I clammered on all fours to the sandy peaks, but I finally make it to the top. Being by myself, I felt no self-conciousness in belting out a hearty "WOOOOO" at the top of a peak to the dunes laying out before me. The descent was cake, as I simply ran down the many hills. To the left and right were valleys that one would have to climb out of again should they descend into one, so I avoided those.

On my drive from the dunes to Durango I went through Wolf Creek pass and saw the most beautiful cliff and valley that I have ever beheld. I began to laugh uncontrollably from the view until tears came to my eyes. It seems all to varying that this world can contain beauty such as this, and also for example the concrete prison that I've seen in the Bronx.

Sometimes I worry that there won't be enough to fill my day with as I go along on my journey. No trouble so far, but still I feel uneasy about it. I've heard people say through my life, "Oh, there's never enough hours in the day!" I am not one of those people. My thoughts are that I will not find enough to do. Life is too long sometimes. I try to avoid thinking this way, but ideas such as these will sporadically seep into my consciousness at random.

Durango is a hip, outdoorsy town. I went to dinner at Steamworks Brewery and chatted with a health foods store owner. She had lived in the area for 17 years and I asked her how she found her sense of "home". She responded that places have either chewed her up and spit her out or chewed her up and swallowed her. I wasn't expecting that, so I will make it a point to interview more people on their sense of home.

Today I awoke, packed up again and drove west about an hour to Mesa Verde. I had visited this place along with the Great Sand Dunes in my childhood. At that time I was too afraid to tour the cliff dwellings with their ladders and crevices. Today however I revisited the site and took a tour that included a 32 foot ladder up into the dwelling. Not to say that it wasn't a little scary this time around, but I really felt the impact of how much braver I am now than I once was. I'm proud that I took the tour, but I didn't learn much more about the people that once lived there than I did on my first visit. $3.00 well spent anyhow.

Santa Fe

Austin-->Santa Fe

Tuesday, May 22nd, 2012

(play this song whilst reading, post commercial)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ub_m2iGf0xc

Santa Fe is my kind of place. Meandering through town, mountains surrounding everything. This morning I woke up and left the Rancheros Campground directly after brushing my teeth. I went to a mechanic about my car overheating but the only diagnosis they had was to replace the thermostat and gasket. I'm going to put it off.

I drove up a winding road to the Santa Fe ski area for a hike. I wanted to get to the top and a few gentlemen pointed me in the right direction. Up I went, straight up, under the stationary chair lifts and abandoned snow drifts. I made it to the top huffing and puffing, but I made it. The view of Santa Fe below was certainly one to remark upon, the valley is completely flat and reminded me of scenes in movies where couples go up to a lookout to make out. Only much higher up. 12,000 feet actually, I was proud.

I jogged down the mountain while listening to Wye Oak, zig zagging the trail as it was so steep. On my way down I passed another woman hiking. She congratulated me on my accomplishment and stated that I had inspired her to continue onward. I wished her luck, made it down to my car, and back down the winding road into town.

I found the Georgia O'Keefe museum and was impressed and inspired by her life and work. Although she made me feel guilty for not practicing as much art along my journey as she did abroad, I am convinced that several paintings will be inspired by this trip.

After the museum I picked up some apples and mac n' cheese from whole foods and went back to the campground. I tried out my new coleman stove which fortunately works and am sitting here on my picnic bench feeling full bellied and happy. Tan skin, sun bleached hair on my shoulder in the Santa Fe sun set.

Austin

Oklahoma-->Austin, TX

Monday, May 21st, 2012

Austin has made me full of meat. I'm not complaining about this, just noting it. On Saturday my friend, her boyfriend, and I got brunch and walked along Congress Street which is a strip of quirky shops, though nothing too weird for me. In the afternoon we went to Hamilton Pool which is about 1/4 mile hike down to a limestone overhanging cliff. A spring drips over the ledge about 50 ft above, forming a large pool of cool but murky water. The area was packed with people, and upon our arrival a water snake skirted along the waters' surface. This made me tentative to swim out to the middle as I had wanted to, though I did it anyway.

We walked beneath the curved cave to the other side of the pool and I sat on a boulder underneath a waterfall raining down from the Spring above. The temperature from the fall was surprisingly warm and I felt as though I had been transported to an exotic island.

That evening we went out to eat as we did at each meal in fact, to a huge Tex/Mex restaurant where you're Margantini is served with the shaker, making it more like 2 or 3 of these drinks. Needless to say I was tipsy that night.

The thing about Texas is that the state itself is so big and sprawling that it allows for its buildings and estates to take up as much room as they like to. Thus the saying that everything is bigger there.

On Sunday we got brunch again and my friend asked me if something was wrong. Unfortunately I didn't quite know how answer her. Traveling can be stressful. I constantly feel that I need to watch my own back to make sure that I'm safe.

In the evening we went to a BBQ joint outside of Austin in a small western style town. As we turned onto a wide street bordered by flat faced buildings with awnings over the walkways, I could instantly imagine a dirt road, hitching posts, and horses instead of cars along the block. I had never been to a modern functioning western town before.

On my last night before leaving Austin we went to watch 1 million bats emerge from under a bridge in the city as they do each evening. Hundreds of spectators joined us, and as the sun set and dusk fell around us, a slow and steady stream of bats came out from the bridge beneath us for a night of feeding. my friend noted that other times she had seen the event it was much more exciting, but I'd never seen that many bats in one place before, so it was interesting enough for me.

I awoke early Monday morning and departed Austin for a 12 hour drive to Santa Fe. The landscape changed gradually at times, other times rapidly, but there were distinct breaks in the in the types of land. First was the hill country of Texas, at the beginning just large ranches on either side of the road, with clusters of small live oaks obscuring my view of the landscape. Further along the hills became more sparsely covered, allowing me to see far and wide the hills upon hills all around me. Then the land became flatter. It grew hot and arid, only small shrubs spread across the land infinitely in every direction. At one point the traffic was stopped for road work and I was suddenly faced with desert, hoping to keep on moving. This was not the kind of land one wants to remain stopped for very long.

New Mexico was much like the desert of West Texas at first, but later became rolling prairie with freight trains running alongside my car. I've never seen an entire train before, I am so unused to such expansive landscapes. The sky was packed with thunderstorms, but I could see where the rain fell and beyond the sky became blue once again.

I had been feeling anxious during my journey up until yesterday. Suddenly, somewhere beyond Carlsbad, something inside me said, "Jenna, no matter what happen, it's going to be okay." With this self assurance, I also decided that even if everything isn't okay, I feel okay with that also. The tension has been released and I can finally relax.

As I approached Santa Fe, the landscape became hilly and dappled with juniper pines. I found a campground about 10 miles east of the city and I set up camp. Afterwards I drove into town to get some ice cream for my birthday. I was glad to be alone. Instead of hoping and expecting people to wish me a happy birthday, I was able to enjoy it in my own way. As I drove to town, a brilliant orange sun set over the rolling hills and under an immense cloud strewn sky. It said happy birthday, Jenna.

Midwest

Newport, TN-->Memphis-->Oklahoma-->Austin, TX

Sunday, May 20th, 2012

I watched the sun set over the Mississippi River in Memphis and the new frontier of my life. Lonliness began to sweep over me with no friends to talk with. I had chosen to treat being alone as a challenge to learn how to be with just myself. I realized that no one I've yet met makes me feel fully whole, not even myself.

After waking up at 6:30am to bright sunlight radiating through my tent, I packed up and left my vacant lot turned campground by 7. I drove the 8 or 9 miles out to Graceland and caught a glimpse of Elvis' home and gravesite before continuing along my route through Arkansas to Oklahoma.

My car started overheating while in Arkansas and has made me increasingly anxious about what would happen were I to break down along the road. I pulled off at an exit in Arkansas and a man at a body shop took a look. He poured some water into the radiator reservoir. Doing so seemed to help the engine from overheating, at least for the time being.

I arrived in Oklahoma and it was not the rolling prairie land that I had expected it to be. Sadly the landscape was not very foreign to me, just large pastures separated by woodland, much of what I'm already used to seeing in any country area in any given state. There are however small oil rigs sparsely dotting the landscape, reminding me that America still has some resources after all. On Thursday I just laid around by my friend's pool at her parents home. We got burgers at Johnny's and watched her father and sister shoot skeet in the evening.

By Friday morning I was ready to get out to OK. My route to Austin was hot and sweaty and I was glad to get a shower upon my arrival. I saw a very humbling feature along the way, the Texas Motor Speedway. It stretched out along the horizon like a stadium out of starwars and it was the largest piece of architecture I have ever seen with my own eyes. It resurged my feelings of hatred towards American culture, where we waste gas and watch cars race around an arbitrary loop.

My friend's place in Austin is very new, comfortable and echoey; her dog lives there which is a nice reminder of home.

On My Way

Baltimore --> Newport, Tennessee

Tuesday, May 15th, 2012

The feeling that I am losing due to traveling cross country is the subtle change from Spring to Summer. This morning I awoke in the backseat of my car on the side of a country road. I had created a makeshift awning over my head with a few paintings propped between the headrest of the front passenger seat and the headrest for the back seat. I sat up wide eyed and proud, almost astonished of my accomplishment of not being raped and murdered during my first night alone. Smiling to myself, I opened the back door and stepped out of the car. The sound of crickets in the tall grass of the field next to me made me feel as though I'd teleported from Spring to Summer overnight.

I left Baltimore in a bit of a rush. I'd been convinced to wait to leave until Tuesday, then plans fell through Monday night and I decided to head out around 8pm that evening. The night before I had slept at my friend's new place which they call the granny house or something along those lines. Nothing in the apartment has been updated since the 1970's. I'm talkin' a huge wooden print microwave, wall to wall carpeting upstairs and down, a pea green bathtub, anyway, it's quite the place. I dallied around while everyone was at work and watched Starwars Episode IV.

Needless to say after my dull afternoon I was feeling restless. So I grabbed happy hour with a friend at Golden West, and then got out of dodge. I was on a mission to Tennessee. In the town of Newport, parked outside of a barn in the middle of a horse pasture sprinkled with buttercups sat an old Chevy truck, filled with a friend of mine's belongings. The duty that I chose to accept was to transfer the belongings from her truck to my car in order to deliver them to her in Oklahoma City. I arrived at 5am Tuesday morning. After a fairly extensive search, I was able to pull off into a breakdown lane and take a nap. Three hours later I awoke, ready to complete my errand.

I got to the pasture with no one to greet me but for a friendly yet anxious dog. As I crossed under the electric fence and through the pasture to the truck, the horses became curious of me. While lugging the first armload of things from the middle of the field to my car, the horses followed, then surrounded me. "Who are you and what is your purpose here, stranger?", they seemed to ask with their behavior. "I belong here, I have a job to do", I responded with a SHhh sound and a swish of a trashbag. After that they allowed me to make several trips without interrupting me.

Today I drove from the pasture to Memphis after a quick bacon, egg, and cheese bagel at Waffle House (sub-par). The treck took about 7 hours and I found a cheap vacant lot turned campground to sleep at for $16. I drove from there to downtown Memphis where I am now sitting on a hillside which slopes steeply into the Mississippi River. A few steamboats are visible to the south and I feel like I've finally made it to a more foreign land within my own country.

Baltimore

Baltimore

Sunday, May 13th, 2012

So far my stay in Baltimore has been a bit of a blur. This could be due to the fact that I've been here for a few days and instances become less memorable, or it could of course be all the drinking. Upon finishing my previous entry I received an invitation from my friend to have a drink. So I went over to his place and felt much classier than I should while having a beer on his balcony in Mt. Vernon. After that we went and waded in the fountain by Washington Monument and had happy hour at a divey gay bar. Later on we headed to Mt. Royal Tavern with and slew of other friends from college and post-college. The Tavern usually sponsors a fairly diverse crowd and I can appreciate that in Baltimore. I've been staying at my friend's apartment in Remington. Staying there reminds me of my initial arrival in Baltimore when I crashed in Hampden for three weeks at my friends place before finding a job back in 2009. The lack of city sounds and bright light in the mornings makes me feel like I'm staying at a cottage near the beach instead of being submerged in the pavement and row houses that actually exist outside. I often find myself looking out windows to confirm that I am not in fact on Cape Cod. It's a beautiful feeling, even if the scenery isn't how I mentally perceive it.

Yesterday a friend and I drove out on 40-West to Patapsco State Park and went for a short hike. As we passed through the long meadow corridors created by power lines, I liked to imagine that if one were to follow the path created by the lines, they would continue on until they get all the way to the coast, let's say to somewhere in Florida.

Last night I saw the Matrimonials preform with their new drummer. Though the gusto of the old drummer is missed, the band sounds really tight. Seeing that band brought me back to the Summer of 2010, playing beer pong, being rambunctious in bars, and making day trips to places where we could go swimming.

But Baltimore is different for me now. Instead of being constantly surrounded socially, I often find myself alone in my car being homeless. I don't mind being by myself, it can be a welcome escape here. I noticed that I find myself moving around a lot, since my home base is also my vehicle. Speaking of which, I think I'll make a trip to Prettyboy Reservoir now. The cornfields are calling.

East Coast

Newton, MA-->Noank, CT-->Centralia, PA-->Philadelphia, PA-->Baltimore, MD

Friday, May 11th, 2012

I just arrived in Baltimore at 1:30pm. I'm hungover and hot and tired. On Wednesday I departed from Newton and drove to Noank to visit a dear friend of mine. My last day of working at a barn mucking stalls and dog walking was, as my mother suggested it may be, "surreal". I handed my cat, Edwood, over to a nice woman that I work with at the barn. She's going to but Edwood up until November free of charge so I am certainly grateful for that.

Noank was cozy. my friend was house sitting so I slept in the master bedroom of a strangers' home. That night I sang/yelled at the ocean. I am going to miss the open water, or at least feeling a subconscious proximity to it.


On Thursday I drove from Noank to Centralia after purchasing a small propane stove and some pots and pans for the road ahead. Centralia is a ghost town that began to fall in on itself in the 1970's when a coal mine caught fire beneath the land. The former town continues to smolder to this day. The rubble is mostly cleared away and vegetation has begun to overtake the streets and lots where houses used to be. I drove up a road until it became a dead end where the paved street became a grassy path. After stopping and emerging from my car I walked along the path a ways. It seemed to continue onward and I began to feel an eerie discomfort with the thought that the woods in which I was surrounded used to be a neighborhood.

So I turned back, re-entered my car and drove around the block and up a hill that seemed to be piles of dirt pushed upon the burning land in an effort to put out the fire below. I exited my car once again and ran from peak to peak on the hill in order to get a better view of the surrounding area. To the east was an existing coal mine, which essentially looked like a charcoal mountain. In the distance to the west, a wind farm. The dichotomy of these two features gave me a rushing sense of the transitional world in which I live. Looking down at my feet I suddenly noticed that the earth was smoking from several holes on the hilltop where I stood.

Gazing into the possible abyss which are these smoke-spots, one can imagine the coal down below continuing to burn. Someone told me that they put an entire train into the mine in an effort to smother the burning coal, though this tactic apparently did not succeed in its mission. Returning to my car, I drove down the functioning street that still runs through the town. I was almost on my way along when I noticed another wide street that veered off to the right and had been barricaded with a mound of dirt, thus preventing vehicles from traveling down it (or even noticing it). I pulled off to the shoulder, exited my metal box once again, and proceeded toward the road.

A path to the street had been carved through the dirt barricade over the years where curious tourists like myself had gotten acquainted with Centralia. Once past the obstacle, I saw that the street was four lanes and dappled with graffiti, gradually sloping downward. Where the median once was now sprung many small trees and shrubs. I continued along until I made out two figures in the distance, puttering around a fault line in the street. As I approached, I found that the crack was about four feet wide by twenty feet long. In a flash I was brought back to the incident of the mine collapse, and to when the decision must have been made that the earth was no longer sound enough to harbor residents here. When I'd had my curiosity's fill, I returned to my car and proceeded along my route to Philadelphia.

I was able to stay with a friend of mine and we went to see my other friend play in her band at Trucadero Balcony. She had greatly improved at the base since the last time I'd seen her plucking around on it. It would be hard to classify the sound of the band, but if I had to put a label on it I'd say hardcore rock/angry girl band.

After the show, I met my childhood friend at a go-go bar called Trussel Inn. It was incredibly refreshing to see someone from my upbringing who is also leading an alternative lifestyle. We danced in the back of the bar to swing-type music and intermittently sat outside on a stoop smoking cigarettes and contemplating the different paths one can choose to take in their lives. When we finally parted ways things were hazy. My friend and I took a cab back to his place and we called it a night.

This morning I woke up at 8:30 and felt the need to continue along the road. I drove into Baltimore via 40-West for quite a ways after stopping for gas. The McDonald's drive through had just changed its menu from breakfast to lunch as I pulled up, so I went without my sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. I got to Baltimore with everyone I know at work or unreachable, so now I am sitting in my car on Miles Street, empty bellied, and beginning to lose hope that my friend with magically appear from one of the houses on either side of this unshaded street.

Pre-Journey in Boston

Newton, MA
Sunday, May 6th 2012

On Thursday I will embark on a month long journey across the country and specifically the southwestern states to work as a Trail Guide at Yosemite National Park in California. This statement, upon being written, seems as if from an earlier, simpler time. Most college educated twenty-something women are not doing similar excursions. For that reason I feel both unique and alienated from mainstream society.

For the past 5 1/2 months I have been employed as a Dog Walker in Boston, MA. This is also the location of my upbringing, yet I no longer feel that the place maintains the sentiments of "home". This loss of home is an uncomfortable yet liberating realization, and therefore I cannot wait to be as free as I feel by beginning this adventure.

Walking dogs is a trade of servitude. I am myself from a privileged stock, was well provided for and sent to college. I still know that if needed, I will have help though I prefer and am expected to be independent. I believe that due to my comfortable upbringing, I have become increasingly intrigued about the lives of the less privileged. The jobs within service have an endearing quality to them. Though I do feel the occasional pangs of resentment for those who earn their weekends off, I also feel grateful that these people endure their grind that the people of service are able to fill in the gaps. Those in service are the mortar between the bricks of society, and we feel our interconnected and bonding strength as it flows through the walls of normalcy.

The dogs themselves are of course oblivious to these social nuances and are able to provide the unconditional warmth which allows the job to be enjoyable. I will surely look back upon the many lonely days spent alongside my unspeaking companions and the unspeaking humans that surrounded me as I walked in Boston.

When I think of California, I with warm. I think lightheartedness, possibly to the point of shallowness. I think of gigantic white windmills, of the ocean, and an arid land. I think Frontier, and I think of the unfulfilled hopes of those who once migrated there in search of a brighter future. I think of newer times when I think of California.