I Want to Stop There
At the end of this week, I will have been on the road for two months. I've reached a point where I routinely don't know what city I'm in, nor what day it is. Time zones are irrelevant (I've been an hour behind myself all day today). So, I'm giving a quick recap of the important stuff this week!
I've answered any number of questions:
- "Do you really not have a home right now?" That's correct. I have an address, courtesy of wonderful friends, and my belongings are all in a storage unit, but I have no actual home.
- "You're driving around the country alone?" Yep. When you're not attached to someone, that's pretty much the default setting for any length of drive, whether to the store or the opposite coast. Bonus points for the two or three very not-scared-of-anything men who have followed up with, "I don't think I could do that. I'd be too scared!"
- "What kind of book are you writing?" It's a true story about an Iranian man in his mid-80s, who is currently in prison, nine years into his sentence. He was arrested on false charges and tried without due process because he's a member of the Baha'i religion, which is a minority there. But throughout his life, he's been an entrepreneur and philanthropist who has constantly served those most in need, and I'm writing about that legacy.
- "How are you supporting yourself?" I'm a self-employed writer, editor, and content strategy consultant, mostly in business communications and marketing, and I'm working on existing contracts while I travel.
- "Is your husband Persian?" (Specifically, I got this one several times at a conference for Persian emigrants since I clearly am not Persian, do not speak Persian, and was not with a Persian.) Nope. No husband or prospect thereof, Persian or otherwise, at least right now, as far as I know.
- "What would you like on that?" Mayo, mustard, pickles, lettuce. Or in New Mexico: green chiles.
I've realized several things:
- It takes nearly as long to plan or rejigger trip stops as it does to actually drive from place to place. I've explained to folks that this is both the best-planned and worst-planned trip of all time, and that my time is basically split between driving (50%) and a combination of planning, working, and chasing research contacts. The opportunity for sightseeing is very limited, so I've tried to make the most of the rolling views out the windows.
- By my observation, the people who live in areas hit by Hurricanes Harvey and Irma are not "victims" or "suffering" until you get to Missouri and points north and east. In New Mexico, the rest of Texas, Oklahoma, Tennessee, and Kentucky, at least, they are "neighbors," "people," "citizens," "residents," and "folks." Using language that indicates an "us/them" dichotomy ("they" are "victims," "we" are "#blessed") makes it okay for separation to develop between groups. On a small scale, it's a representation of what's wrong with our worldview(s) on any number of issues right now.
- The things folks put on their cars and trucks make no sense. Confederate flags in a non-ironic manner? It's been 170 years or so; we need to move on. Giant American flags on poles mounted into the trailer hitch? Unless you're leading an invisible cavalry charge up the freeway, just say no.
- The best way to understand an area is to turn off the iTunes and turn on the radio. A country's worth of country stations and I am pretty solid on regional agriculture, income levels, local concerns, and musical tastes. I've also added a couple good ol' tunes to my playlist. And I'm completely hooked on "No Such Thing as a Broken Heart" (been hearing it nonstop for 60 days) and "Greatest Love Story" (which first entered my consciousness somewhere around Fresno on a sunny, 104-degree cruise down CA-99).
- I am very comfortable where cowboy boots, jeans, and cowboy hats or ball caps are the uniform of the day. Pickup trucks are good. Corrals are good. Anything with hooves is good. Spanish is good. Sadly, we've mostly, though not entirely, priced the people who have such things out of the vicinity of oceans and beaches.
- Truckers are better drivers than most folks on the road, most places. Yes, I would be the little blue car who will pass the trucks on the uphill but fall in line on the downhill. Why? Because the uphill is just a matter of speed maintenance, so if I pass, I'll stay ahead. The downhill is a matter of gravity, and I have no desire to race. In the Siskiyous, through the Cascades, through the northern Rockies, over Snoqualmie, over Tehachapi, over the Sandias, truckers stay to the right on the uphill and rarely impede the flow of traffic, and engine brake on the downhill to maintain a controlled descent. Very pleasant, very safe, very easy. I-81 in the Appalachians? Not so much.
I've put a smattering of things on my "want to" list:
- More time on the Oregon coast
- More time in New Mexico
- More time in northern Arizona
- More time in North Dakota
- Cesar Chavez National Monument
- Yellowstone National Park
- Glacier National Park
- Crater Lake National Park
- Okay, so mostly, I wanted to pull off the road at places where I could go hiking and rambling around, but I didn't have time and it would have been unwise to do so alone.
In any case, I still have miles to go before I sleep. And I have to figure out where I live, before I sleep, too.