Driving is easy, but only when you are going somewhere.
It brings out the best in me. Really. I know it might sound strange, but the confinement of a vehicle and the endless days on the road (or trail) calm me, and focus me more than I ever remember. It is the conversations that come around, the simplicity of your surroundings and your distractions. You are pretty much left alone with your mind, your co pilot and your music. A pod wizzing past a grey and white washed landscape. All I can think is... this will only get better.
The plan was to push off at 9am. This adventure is something I have been planning and waiting 6 months for. I came back from a spring rock climbing course in BC, with a strong conviction that I would return. I bought a car and started saving money. I have been glued to Toronto, loving the scene and my job immensely but at the same time feeling unsettled ( this doesn't come as a surprise to many who know me). After months of delays, monetary set backs and adopted projects here I am.
The plan is to drive down to Las Vegas. Climb for as long as I can survive on 10 dollars a day, and slowly make my way up the coast to Squamish, BC. Somewhere in the planning and re-planning stages, my father jumped on board, asking to drive down to Vegas with me where he will meet my mother and they will have their own adventure leaving me to make my way north on the solo trip I had been dreaming of. I laughed it off, assuming it a joke. I continued to look for nomadic driving partners to share the costs with, but the next day ( one week ago) i came home to find maps covering the kitchen table. This was going to happen.
I woke up at 8am this morning to the sounds of doors and shuffling bags. Try as I might to fall back asleep, the excitement got the best of me. I groggily opened my eyes and accepted my 5 hours sleep. The night prior had been a late one, I was trying to cap off 6 months of loose ends. With the help of my best friend Sam, we spent the evening packing up my life and throwing out old momentos from my no-longer- room in my parents house. This is something that should have happened a long time ago.
In the first 5 minutes on the Allen express way we started hearing a strange noise. It sounded like the roof of the car was about to rip off. Sighting weeks of car repairs and thousands of dollars donated to the cause of this road trip, I really couldn't believe my ears. We pulled over and found the rubber gasket around the windshield had come loose, the extreme cold must have done it. We made a quick stop at the Canadian tire THEN we were on our way...
Most of the day was spent listening to the Dirtbag Diaries. Stories inspired by first times, empathy and a sense of adventure. We talked about politics and history, religion and philosophy. I found myself writing out my own stories when my dad took his turn at the wheel.
Through the grey blanket above us, the sun still managed to pierce through the in evening light, leaving a smeared red on the horizon. I fell back into a usual routine of doing laps around gas stations and singing off key to any song I knew.
Before bed, we both did push ups and sit ups in the short hall of our motel room. We were trying to rid ourselves of all excess energies and stiffness that long hours of intensive bum grooves can cause.
So here we are, almost 15 road hours deep in Des Moines, Iowa. Tomorrow night we should be in Boulder Colorado.
Its 1:30 am.
Its 1:30 am.
Then onward little wagon. Onward.
|Leaving the snow behind.|
|The activity which will consume many days to come.|
|Papa Watson, taking the wheel!!|
|Not quite soccer mom material...|