The Road less Traveled

Friday, February 9^th, 2012

      Today has certainly run the gamut of emotional experience for me. There have been ups and downs, vile anger and blissful enjoyment. Some of it intentionally created, some of it mere reaction to things beyond my control. On the whole, I'd say that today falls on the plus side of life experiences.

      So last night, I thought I was in the middle of nowhere, bar a few houses and some lights down the road. Well, after waking up and getting myself together, I get exactly 1 mile down the road and find out that there is a gas station I could have parked at for the night. So I stop in and get some coffee. Grand total? Eighty-four cents. I had to ask a second time to make sure it was the real deal. I haven't had coffee so cheap since I bought 5 cent coffee at Wall Drug in South Dakota. So that put the day in a positive spin, as drinking coffee is now associated with gratitude for me.

      After a number of small (less than 600 people) towns along US 95 in Idaho (and their 25 mph speed limits) the coffee started to wear off. Then I crossed I-84. Bam! A wall of fog. In the end, I would have to drive 65 miles through this river mist, until I got sufficient altitude to shake it. Someplace towards the end, I encountered three school buses. The fog was thick enough to prevent a safe pass, but not so thick that I could not manage at least 55 mph. The bus driver in front, however, would have none of that. They cruised at an agonizing 45. I know! So slow in the thick fog. What the hell are they thinking? If they can't handle it, they should get out of the damned way and let a professional drive. Such were my thoughts. It occurred to me a number of times that this attitude was by no means professional. Nor was it remotely safe. I convinced myself that getting close to the bus ahead and letting my engine brakes sound would show my displeasure and convince them to pull over. Well, one bus turned off, but I followed the other two for another 12 miles, until I was the one who turned off, relived to be away from all of that.

      Having cooled down, I started climbing out of the fog, looking at is as a metaphor for the whole experience. Letting anger cloud my perception. Like I said in another blog, everything can be a metaphor if you are of the right frame of mind. Some 2500 vertical feet later, I am well above the fog, but I seem to be running into some low clouds in Eastern Oregon. Those pass as I think of people I love, and remember to be gracious for life and all of the blessings that come with it.

      There is a town in the SE corner of Oregon called Rome. It is not so much a town as a gas station, a general store two (seriously) houses and a boat launch. The scenery is amazing. Rolling hills covered in sage and various bunch grasses. They are all brown this time of year for want of water. The landscape, where not covered in drought tolerant plants, is slowly morphing into badlands, some areas accelerated by the passage of a road and the resulting rock cut. I suppose this is free range country, since all the signs say so, but there are no cattle in sight (what is the singular neutral version of cattle anyway?).

      Further along the road, south of the Burns junction, a number of snow capped mountains appear through the distant haze. A dark storm cloud rolls across the plain, but I am bathed in sunlight. I drive for miles without seeing a house. Indeed, I am the only one going south it would seem. A small number of trucks pass me going northbound, perhaps the busiest it has been since Idaho. On occasion, there is a structure of some ilk beside the road. Most of them for road maintenance. Off in the distance, one can make out the infrequent appearance of houses. Roads that go for miles, to serve a handful of people. A string of power lines, going to that one house on the hillside. I feel the strength of the natural world out here, calling me. I wonder if they feel the same?

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