Letters to Old Friends

Dear Friends-
Thanks for letting me visit. All of you, it's been great. As Cox said, old friends are way more fun than new friends. Not to belittle new friends, since I'm driving westward again and hoping to make some rather quickly, or it's going to be a lonely winter. No, new friends are fun, but there is something about the ease of old friendships that is just good for the soul. You don't even need to make new jokes, you can laugh at the old ones. So easy. And so good. Especially if your old friends are as funny as mine. Really, I laugh hardest with you guys, and I love that.

It's been fun to peak in on everybody's new lives, snooping around your apartments, sleeping on your couches, meeting your new friends. Lawyer clothes, brooklyn apartments, doctorate degrees, salaried jobs, and expecting engagements? Oh my. Our lives have diverged in so many ways since our friendships were rooted in their native physical spaces- it's fascinating. Who would have ever thought that'd we'd be the people we are today, where we are today? And that I'd still show up to visit, all these years later? Are we still growing up? growing away? growing apart in space and time perhaps, but still, with a friendship that transcends all that? Plenty of friends have fallen by the wayside, obviously, casualties of forward progress, but I love that ours have somehow hung on. Tended to by phone calls and emails, or just hibernating somewhere deep underground like those old photo albums in a box in the basement, ready to resurrect when the lazarus moment arrives, hardly any rust to speak of.

I'm sorry to be so sentimental. It's just me, in my head, these last 3,000 miles back to the desert, and I miss you all already. I love that I just really like who you've all grown up into since we parted ways, it's inspiring. If you would all just decide to move together somewhere, then I could finally stop wandering and settle down there forever. It'd be great, it wouldn't even matter where, I mean, I might even move to Kansas for you guys. I know there would be a good ultimate team, once we got there.

Except then I'd have no one to visit. And that would be sad too. Visits are fun. Especially to Las Vegas this winter. You know you want to come. You can visit my real life, meet my plants and the mountains, and there's room for two in my tent!

So thanks again, everyone, for opening your lives and your cities and your new friends and your couches to me this month. It was so good for my soul. Here's a sad story- I was really lonely this summer, working in near silence on the tussock tundra, and it was unsettling to feel that way- new, unfamiliar feelings I struggled to name. I just wanted to give up and go home, I guess. And then I realised that I was longing for "home," a place I don't really have anymore, since my friends seem to have wind dispersed these recent years. But I'm not brave enough to build a new home just yet, not ready to be rooted. But this month, I burned through too many fossil fuels to call myself an environmentalist anymore, and did a lot of visiting. A record amount of visiting. And I realised that home isn't a place, it's people, and I still have all of those people, all over the place. And that's pretty good. A sad story with a happy ending. (See jill, I can name lots of feelings)

Saudades,

Kate

City Survival Skills

So this is my 5th day in NYC. I haven't even been that lost yet (knock, knock). I have concluded several important things:

1. I am a terrible tourist- I only lasted about 5 minutes in time square before I had to escape, and I didn't go to any museums.
2. Thank Goodness for city parks. I've been hiding away my time in some of the city's best parks, including the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Especially their taxonomically inclined vegetable garden. Love.
3. It's far better to follow my friends around their real lives here than to do the tourist thing. It makes me feel like I probably could live here for a few years to get this journalism career kickstarted.
4. Visiting everyone's cool houses/apartments makes me want to unpack and live somewhere again. Bring it on- Boulder City!
5. This Columbia program is looking better and better. I'm going to class this afternoon. Wish me luck!

2,455 miles down

My journey so far

Perhaps I shouldn't have reread A Fool's Progress last week. Heading eastward, homeward, from the desert to the hills of Appalachia, visiting long lost friends and reflecting on my life along the way, as Abbey does the same, has probably made me way too introspective and added illusions of granduer to my "journey." I like to think that my trip is, unlike Abbey's, is much more of a beginning than an ending. But, it's nice to think of this road trip as a journey, instead of just a really long drive, and Abbey's certainly inspiring in that sense.

So I picked up Henry Lightcap's last hurrah from Kathy and Elliot's shelves in Denver, since I had some time to kill. Hazel the Honda decided to break her two front axels and blow an oil leak in a gasket, resulting in a few days at the mechanic and a serious blow to my budget. It's hard to live in your car when your car is in the shop. I think she overheard my musings about maybe wanting to buy a truck...and got a little upset. And now that I've blown my savings on repairs, she's got her way, and is probably here to stay for awhile.

When I finally hit the road again, I made a quick trip up to Boulder to visit Hillary in her new incarnation as a college kid. Damn, that makes me feel old. But, we had a fun time walking around town and catching up, before I hit the road late, bound for a place to sleep in western kansas. Damn, I've said it before and I'll have to say it again, Kansas is huge. Huge, and not very exciting.

But I did find a hill!! That's right, a hill in Kansas. It's in Wilson Lake State Park, about 5 miles off the interstate, a few hours east of the restarea where I woke up. I went to the park for a much needed run, hoping to steal a campground shower afterwords. But alas, when I got there, the rangers were closing down the bathrooms for the season. Terrible timing. But, the lake was lovely and deserted. So after my run, I took a swim and washed my hair at the boat dock. Lovely.

The scenery got more and more familiar as I drove. The endlessly flat farmland gave way to forests, and then rolling rural farms. It's pretty, in it's own way, to be heading home again. I had an excellent time with Ande in St. Louis and Cox in Indianapolis. They'll both be lawyers within the year. What a crazy idea. But, it was fun to catch up with my long-lost-lawyer friends, we laughed about old stories, new gossip, big plans, and Sarah Palin.

I hit the road again to meet Nat in Louisville. I napped and ran around a lovely city park until he got off work, and we left for a weekend in the Red River Gorge. I'm just learning to climb and he's just learning to lead, so I think we made a good pair. We camped in the woods (trees!!!) and the fall colors are just starting to show. Beautiful. I've missed oaks and maples. Two days on the rocks killed my arms (man- I haven't been this sore in awhile) but it was great fun. I scared myself and impressed myself and realised that this is something I really want to get better at.

Sore as hell, I left Nat to head home. As the scenery became more and more familiar, I thought of Abbey's line about home. "Home is where you go when you probably shouldn't" he said, as Henry Lightcap retreats, battered and nearly defeated, through his past, back to his family. It's always wierd to be home, but I like it. For a visit. The days have gone quickly, bike rides with mom and dad, dinner with a high school friend, packing and unpacking, rearranging my life in the honda, sitting here at the old coffee shop, watching as kids I used to babysit, now college students, come in and out. Okay- just two- but it makes me feel old nonetheless.

I hit the road again tomorrow, off to Nancy and Phil's, then to watch Emily's team play some ultimate, and hang out in pittsburgh. Then grandma, and New York, and then down to Virginia. Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself again. It's the journey, not the destination, right?

The Epic October Road Trip:

I hit the ROAD tomorrow. And so it begins a month long adventure to visit as many long lost friends and pick up as much of my stuff as possible before moving back to Nevada for the winter and spring. It's going to be a lot of driving. It's going to be a lot of fossil fuels. It's going to be a lot of coffee. But- I'm pretty excited about it anyways- people to see, things to do, etc...

So here's the plan:

Sept 28- arrive in Boulder for the evening 29- Visit j-school, hang out with Hillary, 30/Oct 1- Drive to St. Louis Oct. 2- Hang out with Ande, drive late to Inde 3-Visit Cox, drive late to Louisville 4/5 Nat- want to go hiking?? Oct 6- drive to Delaware 7-10 central ohio Oct 11- drive to Kent for dinner 12-14 Pittsburgh (visit ultimate tournament in Edinboro?) 15- Drive to NYC/16-19 NYC (visit columbia j-school, maggie, amal, kara?) 20 NYC to Virginia 21-23 Richmond/Norfolk/Williamsburg 24-26 Homecoming at W&M (you should be there too!!) 27-28 South Carolina- Lauren where exactly do you live??? Oct 29 + drive across I-40 to Vegas- maybe couch crashing in Memphis and New Mexico???

I should arrive in Boulder City by Nov. 1st with my bike, my dishes and sheets, my books, and hopefully I'll have found an apartment by then, if not, there's always my trusted tent for a little while longer... I'll try to keep this blog posted on my cross country progress. Just put a new battery in the honda, so we should be ready to roll!!

Desert Nights

Notes from my nights in Cottonwood Canyon, September 19th-21st

The best part of life in the desert is the evenings. No one will disagree with this. In the setting sun, the canyons glow, the harsh heat fades, the cylidropuntia's spines shine and sparkle, and the growing shadows give everything an air of mystery.

You put your pack down. You take your boots off. Rinse your face and hands. Cook some dinner. Eat and chat with your coworkers. The best of life's simple pleasures. Easier to appreciate in a place where simple is all you've got.

The stars and the bats come out one by one, slowly at first, but increasing along an seemingly exponential curve so that soon, you have no chance of keeping count. Grasshoppers, cicadas, screech owls, and coyotes (1) all contribute to the night's songs. On this lucky evening, the rare burbling of a little brook (2). It's a rhythm you almost feel more than you hear, lulling you toward well earned sleep.

Some people put up tents. I prefer to sleep out, watch the stars until my determined brain finally gives up. I sleep well out here, a cool, clean night breeze (3) over a tired body, the soul distracted by world class star gazing. I haven't yet woken up with a tarantula on my face or a scorpion in my hair, although I've heard such stories, so I guess I'll keep sleeping out until I do.

As much as I love these nights, just perfectly cold to curl up in my bag but not yet enough to wake up and find myself frosted over, I can never enjoy the for long. After a twelve our day over rock scree and under scorched junipers, I hardly make it past 8:30. Too many lonely moths flock toward my headlamp, for their sake, and mine, I always give up on my book quickly. Or this essay. Goodnight. Those little scorpians can wait until first light (4)...

PS- Excuse my rampant poetic licence. 1. Also this evening we were serenaded by the lovely roar of fighter-jet flyover. 2. This little desert stream is surrounded by cow shit, as are most of them. 3. Thank goodness it's just a light breeze, or I'd be coated and choking on dust and dried cow-shit. 4. Cooking breakfast by headlamp before our 6 am return to work, I did find two little guys climbing around my stove as I made our grits.

PPS- My nights in the desert, at least for this season, are finished. That's my emotional excuse for the poetic licence, forgive me. Another job over, another round of sentimental goodbyes at hand, to friends, to mountains, and to perfect desert nights.

Just a little masochistic

From the tent-log, July 5th, 2008, Middle Moose Creek, Denali NP.

Sometimes, it's obviously worth it. When the freezing rain lifts and you see those first glowing rays of sunlight over the mountain you've been trudging up. When you stand triumphant at the peak, catch a glimpse of a mama grizzly and cubs in a berry patch, or realize that you can see for miles and there's not another soul to be found, it's worth it.

But let's be honest- sometimes it is not all fun and games on our outdoor adventures. Rain, mosquitoes, blistered feet, heavy packs, and endless uphill bushwhacking- frankly, it can get pretty misreable. Usually, it's worth it in the end.

Sometimes, however, it's not. Sometimes, it's just a test of endurance for the sake of testing your endurance. Here, in the shadow of Denali (A pretty good looking shadow, I have to admit) I think of the mountaineers testing there endurance up there- freezing temperatures, heavy loads, and days of waiting for the perfect, storm free conditions to attempt the final ascent, to achieve for a few moments the triumph of standing on North America's highest peak. But then, it gets cold really fast up there at 20,320 ft, so you can't stay long. They hurry on down. The accomplishment, the impressive part, is more from the process than the peak, more endurance than excitement.

Down here, I'm testing my endurance in other ways- like mosquito misery. Why do I keep hiking every day- hating the bugs, the bushwacking, the boredom? Well yes- they pay me. But they pay the guys who wash the tour buses a lot better, and yet, here I am. Why? It's not the scenery keeping me here- views of the stunted black spruce tundra through a dark mosquito haze can be a little lacking on poetic inspriation. It's not the salary.

It's sheer stubborness. I'm not going to quit, mostly because I want to. I need to prove that I can handle ten days in a headnet, purposefully dehydrated because everytime I take my pants off to pee I get enough bites that my eyes tear up, trudging through wet, unfriendly terrian, where the best thing to look forward to every day is smashing that last mosquito into a bloody smear on the side of my tent so I can hope for some sleep in peace.

My coworkers have commented that it's a lot like hell around here. Yet, we are still here. There's a fine line between outdoor adventure and masochism sometimes, and I think we've crossed it. And it's not just us exhusted, itchy botanists. Adventurers in every category are pushing their limits- how high, how cold, how many days on only couscous, how many bites to the ass can we handle? Before what? Before we give up and cry, and press that magic escape button? Not likely, we push ourselves until proving it is the only option. Stopping to cry only leads to a larger swarm of bugs- it's keep moving or die like a sick caribou, unconcious from blood loss to the bugs out here in a day or two.

I'm not trying to say that surviving 10 mosquitoey, misreable days in Denali's less famous lowlands ranks with climbing it's peaks, or any of the other incredible feats that endurance junkies push towards. But it is pushing through the misery without the summit or the scenery, no 'it's all worthwile' moment. It's not logical really, to make yourself misreable, unless misery in some messed up way, gets you off too. Diagnosis- masochism.

I am not diagnosing myself alone. I'm diagnosing this club of "higher, faster, tougher" adreneline-addicted folks that I'm slowing joining. Is this masochism a problem? It's not that there is anything wrong with being tougher than a little pain, than the misreable moments. It's when the motivation turns away from all that makes it worth it to simply just making it- that we might need to confront our own masochistic tendancies.

I killed 33 mosquitoes with 1 strike of my hand today- and I have small hands. I'll climb out of my tent tomorrow and do it again. And again. So I guess I'm getting a little sadistic out here too.

GUILTY AS CHARGED

Wow- so I haven't touched this blog in quite awhile, have I? I have all kinds of excellent excuses, a lack of electricity and internet access in my lifestyle, mountains to climb, plants to count, mosquitos to smash or occassionally rescue from the suicide missions into my oatmeal before smashing, and just general laziness. It has a lot to do with laziness. I tell people I want to be a writer, and yet, sometimes it is so hard for me to put such pretty plans into action. Aside from my personal journals and the trip reports for work, i haven't written much at all in 2008.

I'm freshly feeling guilty because I met another aspiring writer this weekend at an excellent Oktoberfest party in Lamiolle, NV. We talked writing and adventures around a His blog puts mine to shame. And shame is not an emotion that I am very familiar with, so I am taking it pretty hard. But it is also an excellent motivating factor.

I have so many things I want to write about, 2008 had thus far been a pretty great year for adventures and inspiration, so I guess I need to suck up my excuses and my doubts, and get back to work. I feel a little deja vu about this- prehaps I have restarted my devotion to this blog before a few times...but maybe this is for real....wish me luck....and occasional readership....in the efforts to follow.