Blog Entry 5-4-10, Tuesday.
My 1986 4Runner (I call it a truck) needed a test voyage before taking the big leap into the Rockies. The (!) BREAK light has been glowing red for months. I drove down Boulder Canyon, coasting most of the way. The wind teetered the truck, my two kayaks on the roof acting like sails and catching scoops of the cold air. Even though it is early May, on this morning, fresh snow dusts the shaded canyon wall. Today, I'll go to a garage and have the oil changed.
Despite the fact that I have driven East to Boulder, Colorado, my Westward journey to Leavenworth, Washington has begun. Everything is packed in my truck. I am motivated by the notion that it is much warmer on the eastern slope of the Cascade Mountains than it is here along Colorado's Front Range. In these mountains, it has been a long winter and is no time to be sleeping in my truck.
Right now, the wind is howling and shaking the walls, even this chair, here at Neil Backstrom's house.
Last night, Neil hosted my goodbye dinner with his "Chicken Soup for the Soul." Neil and I made schemes about stopping on the Dolores River, Ruby Thief, the Ark, the Colorado. However, neither of us got out the maps. My epic road-trip has dwindled, over the last few weeks, to a solo endurance race with an overpacked, poorly maintained truck.
Neil is my climbing guru. He looks just as I imagine a guru should. His long white hair is pulled back into a small knot at the back of his head. He has trimmed back his mostly-white beard since I saw him last. He wears flip-flops. He is tall and lean, and crazy in just the right way, in a smart way. Inside his house is a historical museum sized collection of climbing tools, boots, shoes, ropes, ice axes and other various, brightly colored stuff sacks and gloves. All the other walls are lined with books.
Neil drinks green shakes every morning and goes to a hot yoga class like he has found religion, except it is not religion. It is just yoga. He has taken me for my most favorite climbing day ever. Now, it is time for me to leave Colorado.
Neil's finger is broken. He talks about doing aid climbing, something he never thought he'd get into. If there ever was such a thing as an iconic old-school climber, it's Neil. But that is too cliché for Neil. It's time.
I dread going back out into the wind; one last box to the storage unit, a visit to the Cash-For-Books counter, one more box to mail back to my parents in New Jersey. Maybe I will return to Neil's for tea after I finish my parting errands. It is good to know he is here.
This road trip to Washington has been the hardest one yet. For the last six years, spring has been my time to make a seasonal migration, eastward toward my original home and Northeastern whitewater. This spring, the seventh spring, I go further West. My cargo is heavier, my truck is older, and I am somehow surprised that I am doing this alone, again. Yet, during that test-cruise down the canyon, I yelled something like "Yeeeeyhoo," excited, free, and on my way.
The wind shakes the roof of Neil's trailer. I stay inside a little longer. Winds are reaching 80 MPH, the local public radio reports. My kayak, visible from Neil's window, lifts off the roof-rack when the wind gusts. Under my teacher's roof, under the high shelves of snowshoes, a rolled sheepskin and a book about Shackleton's Arctic Expedition, I can happily affirm, I have learned to pick my fights with mother nature. On wind-hold, my trip is delayed. (You can learn more about Mercury in Retrograde here.)
5-6-10
Soon to be in Wyoming. I have not bathed in about a week. The truck is packed like a complicated game of 3D Tetris. Sorry to everyone who has left voicemails... I will call you back when I get to a phone. xo - M
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