So, its been a long time since I have been very inspired to write, let alone write a blog. But more and more I've been feeling the need to document what's been going on inside and outside of me, and so I've decided to revamp my blog and start writing again. So welcome to the Farm Road -- a road I'm happy to share with anyone who cares to walk with me a while.
Quite a bit has happened since my last post, and I won't attempt to share all of it. Currently I'm WWOOFing at a glorious little farm in Southern Utah called the Red House Farm, and I anticipate most of my writing in the coming months will also reside in wonderful Boulder Town. But for now, I'd like to share a bit of writing I did while hitchhiking here a few weeks ago. To set the scene: I left Heart's Desire Homestead in California on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and departed on a week-and-a-half long hitching trip across Nevada and Utah, taking mostly Highway 50 -- "the loneliest road in America." Here is a peak at what transpired during this journey:
6.25.10
I feel compelled this morning to try and share some of the magic of hitchhiking, the magic of solitary travel, and the magic of the desert.
I've been on the road since last Sunday, when I left Redwood Valley, the beautiful wonderful place I called home for the past half-year or so. I'd been stationary for so long that I was pretty nervous venturing out into the great unknown, but I got my road legs back real fast and have been riding that high ever since. There are many stories, big and small, packed into the past seven days, and to try and tell them all with whatever energy and time I have now would do them a disservice. Instead, I'll offer up an brief sketch of how the road has unfolded behind me.
Day 1: hitched from Redwood Valley to Nevada City, CA in three rides. David, the self-described vinyl hustler, with his two kids heading down to Fresno to visit gramma. Brandon, freshly moved to Colusa to become an apprentice of sorts to the DA ("there are a lot of crazies out here," he says, and he punctuates the conversation frequently by jokingly calling me one of them). Finally, Tom, a 66 year-old retired drawbridge operator out for a solo drive on father's day. Beautiful people, all of them, who went out of their way to get me further down the road then they had originally planned on going. I arrive in Nevada City around 4:00 to the sounds of a hundred women speeding down Broad St on bicycles, and meet up with Juniper, who takes me back to the homebase of the Living Lands Agrarian Network -- an awesome farm project that installs gardens in people's backyards, where she's been working for the past few months. Turns out that Ed Buryn is the owner of the land (!), author of Vagabonding in America (sweet travel book he wrote back in the 60s). I get to meet him and he gives me a big hug when he hears that I read his book. :)
I spend the next few days living and helping out at Living Lands, exploring Nevada City and celebrating Solstice by scrambling naked around the wild Yuba River. After my time there was up, I head to Lake Tahoe. One of the more bizarre landscapes I've been to -- the only place i've been where you can sit on a sandy beach 6000 miles above sea level under the watchful eyes of snow-covered mountain peaks. Walking along the beach I find a coupon for a free psychic reading, which I of course take full advanatge of when I head back into town, where Tanya the psychic tells me (among other things) that I'm due to wander for another 4 years, at which point I will settle in the desert. Hmmm...
So desert it is, after a brief stop at a bluegrass festival filled with banjos and fiddles and too much whiskey, I head down the east side of the Sierra Nevada into the hot desert sun. In the interest of time, I won't bore you with the details of this leg of the journey, other than to tell you about my adventures in Fallon last night. I had originally intended to make it all the way to Middlegate, recommended to me by my fellow vagabonder Skippy. But plans changed, as plans are wont to do, when I was picked up in Silver Springs by a young man named John in white '68 Chevy truck, one of the loudest vehicles I've ever been inside. We chat for a bit and get along nice, so he asks if I want to join him and his friends down at the river for some beers. I, of course, accept his offer.
I don't drink that much, since I'm still recovering from the whiskey the night before, but its great fun to watch these folks get progressively more sloppy. I kick Sarah's butt at air hockey, and lose miserably at pool, but my favorite game of the night was the jukebox. The 90s rock, CCR ("best band of all time," says John), and Tracy Chapman were some crowd pleasers.
After taking a whirl through the Jack In the Box drivethru (again, John pays for my mozzarella sticks like a true gentleman), they decide its a good idea to hit up the other bar in town. Bad idea. Sarah's ex-boyfriend is there, and we're not in the bar for more than 5 minutes when he comes barreling down at Ernie and tries to sucker punch him while he isn't looking. Chaos ensues, but the fight is a relatively harmless one -- nobody bleeds or gets bruised, but we do get kicked out of the bar pretty fast. The night is officially over.
I head back to the hotel room that John was nice enough to get for me and I sleep on a real bed for the first time in a long time.
6.26.10 -- Fallon, NV
The wheel of my suitcase chirps incessantly as I walk through the front of the Safeway grocery store. People stop and stare as I squeak past the checkout lanes. I smile and nod, meet their eyes. A few return the gesture of kindness, others look away quickly. Behind my smile, I'm a bit worried about the wheel. My mobility, given the inordinate amount of STUFF I have, depends in large part on my ability to pull this schoolbus yellow plastic box behind me. Granted, I haven't had to walk much -- being a woman hitchhiking gets me more rides than I could possibly need, and knowing the tips and tricks of a successful hitch (where to stand, what sign to hold, etc.) ensures that I can hang out in one spot and be guaranteed a ride within the hour.
Today might be different, though. I stayed last night at the Super 8 motel, courtesy of my last ride, John, and its at least a mile to the edge of town. Hitching in the midst of intersections and traffic lights can be tricky. I'll try it, but I prepare myself for the half-hour-plus walk under the high noon desert sun just in case.
My relationship with food has been an odd one these past days. I've not eaten a proper meal once in that time, instead consuming the random chunk of bread and fistful of grapes; whatever I happen to have in my food bag lovingly purchased with stamps while in Nevada City, CA. Thinking I need sustenance, I buy a mess of a Safeway "sandwich" that now sits half-eaten in front of me, its innards spilling out onto the oily wrapper like roadkill freshly hit. I can't imagine eating the rest of it -- but why not? All logic says I should be starving. Pure nerves and adrenaline, I muse, must be what I'm running on. I try to force a few more bites down -- this think won't travel well and I spent $5 of my food stamps on it. Can't let it go to waste.
I linger in the Safeway, basking in the artificial cool of civilization, not wanting to face the heat of the day. I imagine business here booms in the summer months, as heat-dazed consumers linger in each aisle, every moment spent pondering which kind of bottled water to buy meaning one less moment bathing in sweat.
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This sums up only about half of my southwestern hitching adventure, and there's lots I'd like to share about what transpired after that. But that's for another day, my friends. For now, suffice it to say I survived the loneliest road and made it safe and sound to Southern Utah, probably one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Rest assured, I've fallen in love with this little community and will be expressing that love through writing very soon. Until then...
Have a Good Everything,
S