Nath Jones's Blog - Posts Tagged "travel"
600 Miles
I got out of the car this morning and stared as two hawks, or kites--I heard my father's voice say buteo--circled over a small body of water behind a chain link fence.
I don't know where I was exactly. Some gas station 93 miles east of Reno. But these birds were there in the morning, in the light air, impressing me the way such moments do, or can.
I drove from Reno, Nevada to Evanston, Wyoming today. It's funny to have this freedom. I saw the headlines--the 200 abducted girls perhaps found, Baltimore in an uproar. And then to be free in the face of that, in spite of that, connected yet unfettered.
So just to drive. Just to be a woman driving 600 miles. No protest. No fight. No politics. No religion. Just exercising the rights we're so privileged to possess.
Believe me I have plenty of fear. One friend talked to me for a solid hour today. I was like a treed cat--because I really do hate driving in the mountains. The car straining up. The triple-trailered trucks barreling down. The cars whipping around and gone. Vehicles at all speeds, curves, ravines, cliffs--mountains.
But so what? Drive.
I had two chats with two women in the past twenty-four hours. Both were desk managers of crappy little roadside hotels. Both were about my age. In Sparks, NV I asked the woman what I-80 was like toward the east. She said, "Toward Sacramento and that?" I said, "Toward Chicago." She kind of thought about it. Then didn't really have an answer, said, "I don't really know."
I didn't say anything. I don't care if she doesn't drive east on I-80.
I can see why she didn't have an answer. Bunch of buteos. Some chain link fence. Utah has an answer to that, of course: rock. But again just a reminder of its inherent grandeur.
And when I got to the little crappy motel room in Evanston, Wyoming--same thing. I asked the woman at the desk which was her favorite of the sites in Wyoming. She had no answer. Seemed odd. Granted there's no official concierge service at the place I'm staying. But still, usually there's some kind of hospitality or at least awareness of one's surroundings enough to toss out a highlight.
Nope.
Now, part of me wants to round this out without doing anything unbecoming of a lady. And I'm not going to assert anything about these other women, insist they explore, demand they use what they've got--this life, this place, the ideals our nation yearns to implement. If these two desk managers don't want to? They're well within their rights never to bother.
But to see those two hawks this morning in the early light. Not sunrise light, that light right after. Just soft brightness. And at about 3:30 this afternoon I took my Buick out onto the salt flats.
I don't know where I was exactly. Some gas station 93 miles east of Reno. But these birds were there in the morning, in the light air, impressing me the way such moments do, or can.
I drove from Reno, Nevada to Evanston, Wyoming today. It's funny to have this freedom. I saw the headlines--the 200 abducted girls perhaps found, Baltimore in an uproar. And then to be free in the face of that, in spite of that, connected yet unfettered.
So just to drive. Just to be a woman driving 600 miles. No protest. No fight. No politics. No religion. Just exercising the rights we're so privileged to possess.
Believe me I have plenty of fear. One friend talked to me for a solid hour today. I was like a treed cat--because I really do hate driving in the mountains. The car straining up. The triple-trailered trucks barreling down. The cars whipping around and gone. Vehicles at all speeds, curves, ravines, cliffs--mountains.
But so what? Drive.
I had two chats with two women in the past twenty-four hours. Both were desk managers of crappy little roadside hotels. Both were about my age. In Sparks, NV I asked the woman what I-80 was like toward the east. She said, "Toward Sacramento and that?" I said, "Toward Chicago." She kind of thought about it. Then didn't really have an answer, said, "I don't really know."
I didn't say anything. I don't care if she doesn't drive east on I-80.
I can see why she didn't have an answer. Bunch of buteos. Some chain link fence. Utah has an answer to that, of course: rock. But again just a reminder of its inherent grandeur.
And when I got to the little crappy motel room in Evanston, Wyoming--same thing. I asked the woman at the desk which was her favorite of the sites in Wyoming. She had no answer. Seemed odd. Granted there's no official concierge service at the place I'm staying. But still, usually there's some kind of hospitality or at least awareness of one's surroundings enough to toss out a highlight.
Nope.
Now, part of me wants to round this out without doing anything unbecoming of a lady. And I'm not going to assert anything about these other women, insist they explore, demand they use what they've got--this life, this place, the ideals our nation yearns to implement. If these two desk managers don't want to? They're well within their rights never to bother.
But to see those two hawks this morning in the early light. Not sunrise light, that light right after. Just soft brightness. And at about 3:30 this afternoon I took my Buick out onto the salt flats.
