The Journey Part 31

THE ROCK

If you were to go for a Sunday drive in Eastern Washington, in what is called the Channel Scablands area, where the coulees dominate the otherwise billiard-table flat land, you will see, dotting the landscape, huge boulders, many the size of a house or larger.  It looks as though a giant aircraft dropped the boulders at random across the area, no pattern can be discerned, no logical reason for their existence or how in the hell they got there, in what is basically a Great Plains-like scene.

The geologic reason for them dates back 15,000 years ago, when a glacial ice dam broke loose, releasing the ancient Lake Missoula, a column of water, hundreds of feet high, rushed across the land, at more than one-hundred miles per hour, scouring what was there, carrying with it rocks the size of a McDonald’s restaurant.

I’m reminded of Lake Missoula, and the cataclysmic event many years ago, as I drive through the high desert of California.  Large rock outcropping dot the landscape, leaving me to wonder why, and how, and to what purpose, if any? I suspect it has to do with long-ago glaciers, the remnants after the receding, but if it were another reason I would not in the least bit be surprised.  The point of this missive is simply to point out that Mother Nature blows me away, and the rock croppings are just one example of the spectacular show, on display for each and every one of us to see, that is available to us, and for us, daily just outside our windows.

I fear, at times, I might sound Evangelical, and that would disgust me to no end, or a soapbox denizen, pounding his fist at the sky, expounding on the salvation which awaits us all if we simply pay attention to the rocks and dirt and lakes and mountains, and that is not my purpose . . . but good golly, Miss Molly, this is one incredible living art I am witnessing, and I want you all to witness it, as often as possible, because any way you slice it, what I am seeing, on this trip, beats the hell out of Wheel of Fortune, my apologies to Vanna White and Pat Sajak, if that’s how you spell their names.

I’m not going to tell you all that you should do this. That’s not my style. I’m not going to give you cliches about life wasting away, and grab it while you can, and shake every ounce of living out of it . . seriously, not going to do that. There are many people who are beyond happy simply spending time with family, and never leaving their hometown, and if that’s what floats your boat, I say hoorah to you. My only message is this: life is short.  Live it to the fullest, however that may play out and whatever that may look like.

Four simple words for you: If not now, when?

PUDDLE WALKER NEEDS SOME WORK

New brakes, and assorted other things, to the tune of $2200, thank you very much and no, it doesn’t bother me one iota.  If I had gone into this lifestyle thinking my home on wheels would drive perfectly, without a hiccup, til death do us part, I would have been greatly concerned with my sanity.

Fact is, vehicles need maintenance. They have since the Model T, and they will when we are doing the Jetson thing, flying our cars above Main Street.  As an old mentor of mine was fond of saying, that’s just the real of it.

I knew the brakes were wearing down. Any large vehicle is going to experience problems with the brakes eventually, and Puddle Walker, in the last three months, has had to navigate down some seriously steep and windy mountain roads . . . so this was inevitable.  I will just get it taken care of next week, spend money a bit more wisely until I save up the money spent on repairs, and move on with my new life.

This lifestyle would drive many a fine person nuts.  It is unpredictable. It is never routine. There is always something new which needs to be dealt with and sure, that can be said about living in a home, but in a home you are in a familiar neighborhood and familiar town, with friends and family nearby. Not so on the road. Everything is new, and everything has a touch of uncertainty to it.  Case in point, in Olympia we had a car mechanic we have gone to for years, someone we trusted; that is certainly not the case in a strange town.  I have no idea who can be trusted to do the job properly.

It is “Living Fundamentals 101” on the fly.

The key, for me, is to remain calm, to expect the unexpected, and make sure I have back-up systems in place when something does go wrong.

I am about to completely change the topic, so hold on tight while I make a U-turn.

Bev and I were walking the dogs around Tehachapi yesterday, while the bus was being inspected, and we stopped into the local Home Depot one, because we love strolling through that particular store and two, because Home Depot allows dogs inside.

So, we did our “window shopping,” left the store, and passed a man in Home Depot colors sweeping the parking lot . . . with a push broom.  I’m sure you all know how large Home Depot parking lots are, so you can appreciate the Herculean effort involved, in a windy city, with sweeping a parking lot.

The guy was maybe late-fifties, a hard-scrabble look to him, cowboy hat, Wranglers, farm boots, wiry, missing a couple teeth, like an old rodeo rider who has never met a bull he didn’t like.  He looked up as we approached, smiled his gapped smile, and wished us a great day.  Infectious.  We did the same, stopped as he admired our dogs (happens all the time), and we got to talking.  Turns out he has three acres outside of Tehachapi, a varied assortment of animals on the acreage, said he likes to stay busy, make a few extra bucks, his wife tends the animals, just a nice conversation with a man who bestowed, upon us, a smile and welcoming.

I promised myself, as I’ve mentioned before, that I would not bite on any conversations about politics or religion on this journey. I think topics like those muddy the waters when people are getting to know each other, and what I really want is to simply meet America one handshake at a time, no muddied waters, thank you. And that’s what happened yesterday, in a Home Depot parking lot, with a complete stranger, three human beings spent quality time together, being polite, being friendly, just being human.

It was pretty cool!

TEXTURES

I took a photo the other day, a scene which stopped me in my tracks, the dark green grass blowing in the wind, my fascination with blowing grass dating back decades, and in the background, the hills rising out of Tehachapi, their subtle colors changing as I watched them.  The photo could capture the at-this-moment beauty, but the changing textures, as the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, was beyond my feeble ability to describe it. Now you see it, now you don’t, that sort of thing, and I was in awe, as I so often am on this trip.

If I were to describe that scene, I would do it one way, but five minutes later, my description would have been different, and then what if a completely different person looked at the same scene, you just know their description would be different yet, which reminds me of that old Indian proverb about, what was it, blind men trying to describe an elephant by touch?  Each man could only touch one part of the elephant, and then make a guess as to what it was based on that one area touched.

The moral of the story is about people believing in an absolute based on limited knowledge and experience, something I believe many are guilty of.  Check out social media if you believe I’m exaggerating.  It’s one reason you can’t rope me into an argument about visceral topics like abortion or same sex marriage. I have no desire to try and convert you to my beliefs and besides, my beliefs may not be correct beliefs.  If you want to share information with me, fine, but I will make you a deal: I won’t try to convince you that I am right, if you can afford me the same respectful approach.

Would you be amazed if I told you how many people are annoyed by that? I have had acquaintances pissed at me because I wouldn’t fall into a weighty argument with them. It actually annoyed the hell out of them that I didn’t care what their beliefs were, that I was only interested in the fiber of who they were.

Interesting, me thinks!

Bottom line to this section: I loved that photo and I loved watching that scene change.  Nature is the bomb!

And one other thing to consider.  If people were to look at a photo of me forty years ago, and then a photo of me today, would they notice the subtle changes in me, as a person, which have occurred?  I’m not talking exterior; those changes would be apparent to the proverbial blind men, but the inside of the man called Bill . . . would they notice?

Just spitballin’ random thoughts.