The biker I spoke to last night mentioned that Route 50 might be an interesting road to take home. It's called the "Loneliest Road in America". I woke up excited to see it!
I packed up my camp to the sight of frost covering the grass and some of the beautiful purple flowers that grew along the edges of the campsites. I felt sad to leave the eucalyptus grove and the song of the ocean.
I picked up Route 50 in Sacramento and at its origin was a sign declaring that it was 3,073 miles to Ocean City, MD. This struck me as an odd coincidence as I had just been thinking about a friend from college and Ocean City is one of the places we visited when I went home with her one summer.
Route 50 took me up into the mountains and past many people parked along the street near the heads of hiking trails. Once again, I wished that I had months to make this trip instead of days! I longed to have the adventures I was passing by. The drive was beautiful, with thick bright green moss growing on the bark of the pine trees and a river running beside the road. I passed through the woods, rocked back and forth by the bends in the road, and came to Lake Tahoe:
The town of South Lake Tahoe was a little crazy to travel through due to a ton of traffic and a car accident closing one lane of the road, but everything cleared up outside of the town and I was happy to have freedom on the road.
As 50 tumbled down from the mountains, the landscape quickly changed from massive pines and water to sand dunes and tumbleweed. In Carson City Nevada, John Mayer sang to me "I know the heart of life is good". I know it is too.
The road wound through small towns for a while, and finally... fiiiiinally... cleared out until I was the only car speeding across this flat desolate space of desert. It was wonderful! I could see sand dunes and snowy mountain peaks in one view. The hills were long and seemed never-ending, and I thought of the biker who had crossed the country on this road. I can't imagine biking up those hills...!
I enjoyed this journey across the state much more than seeing it from I-80. The sunset was soft and peaceful, and the white peaks of the snowy mountains reflected the twilight long after the sun itself had disappeared into the mountains behind me.
I stayed in a little town called Ely on the eastern side of Nevada. Motel rooms were pretty inexpensive as it was their off-season, so I headed into a civilized room... and took a shower... and slept in a bed. As I lay in bed with my eyes closed, waiting for sleep to overcome me, I wondered why it didn't seem able to find me. Then I realized what was missing: the lull of the waves crashing beneath me. Also, it felt really strange to be clean!
* * * *
Day 8: Sunday, April 5 - Ely, NV to Golden, CO
As I checked out of my motel room, I noticed that a sign on the store across the street from me said "Happy, Joyous & Free". I like that.
I was obsessed with the idea of having an Egg McMuffin for breakfast, and was totally psyched to find a McDonald's less than a mile down the road.
I passed by many more sights that I would have loved to explore: charcoal ovens, earthquake faults, sand dunes, archaeological sites... I wished I could have seen them all!
Nevada is starkly, uncompromisingly beautiful. It's little more than deserts and mountains and challenges you to take it or leave it, not caring which one you choose. It has far bigger matters to attend to - like nurturing tenuous desert life, painting clouds and colors across the sky, watching the migrations of herds.
I joined I-70 at its point of origin and followed it through eastern Utah. I loved eastern Utah! The deserts and mountains gave way to canyons and buttes and amazing rock formations.
At some point during this journey, I realized something odd: the idea of heading back to Colorado put a little smile on my face. I've left Colorado many times and returned again since moving here, and I would never describe my returns as happy events; it's always been more like "well, here I go back to Colorado". But not this time. This time, the little smile on my face had nothing to do with an effort or any thought beyond the fact that I was returning to Colorado. Perhaps it was a result of the excitement I feel about the adventures I look forward to having with my friends this summer. Perhaps it's due to adventures I plan to have on my own. In any event, something inside of me felt deeply satisfied to know that returning to to this desert mountain state brought me reflexive happiness, the kind I didn't have to think about.
I was hoping the approach to the Rockies would be as grand from the western side as it is from the eastern side, but instead of views of 14,000 foot peaks I saw low snowy mesas.
I realized that I felt more like myself than I have since perhaps before I moved out here. I felt awake and alive and centered. The trip had completely removed me from the "real world", and it was refreshing to live outside of it again for a time. (I spent 2 summers living in a tent with friends in 2002 and 2003, and have always wanted to return to that experience). I wonder if, once you have been removed from the real world, it's easier to remove yourself from it once again. I was only gone for a few days, but it felt much longer. I deeply enjoy having experiences that are outside the realm of normal life, and meeting people who live outside of normal - such as the biker I conversed with my last night at the campground. I miss being around people who live life in a different way.
It began snowing around Avon, CO, and snowed on and off all the way back down the mountain. I didn't run into any of the ski traffic I thought I would meet, but the drive was a bit slow because of the weather. It feels odd to be back.
I hiked, biked, climbed, explored, relaxed and lost myself in the waves, the wind, the sun, and sand. I crossed the desert and mountains, overcame fear and worry, and challenged myself. And I did it all with a dirty body, cute hat on my head, little backpack on my back, and a smile on my face.
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