The Highway Home

Provo, UT: Provo's climate in 2080 will feel most like today's climate near Hurricane, Utah. The typical winter in Hurricane, Utah is 13.8°F (7.7°C) warmer and 55.6% drier than winter in Provo.

The only thing I knew about Provo, UT, was that it was the home of WordStar rival, WordPerfect. What I learned about booking a hotel there is that it’s a ski resort town, and though the room was expensive, it was relatively luxurious. I was a little concerned by the sheriff’s car in the entrance portico, and the dispute that seemed to be happening at the front desk. But it turned out that it was just cop convention attendees arriving, and confusion over whether the rooms had been pre-paid or not.

The next afternoon, we’re back on the road. I’m figuring two days till home; I’ve gotten tired of packing and unpacking the car, and the heat is coming into California’s central valley. I figure I’ll make it to Winnemucca, NV for the night. Maybe two.

At Winnemucca, I try to give Liesl a walk but she just wants back in the car. The room options are dismal. On we go to Reno.

It’s not dark yet when we hit Reno, and I realize that if I just drive all the way home, I don’t have to pack the car again. So I fill up the tank at the casino gas station and decide to keep going. There’s cool, short grass at the far end of the lot, so I coax Liesl into a pee walk and give her dinner. While I’m talking to her like a fool, I notice a man in his beat-up car watching us, and he nods; a nod of “I’m living in my car, too.”

We ride off into the sunset, and into California for the first time in four months. We make it to the other side of Sacramento, dodging the decrepit cars going slow, getting passed on both sides by I-80 speedway racers. I need a break. Only two more hours to go, but I’m tired.

I feel it in my body when I get out of the car. When I come out of the gas station, I see that I’ve parked crooked and not fully in the spot, and I know that I shouldn’t keep driving. So I look at hotels. I figure I’ll go just a little further to Davis, thinking a Motel 6 there won’t be as sketchy as one in Sacramento, but I’m wrong. It’s pretty sketchy. I park, haul everything visible up to the second-floor room, get Liesl settled (she is entertained by the rats in the shrubbery), and sleep.

I want to get out of the Central Valley before the heat really comes in, but I also don’t want to do my work after getting home, so I get it done first and continue home in the afternoon. I have the presence of mind to order groceries that I can pick up on the way, so I don’t have to leave once I get there.

I find myself annoyed by the traffic (is it so much more crowded here, really? Are our lanes more narrow?); disheartened by the heat and the forecast; irked by the vigilance I need to be sure my car doesn’t get broken into (and maybe guilt-ridden that I’m one of the ones who need to be vigilant). I did not expect to feel these things, and they take me by surprise. A clouding sense of, “Oh great, this shit again.” 

And at the same time, I am happy to be coming home. Once I am west of Santa Rosa, everything is fine. I resolve to stay there as much as possible.

Santa Rosa, CA: Santa Rosa's climate in 2080 will feel most like today's climate near Alpine, California. The typical summer in Alpine, California is 6.2°F (3.5°C) warmer and 14.2% wetter than summer in Santa Rosa. (Alpine is west of San Diego.)

I have a pause in Sebastopol where I have the chance to reflect a little, and this is when the gold is found. A tremendous sense of gratitude wells up in me; gratitude for the trip, but also gratitude for following through on the decision to go, to actually do it. It would have been so easy to put the idea aside as too much—too crazy, too risky, too expensive, too hard. What an enormous loss it would have been! And what a loss if I hadn’t been made to take that pause. It counteracts the negativity that was threatening to overtake me.

Coming up Karas Lane, I look at Liesl, wondering if she’ll remember the pattern of speed bumps that means we’re getting home. She doesn’t seem to, but her ears go up when I back up Thirsty up to the gate and she hears the latch.

Jeanne and her dog, Pearly, are there to greet us. Jeanne has completely remodeled my apartment, enlarging it and my fenced yard by huge amounts. It’s spacious and gorgeous (she has impeccable aesthetics and a supernatural gift for this kind of thing). It’s basically a new place, and it’s a lot to take in. I don’t deserve it. Such is the burden of the luckiest woman in the world.

Liesl figures out her new doggie door immediately; rolls on the furry blanket on the bed joyously, requests an early dinner.

It’s good to be home. 

I think there will be one more post for this trip. I need to process it a little, to learn what I’ve learned. 

Thanks for coming along.