With so many highs it was difficult to choose favorites. On a different day we might name another place. How does one judge descending into the New River Gorge against wading in the Colorado’s frigid waters on a Glen Canyon beach? What makes learning about the one-armed, explorer, cartographer and general badass John Wesley Powell any less intriguing then witnessing Native American dance? Is the culture of the Puebloan people preserved at Bandelier National Monument any less important than the sculpture gardens at the Nasher Center? Is anything more beautiful than stumbling upon the expansive crater of Valles Caldera at sunset, or watching J look upon the Pacific Ocean for the first time, or having a cool lake to ourselves on a sweltering Texas day?
The first time I saw Pittsburgh I knew I would leave her. She could be cold, nebby, and casually racist, but really, it was me. With so much out there to see in this world, I’ve never entertained the idea of being tied down to any one city. I’ve never had a car note, a mortgage, or a desire to settle down. While I appreciate the homes others have fashioned for themselves, I’m not quite ready for a long-term commitment.
I have an ongoing joke of a New Year’s resolution: all new mistakes. It’s a way to remind myself to take chances, explore new territory, learn to dig deeper. It’s a call to say yes to opportunities and have a sense of humor when things go awry.
As a young girl, I remember sitting in a dark theater watching Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. I wanted to be just like Indy. I was captivated by the sight of Petra, a city carved into the mountainside; enchanted by the canals and footbridges of Venice. I wanted to explore ancient catacombs, ride a motorcycle through the countryside. I also hate Nazis (but I’m not afraid of snakes).
If the Instagram feeds of every attractive, young #wanderluster are to be believed, there isn’t anything more invigorating than traveling with a partner. Exploring the world as a twosome can certainly be gratifying, but there’s a reason why everyone has a vacation breakup story. With hours spent standing in lines, lugging bags, and navigating unfamiliar territory, it’s no wonder traveling is said to be a good determiner of a couple’s compatibility (or combativity). Sharing a single car for a sixty-day stretch can be too much proximity for two people when things are going to plan. When both parties are being pushed outside of their comfort zones, a shitshow or two is inevitable.
The South Rim of the Grand Canyon is the Disney Theme Park of the National Parks System. The village boasts a rail line, airport, entire fleet of buses, kennel, mule stable, hotels, restaurants, art, geology, and cultural museums, campgrounds, three visitor’s centers, two entrances, and a partridge in a pear tree. Much like Disney, it is also perpetually mobbed. In an act of providence, we were able to secure the last site available at the Desert View Campsite the day before it was to be shut down for the winter. We pitched our tent below an exquisite, craggy juniper and made our way to the Desert Watchtower.
If the utility of a road is compromised due to the whims of bovine, it should not, in fairness, be called a highway. Consider this my formal complaint with the state of New Mexico. The cow strutting out of the darkness before us was such an absurdity we erupted into astonished laughter. Then there was more movement. A group of shadows fell into focus. The laughing stopped.
Though we were done courting weirdness for the day, it wasn’t done with us. West Memphis, as it turns out, is not in Tennessee at all, but rather a piss stop of a town just on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi. Understandings were reached regarding budget on this trip, and J and I had no illusions about the quality of the establishments we would be staying in, but having to slide your identification under bullet-proof glass to check-in is never a good omen. The floors were sticky, every surface chipped. The door had obviously been kicked in at some point. We had both gotten little sleep the night before, and were careful to be kind, tip-toeing around the lack of accommodations and utter despair that hung heavy in the room. After running the air conditioner for a little while, we were able to ignore the antiseptic smell. Overheated and exhausted, we laid on the bed, not wanting to pierce the silence with our hot breath. J picked up his phone then looked over. Shattering our polite pretense, he mused, “They have wifi, but I don’t want any of my devices to get VD.”
My mood improved, we drove to the Gulch to sample some beers at Party Fowl, where we fell in love with a watermelon gose, then headed to Jackalope, a local brewery, we’d missed our last time in these parts. Their brews deserve every bit of the hype they receive, and they were served by a disinterested young woman who was answering the conversations directed towards her with lack of eye contact and monosyllabic retorts that reminded me of my own magnetic temperament during my (short-lived) stints behind the bar.