It is often difficult writing of past events, especially those full of impact and color… Of those that were pivotal and freeing. Too much was happening when I returned to Santa Cruz from the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains in the fall of 2022. At this time, I had not yet internalized the aspect of my character that is called writer, even though I had recently written the first draft of my book and a few smaller poetic and shamanic pieces.
Having known myself well enough to know I would not on my own remember the series of events that happened in the crisp detail as I would have liked for future public writing, I had opted to take too many photographs and write everyday in my journal about the happenings.
After a couple of days, my journal became somewhat of a shorthand. Writing in crisp detail became a daunting exercise and when I tried to review my journal in my previous attempt to write about the Sierras, I was left flustered and gave up. Instead, I focused on my growing slew of medical appointments...
It is now April of 2024 and I have decided to revisit writing about the Eastern Sierra Nevada sojourn. When starting this newest entry, I began by explaining that I had taken my van, Becca, with the intention of preparing for an upcoming 10,000 mile trip. I was surprised to learn that I was incorrect in vehicle and intention when reviewing photographs from the trip! The photographs showed that I had my blue 1999 Ford Ranger, Charlie, and not Becca the van… I had began writing about a vehicle I did not yet own!
When I looked at the dates on the photographs, I realized I was writing my Sierra Nevada entry as if it happened in 2023, not 2022! I was conflating intentions of heading out to the Sierras with those of future events. I then had to really ground myself by reviewing my resumè. Ah… The context of this sojourn became clear!
My life had become insanely long working days and back-to-back medical appointments. That’s it. Nothing else.
I was not exercising. I was not being social. I was in debilitating pain and I started to have daily miniature panic attacks in the mornings. I was in the bowels of an epic multi-faceted burn-out. I needed to be out of the city and out of reception. I needed to be in nature and commune in solutidude.
Since I no longer know where my journal went, and only have a stack of photographs and memories remaining from the Sierra Nevada sojourn, I suppose I will start with a copy and paste from what I had originally written and then transition into something of a photo journal with some monologue and maybe poetry… Let’s see what comes together in the following Journey East entries…
Chapter 1
It felt like sliding into home plate. Except it wasn’t a game and it wasn’t fun. The sound of gravel tearing jeans and skin is what I meant. That’s the sound I hear in my head whenever I think back to early September, where I was at my last string of sanity. I told my manager I was to max out my vacation time, effective immediately.
I sat there in my dust, sorting things out until my trip to the Eastern Sierra a couple of weeks later. I’ll spare you the details.
Road trips, especially ones requiring lots of miles and lots of silence - that is what makes me happy. My truck is analog and loud and named Charlie. I Iike driving with my windows down and listening to the sounds Charlie makes.
In August 2019, I drove throughout British Columbia and down the west coast back to Santa Cruz, logging 5,000 miles in 30 days - but that was Loveless, not Charlie. I could have stayed out driving forever.
Why Loveless? Good question, thanks for asking.
I bought Charlie while I still had Loveless and realized Charlie got his name right away, but Loveless had been with me for almost 3 years and I never thought to give her a name…. Most of my other vehicles had names.
Maybe I didn’t appreciate Loveless as much because Loveless wasn’t unique in the way one might expect a car to be unique when thinking to name it - some objectively obvious character.
Loveless was a hybrid Kia SUV, silver. The only thing that made Loveless different from the sea of banal silvers was me I guess - there was a sub-amp behind the driver's seat, the worn tranny, and the occasional rooftop cargo of prone paddleboard. I didn’t feel any particular sadness as Loveless’ lease was approaching end. When I sold my last truck, Silver, I found her a good home. I suspect Charlie will also be found a good home, or more likely kept until he dies.
I had bought Charlie so I could learn to drive manual. Oh, and to save my own life. I have a habit of sliding cars on back mountain roads. Chances are, I would have taken a deer through the windshield, or involuntarily launched into a ravine.
