June 22, 2017

We awoke to the sound of….nothing. We could hear some traffic passing by on Highway 40, but our RV spot at the back corner of the park kept the majority of it at a distance. I grabbed Ginger’s leash and took her out for a morning stroll. By the time we got back, Chris was already making coffee. “How’d you sleep honey?” I asked. “Any crazy dreams?” Chris had a very active dream life. He traveled to all corners of the universe and saved all sorts of creatures, frequently waking up more tired than he was when he went to sleep. “Of course” he said. “Nikolas and I were in some big city. He was training me. We were jumping from stairs to buildings, like some crazy parkour class on steroids.”

We drank coffee and snacked on muffins I had bought at Natural Grocers while Ginger ate her breakfast. They were decent and probably “healthier,” certainly not big and fluffy and loaded with sugar and fat. Unfortunately. We had the RV packed up and ready to go within an hour. “It’s almost 9am babe. Time to hit the road!” Chris took a long drag on his Marlboro Red and popped open a Monster. We did our standard road check to make sure the lights and brakes were working and we were on our way.

“We have almost a half tank. Should we stop for fuel?” Chris asked. The only gas station in town was back to the left, the opposite direction of where we were headed. “That should be plenty. Let’s just get on our way” I said eagerly. As much energy as Chris has, he’s also always happy to take whatever time is necessary to make sure everything is properly prepared. Unlike me, who tends to get antsy. We turned right to head out of Maybell and on to Crystal Hot Springs, our destination for the night.

It was less than half a mile to the 318 turnoff and just a short drive after we passed a sign that changed everything:

We stared wide-eyed at each other. “That should be plenty” I said. “How many miles do we get on a tank of gas?” Calculations whirled through my mind. I was sure we had enough and voiced my confidence as always “I’m sure we’re good honey.” Chris looked left and right for a safe place to turn the trailer around, but the sign appeared just after the last plausible driveway where we might have accomplished that task.

I took a deep breath. My dad had warned us more than once not to venture down unknown roads without making sure there was a turnaround. But somehow I had envisioned those roads as small dusty off the road side circuses, like the one we lived on in Colorado – Estates Circle. Not a state highway. I figured we were good on a state highway.

Chris’ expression was less confident, but he hid his nervousness. We always had faith that we would be taken care of. We try not to be naive about it. But you could see the wheels turning in our heads. Had we just taken the right turn smack dab into the point of no return?

The scenery pulled us back into the moment. Incredible. What a view. We followed the Yampa River for a bit then crossed over a small bridge. Somehow I got more nervous as we veered north and watched the river disappear to our left. I didn’t have a map printed out for the day since we had decided not to take Highway 40, but I did have a roadmap and the brochure. I pulled out the roadmap only to realize it was a Colorado roadmap. I knew Highway 318 got us to the Northwest corner of the state. But neither the roadmap nor the brochure were very helpful in what to expect once we crossed the state line. Would we cross into Utah? Or Wyoming? I had the GPS route loaded on my phone so we could see the turn by turn directions, but I was afraid to start the navigation and lose a signal. I hadn’t thought to download them offline.

We crossed the Little Snake River and a sign for Sand Wash Basin. I knew Dinosaur National Monument was nearby, but neither of us were really in the mindset to see the sights. Vermillion Falls. Browns Park. I’d heard of Browns Park and always wanted to go. So here we were! “Gates of Lodore” … that sounded so ominous. I felt like we were in a Harry Potter or JRR Tolkien book. This was so surreal.

It only took about an hour to reach the state line. Colorado Highway 318 became Utah 1364.
Then the next sign came:

I suddenly became very aware of how roads are funded. State marketing agencies and highway funds only get you to the state line. But what do you do when you arrive in the next state? Apparently Utah hadn’t wanted or needed to turn this northeast corner of the state into a visitor destination the same way Colorado had. Without a road to turn around the huge beast of a vehicle, we had no choice but to continue on. And continue breathing.

The gravel road meandered through the desert sage. I could see a river to our left but I wasn’t sure what it was. We finally came close enough to it to see a sign. Green River. I asked Chris how much fuel we had. “About a quarter of a tank” came the response I expected but didn’t want to hear. In the middle of nowhere with no idea where the nearest town was, let alone the nearest gas station.

The gravel beneath our tires disappeared as we passed yet another sign:

Suddenly we were driving through a wide swath of desert. There were some rocks and sage brushes beneath us, but there were also plenty of tire marks to show that others had traveled this way before us. I wonder if they realized where they were going at the time.

Chris stopped the truck. “I need a smoke.” We both did. And who was going to question me smoking some marijuana here? We got out of the vehicle and stared around us. In every direction. As far as the eyes could see. There was nothing. No one. What had we done? How many warnings had our parents given us? What were we going to do? Should we turn around? “I bet we have enough room to turn around honey” I offered. “No way” he said. “We could get a flat tire, get stuck. There’s got to be something around here.”

The sign had said next services 68 miles so this had to connect with those services somewhere right? Or had there been a turn-off that we hadn’t noticed? I scanned the horizon wondering where those services might be. The valley disappeared with the river to our left and hills sat in front of us. I noticed something kicking up dust ahead from the hills. It was getting closer.

“Do you see that honey? Is there a road up in those hills there?” We got back in the truck and saw an old pickup truck emerge from the dust cloud. “Who could that be?” I asked. “What in the heck is someone doing out here?” The pickup truck stopped before it reached us and turned around. As it did, I noticed a grey collie in the back. With a small patch of black around its left eye and white flecks throughout the fur. The truck started to head back where it had come from. “Follow that truck” I said. “But not too close.”

We trudged forward about a half mile or so toward the hills in front of us and passed yet another sign:

We continued up the hill, but more slowly. I prayed. I doubt my prayers were very eloquent at the time, but I have spent a long time practicing prayer since then. In fact, it was my theme for 2019. In hindsight, this may have been a key event in my realization that I needed to improve my prayer practice. At the time I probably said something like “Holy $@*!” But at least I had learned to breathe by this time. That was my theme for 2018. It took me more than a year to learn to breathe. In fact I’m still learning. Still practicing. Still reminding myself to practice. Dr. Sue Morter has some wonderful practical techniques for breathing that I’m sure I was putting to good use in this moment.

If I could have put everything I was feeling into words, I would have prayed that we hadn’t made a mistake in coming this direction. Prayed that we’d find a safe way forward. Prayed for the land. The animals that once roamed here. The people who once lived here. Prayed for all beings to be connected and aware. Prayed that whatever might happen be in God’s highest alignment for the planet so that we all might experience true Heaven on Earth. There’s such a fine line between spontaneously embracing the moment and being ignorantly impulsive. Somewhere, the hills in front of us had become a mountain underneath us, turning switchback to switchback. And I kept praying. We climbed. And prayed. Hover over us Lord. Hover over us. That’s one of my favorites from Carolyn Myss. Whatever your will is, let it be my will. I surrender to You. I Believe in You. I wonder how many prayers God hears from people who are desperate for help. It must be deafening.

There seemed to be a dirt road below us. We had lost sight of the pickup truck, but continued climbing. We could still see the clouds of dust ahead of us. We turned around a large boulder and there in front of us was a semi-truck oil tanker. And three men having a chat over some very heavy equipment. They appeared to be laying oil or gas lines. I wasn’t sure. Thank goodness for oil and gas exploration! Who else would pay for these people to be in the middle of nowhere? We weren’t sure where the pickup had gone, but maybe these men could help us figure out how to get out of here.

If that semi-truck had made it here, we should be fine too. Right? We wondered what the men would think of us approaching their jobsite in an airstream. “A little off the beaten path today?” I could only imagine what they were thinking right now. Chris got out of the truck to have another smoke and approach them. “I’m going to ask them if there’s a gas station ahead. And if we can make it over this mountain.” I nodded and added “Ask them if they’ll sell us a gallon of diesel!”