“Do you want the bad news or the good news first?” asked Chris as he came back to the truck. “Honey at this point it’s all good news” I replied. The bad news was that they didn’t have any diesel. At least that they were willing to part with. The good news was that they knew where we could get some and it was somewhere over that mountain in front of us.

Chris turned the key in the ignition and reported out on our fuel status. “Quarter tank” was all he said. Surely that would be plenty. Right? I don’t believe in selfish prayers. How can we pray for our own benefit? How can we promise to do good by God only if God does right by us? And I don’t recall what method I tried to use to get around a selfish prayer in this case, but I did whatever I could think of. I prayed to the mountain we were crossing to be kind, to the Airstream to be light and flexible, to the tires to be durable, for the road to be smooth, for all travelers to be watched over and guided safely to their destinations. Matt Kahn is brilliant about turning selfish prayers into prayers to uplift the entire universe. Bless that little Buddha.

Every inch of progress we made was an eternity of awe and wonder.

Every mile of the mountain pass we climbed was dusty and red and desolate.
It was some time before I realized there were pipes rising out of the ground in rhythm along the highway. Vibrant yellow and white plastic. I wondered what they were carrying where. I act so high and mighty about oil and gas and yet we’re so dependent on them. Dependent on these pipes in the middle of the desert. Dependent on the liquid in our tanks. The lights in our house. Dependent on these holes we’re drilling into this magical Land we know nothing about.

Chris and I have a dream about living an off-grid sustainable life, but at this point it’s just that. A dream. Chris calls our current state of living an “on-demand” lifestyle. Instant access to water, electricity, specialty foods from the other side of the world, Internet, entertainment – anything we want, anytime we want, right at our fingertips. He’s right. As a society, we’ve become accustomed to instant gratification. It’s easy to take everything for granted.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the turn by turn directions. As we summited the mountain and started coming down the other side, I could see a dirt road veering long into the valley to the right. And it’s right where the directions were leading us. “Where did they say we could get gas?” I asked Chris.

“You mean fuel babe. It’s diesel. Not gas. And they said stay on this road til we get to the highway. Then take a left and stay on the highway for awhile and it will be on the left. Can’t miss it. So we’re not getting off this road.”

“Heard Chef!” I said loudly. It’s a leftover from our time working in the kitchen together. It’s how we respond when we know there’s no changing the other persons’ mind and they just need to know we’re on board. “Did they happen to tell you what it was called?” He shook his head no. “You’re just gonna have to trust me. Have faith in your partner.” Of course I did. He was my chariot driver.

We traveled in quiet anticipation as the dirt road turned into asphalt below our tires. Soon after, we were passing suburban outskirts of some unknown town. Trees rose along with large houses, hinting of an oasis nearby that might offer us a way out of the mess we had created for ourselves. We rolled slowly to the intersection of Highway 191 and took a left just as the men had instructed. There were beautiful canyons on this side of the mountain. Deep ravines with gorgeous trees around bends on a paved highway going to get fuel!
I wondered if Chris had promised to give up smoking if God saved him from this. I wondered if somewhere subconsciously I had promised the same thing about marijuana and alcohol and all of my “sins.” All I knew is that I was grateful beyond words when we finally arrived at Dutch John Resort at Flaming Gorge. It wasn’t our final destination for the journey, or even the night. But what an amazing milestone.

Chris looked for the diesel pump at the end of the row as usual when we finally arrived at this oasis in the desert. And there, like a trusted old friend, was the green plastic handle. He slowly and carefully pulled the truck and camper through so we could fill up the tank. He turned the key in the ignition to off and we sat there for a moment. Ginger had perked up. She was eager to relieve herself, the adventures of the day not having an impact on her bladder. We took a deep breath before getting out of the truck to let it all sink in. We felt so incredibly lucky to be here. To be alive. To be back on the map and connected to the rest of the universe. I decided that I needed to take notes. My dear chariot driver Chris had taken us on a definite detour this day. I had no idea why yet, but I thought it best to start writing things down.