Easterling

It's been about a month now since my epic journey Eastward.

What's that? WHAT journey Eastward, you ask?

My path laid itself out - not by itself, mind you, I made many decisions that set the road before me - and pointed toward the rising sun. Plans were set, arrangements made, reservations called in, and packing done. Oh, so much packing. I knew I didn't have very much, all things considered. (When I found myself suddenly homeless and single a year ago, I discovered I had pretty much no furniture at all.) But surprisingly, when I made the decision to take ALL my things with me, I discovered I had more than I remembered. I had received some wise advice to get the bigger size trailer, even if I thought I could make do with a smaller one... and thank goodness I had listened. The larger trailer was packed to the brim.

The plans had been laid out dependant on school acceptance. Then, when those narrowed down and pointed my feet to the lands beyond the mountains, they became refined based on seasons. I had originally planned on leaving around the New Year, to stay for the birth of my newest nephew, but the weather would almost certainly render travel over the mountains impossible with a trailer. After some consideration, a new date was set for mid-October.

I had compatriots, company to keep me sane on what would be no less than a 25-hour drive. drivers to switch me out and give me a shot at a mid-road nap. Distraction to keep me awake and lucid in the middle of the night. Shiko, for as well as she travels, isn't much of a conversationalist, and I was glad for the companionship.

It went a little like this.

A week prior to my departure date, I started training my replacement at work. I showed her everything I knew and hoped she would take good care of the business and its patients when I left. Still, even after a week of training, I felt a pang of guilt - I knew the system like the back of my hand. I had been there since the business opened. I was leaving it behind, and could only hope the new girl would take as much pride and care in her work as I did. Then, the morning of, I gassed up the car, picked up the trailer, and set to packing. I had help from some very experienced packers; my folks have moved so many times they're masters at Box-Tetris. Then, collecting the cat as the last step, I cast a tearful wave goodbye as I climbed the driveway one last time.

I had a long drive alone to Sacramento. It was largely uneventful, and I found the countryside strangely hospitable. It was a shock to see how much of Clearlake had been recently burned, and a strange pang hit me at how much of the town I recognized. Old memories, there. I made it past the mountians by nightfall, and wandered into Sacramento proper.

And came to hate the city with a fiery, burning passion.

You see, there's a Hwy 80, and then there's a Hwy 80 Business. But Hwy 80 Business is also Hwy 99, but they don't SAY that on the sign, and... well... I got horrendously lost. With a trailer. After nearly eight hours in a car. With an exhausted cat. I stopped to ask for directions to Hwy 80 Business from a gas station, and he had no clue how to get there. How the heck do you live in a city and not know how to get to the freeways? I shook my head, tried to follow the directions of the nice biker, wound up further lost, stopped at yet ANOTHER gas station, asked for directions there, and she had trouble figuring out where the heck to send me. Not because she didn't know the roads, but because the roads are damn confusing and she didn't want to send me to Reno by accident.

Eventually I found my way to where I was supposed to stay. I managed to scrape the top of the trailer on an underhang, and that was basically the last straw. I despise being lost, particularly when I'm already tired and cranky, and on top of that every extra mile was more gas money wasted on a tight budget. I was two steps away from screaming, and then I hit the underside of the building with the trailer, scratching it. I railed against my stupidity and raged ineffectually in the dark, before collecting myself finally and finding a place to park. After that, I honestly was not surprised by the urine-covered elevator floor, the hideously stained carpet, the enormous burn-stains in the bedcover. It was a place to sleep. It would have to be enough.

I woke the next morning and left quickly, stopping by the airport to pick up my travel companions. From there, ecstatic to finally see them and know I would no longer be alone, we struck out Eastward. (With a quick stop at In-N-Out, of course.)

The day was long, and the road varied. We had many mountains to cross, an we wound our way through the passes to the everlasting flatness of Nevada. We joked and laughed, debated and discussed, traded stories and caught up as we trekked across the endless expanse. Night fell and we crossed into Utah, and I was struck suddenly by the fact that I had never driven so far Eastward before. Flown, sure, but never driven. It looked like the day would pass uneventfully.

But, like the night before, the dark seemed to bring misfortune with it. Shortly before we reached Salt Lake City, my relief driver found himself needing to quickly sidestep a sizeable hunk of deer carcass. He avoided it neatly with expert timing... only to find himself faced with an impossible task of avoiding the other half of the deer. There was nowhere to go, no way of dodging it this time - not with a heavy trailer. With a sickening crunch-clunk, we straddled it as best we were able. By the time we reached the hotel afterwards,the shock had mostly worn off, but a quick cursory inspection showed us that the deer had left a reminder of the encounter,with blood and fur and worse splattered up the front of the trailer and the back of the car. Thankfully, this hotel was considerably better and we slept well enough to counter the day's excitement.

The morning came, and we headed out early to try for Colorado by nightfall. Utah came and went with little to note, and then Wyoming. I was unprepared for the enormous vastness of it all, the sheer expanse. The horizon just seemed to keep going in all directions, and I suddenly found myself thinking of the old Wild West and those who attempted to tame it. How lost they could become, and how easily. But soon it grew tedious, and I was all the more thankful for the presence of my compatriots.

Miles stretched ever onward, and I found myself quite restless by the time the sun sank to the horizon. It was just after sunset when we hit Colorado, and it was actually a reasonable time of night when we arrived at our destination. The relief was palpable. Exhausted, we left the unloading for the next day.

I've always fancied myself a child of the West. I've lived there all my life. No place I've ever called home was terribly far from the ocean. But now, perhaps, I know that I was a child of the New West. The West Coast was settled in the latter part of the movement West, and here in the sight of the Rockies... here is the Old West. Sure, I'm East of everything I've ever really known. But does that make me an Easterling? Or still one of the Men of the West?

I think it's the latter.

With that, I set about becoming a new resident of Denver.