A Process to Travel

In one of the rooms in my mind I have a large map. On it, the world's countries are each brightly colored and separated by a thin border line. Roads, rivers, mountain ranges and other geographic features transect these blocks of colors, connecting the oceans and continents over vast areas.

On this map I can draw lines between the places I have visited over the 26 years of my life. If these lines were drawn over a period of say 13 minutes, 30 seconds for each year, the last few minutes would be the most exciting. Suddenly the lines connecting the dots would fire across the map, from Montana to Montreal, from Beijing to Denver, from Lima to Miami and plenty more in between. In fact, the past week would only be a blur. Strangely enough, that is how it felt actually living it as well.

I took for granted the ease at which I could get to my car in Montana from Denver. After researching possible routes with travelers heading in that direction, I found that my time was a whole lot more valuable devoted to other things. This path required me to throw myself to the wind, essentially, taking rides when they came and waiting patiently when they were no where in sight. Not worth the time and energy for a few saved dollars.

So I opted for a tour of the west's major airports, an apt description of my flight itinerary. Denver to LAX to Salt Lake and finally to Missoula. This method of travel only requires that I remember to remove my knife from my purse, bring a good book and be prepared to run between distant terminals. The first of which I failed to do.

It was late and 20 degrees colder, but I was in Missoula. I pass a whole day running errands and catching up with friends when I find myself back in the familiar seat of my Forester for the return trip to Denver. Behind this wheel, ipod playing familiar tunes, foot on the gas, I feel more at home than anywhere in the world. For 14 hours, I just hang out at home. Scenes of highway travel drift by my windows. I am warm, the climate is pleasant and my mind spins with the excitement of being on another journey.

I spend at least 10-14 days a year unpacking and packing my belongings. The following day in Denver was one of these days. Each time I exchange t-shirts I've used for the past few weeks or months for new ones I have not seen since last season. Bins are emptied and filled again, each time a bit more organized than the last and, ideally, with a bit less stuff. Still, it seems a luxury when I do not have to fit it all in a Watershed Dry Bag and back pack. This time, I can take 2 Rubbermaid bins of clothes! Exciting!

While this day is spent mostly at my late grandmother's house, I still feel as though I am traveling. Really, it is only a brief lull in the forward progression, as I am back on the road less than 24 hours later for another long, 13 hour drive to Flagstaff, Arizona.


While each long drive I take-on provides new discoveries, this day's trip was especially exciting. The landscapes morphed from mountainous vistas to broad desert scenes the further south I moved. New Mexico and Arizona are new states for me, both showing me a new view of my home country unique to the southwest. Mile markers pass by and my imagination spirals into days of hiking through canyons.

I arrive exhausted, a sort of sitting-exhaustion. However, it is behind the wheel that I am sometimes able to clear my mind the most. Practicing yoga has infiltrated this time, giving me hours upon hours of meditation and introspection, often clarifying many of the current issues and problems I seek to resolve. I arrive full of drive, motivation and enthusiasm for the next great adventure.