The One with All the Weather

In August of 2007, I set out on a journey with my daughter Bridgete from Portland, Oregon to Boston, Massachusetts where she was about to start law school.  Now, nearly 8 years later, I set out on my own journey to reconnect with her, to start over while still young enough to do so, to find out if I can finally shed the things that are not mine and do not suit me and discover the real person inside.  This is a brief telling of that journey, so far.

4/25/2015 Boston Massachusetts (technically Haverhill because we can’t move into our apartment until May 1^st. )

The past two weeks have been filled with up and downs, endings and beginnings, entrances and exits. As one more skillful than I once said, “It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times.” There have been surprises and disappointments too numerous to count.  Herein is the story of those that have stayed with me.

The expotition began on a Monday morning.  The week leading up to my departure had been filled with seeing my beloved friends One More Time before I would be gone for who knows how long.  I slept in a bit later than I wanted too, but I was still on the road and on my way in plenty of time to meet my dinner date in Boise that night. It was a beautiful spring day, bright and beautiful and full of the promise of new beginnings.

I encountered my first “Road Work Ahead” sign just outside of Portland in Troutdale.  Having made this trip before, I was prepared and allowed time for the inevitable construction that would exist between Oregon and Massachusetts.  All in all, it was an uneventful drive.  Just before crossing the Oregon/Idaho border, the truck beeped at me that I had 47 miles before my gas tank would be on E.  The next stations was about 5 miles away, so I pulled off, fueled up, realized I might not make my dinner date and called her to rearrange for breakfast the following day. 

I arrived in Boise around 6:30, checked in to my hotel and walked to a nearby restaurant for dinner.   Back at the hotel I checked my email and posted on Facebook for friends and family who would be watching my journey via my postings.

Day 2 dawned a bit cooler, but still sunny.  Breakfast with my friend and her step-daughter was lovely. The one thing I have loved about the internet is the opportunity to meet and befriend so many people from so many places.  This trip was a chance for me to meet some of them in real life and to bond with them even deeper. Before long I was back on the road headed to Salt Lake City and an overnight stay with another friend. Or so I thought. 

Not far out of Boise, storm clouds began to gather and a mixture of rain and snow began to dot the windshield.  It was mostly wet and not sticking to the road, so I slowed down a bit and kept moving forward.  As I turned south toward Utah, the rain and snow stopped; but wind and dust soon took its place.  My windshield was dotted with little red-brown pellets of dust and the gusts of wind buffeting my 17 foot U-Haul had me gripping the steering wheel tightly.  As the dust got heavier, I hit my windshield washer only to discover that the reservoir was dry.  I slowed to a crawl and made my way to an exit where I was able to clean the windshield and purchase some washer fluid to fill up. The wind was blowing steadily, pulling my door open and blowing dust into the cab of the truck.  The dust would stay with me for the rest of my journey; but for now, I could see again. 

As I entered Ogden, I was getting tired from fighting the wind gusts and it looked like bad weather was ahead.  I called ahead to my hostess and she told me that she had no snow, but some wind and she was only another hour away.  So back into the driver’s seat I went.

It took me two more hours to push through the traffic, snow, and wind to her home.  The wind was a sustained 65 mph with gust of much greater than that.  I was tired and hungry, but I was safe.  My hostess fed me and gave me a comfortable bed for the night, for which I was very grateful.  As a bonus, I got to read with her children, something I have not been able to do for some time.

Wednesday, I woke to find a light dusting of snow on the ground.  My dreams of a warm, spring drive through some of our most beautiful landscapes was quickly looking like a fantasy.  After one of the mildest winters on record, the western states seemed to be determined to make up for it in one day.  My goal for day three was Cheyenne Wyoming.  I wanted to be over the Rockies, across the Continental Divide and headed east; but weather would again be my nemesis. 

The drive through Salt Lake City to Interstate 80 was slow; and once I headed east, it was clear that snow would be my companion.  It was wet stuff and not sticking, so I took it easy; gave other drivers plenty of room and kept going.  Just outside of Laramie, I stopped for gas.  Once I was back on the freeway, traffic quickly came to a grinding halt.  For the next three hours, I sat in the cab of my truck surrounded by semi-trucks; 2 in front of me, 1 to my left and 2 behind me.  The snow was falling steadily and the wind was blowing it about in near whiteout conditions.  Nearly 8000 feet above sea level, I didn’t expect things would change quickly.  I turned the engine off and on approximately every 30 minutes to keep warm.  I got a text from friend back home around hour 2 – to which I replied that I expected to die on the road – from cold or hunger or both.   Just after sunset, we started to move….very slowly.  45 minutes to go 8 miles where the freeway was now closed between Laramie and Cheyenne.  I would be spending the night in Laramie.  It was too late to cancel my reservation in Cheyenne, so I was out that money, as well as having to find a room along with hundreds of other stranded drivers. 

I was able to find a place with a room, but there was no restaurant nearby.  No matter.  I had some peanut butter, bread, and fruit in my truck.  I dug my nearly empty bottle of whiskey out of the truck and settled in for the night.

The following morning found me still stranded.  The freeway had been opened, but the flurry of travelers trying to get out caused a 47 car pile-up of cars and trucks.  Predictions of bad weather were now forecast to last through Friday morning so all routes, in all directions were closed. 

I had plans for the weekend to be with some dear friends in the Minneapolis area.  Clearly, I wasn’t going to make it there on Friday, and if this weather was as bad as they were predicting, I wasn’t going to make it there at all.  I settled in for a quiet day and accepted the chance to reboot.  The past couple of days had been tiring, so it wasn’t all bad.  I had internet access and was able to watch some things on Netflix.  I sorted through my clothes and tried to consolidate what I’d need for the journey into a couple of backpacks so I wouldn’t have to dig in the back of the truck at every stop.  I ordered some pizza and just let the day unwind.

Friday was as bad as predicted.  I-80 was closed due to visibility and black ice.  Roads to Denver were closed because the weather was pounding down on them now; and on the national scene, bad weather with possible tornadoes was headed to the Midwest.  I checked on the road conditions every hour up until check out time at Noon.  I was going nowhere today and Saturday now looked iffy.  If this kept up, I might not make it to Massachusetts before my truck rental due date!

At some point, I became very disheartened and started crying.  What had started out so well was suddenly looking very dismal and scary.  Always one to look for signs and portents, I felt this was a very bad sign for my future prospects of happiness and prosperity.  After I cried myself to sleep and took a little nap, I did feel better.  The snow was showing signs of melting and the forecast was improving.  I had hopes of escaping winter in the morning.As I expected, somewhere around 11 PM, the freeway was opened.  I went to bed that night sure that I would be back on the road on Saturday. 

The morning was quite snowy.  All the tracks in the parking lot had filled in and it was still coming down.  A check of the road conditions showed that the freeway east was closed again.  Determined not to lose hope, I checked every hour until at last – 11:07AM – the road east was open!  All of us were quickly checking out, tossing our luggage in our vehicles and heading east.  It was slow, but steady progress down the mountain and within two hours, Wyoming was in my rearview mirror and the flat, low, plains of Nebraska were in front of me.  I was jubilant.  I drove until I couldn’t drive anymore.  I didn’t even care that I had to walk across the highway to a Subway for dinner.  It wasn’t peanut butter and it wasn’t snowing.  Besides, in my haste to leave Laramie, I had left my food basket behind.  Well…maybe the hotel would send it on for me.

I sat in the hotel room and watched a gathering storm.  Magnificent clouds and awe inspiring lightning storms were my entertainment that night.  I slept soundly and woke early.  The freeway traffic was light on that Sunday morning.  The threat of more storms seemed to keep most people at home.  I sailed through Nebraska and into Iowa.  Looking over my maps, I had decided that since my trip northward was not possible, I would head for the birthplace of my great-great-grandfather and my great-grandfather, Centerville, Iowa. 

Traveling the scenic highways of Iowa felt like driving down the fertile valleys of my home state, Oregon.  The rolling fields, the oak trees, the farmhouses all felt very familiar, very comforting and very welcome.  As I approached Centerville, a massive black cloud was in front of me.  I had never seen anything so huge!  At first, I thought it was a mountain or a river. Then suddenly, it lit up with flashes of lightening and roars of thunder and I realized it was a cloud!  It must have been 15 miles across and it was moving so fast.  Before I knew it, I was under it and lightening was flashing all around me.  I pulled into the first hotel I found on the highway.  It was a small, family owned, motor hotel that seemed to have been lifted right out of the middle of the 20^th century.  Kids were splashing in the indoor pool.  2 or 3 families seemed to be living there.   I asked about restaurants in the area.  It being Sunday afternoon, all of them were now closed.  There was a liquor store just down the street (open) and a restaurant in town that would deliver.  Anything but sandwiches and pizza sounded good to me.  I walked in the rainstorm to the liquor store and found a bottle of Columbia Valley Cabernet.   On my way back I glanced down a side street and saw a cemetery.  How amazing would that be if this was where my family was buried?  A quick check of Google back in the hotel confirmed that it was indeed that cemetery.  I’d have to look in the morning.  The rain was coming down a bit hard for grave hunting just now.

I took a shower and called the restaurant for delivery.   A steak dinner with all the fixings for 17.00; hard to top that!  The steak arrived and it was the most glorious thing I’d seen in days.  Then I cut into it, with a plastic knife, and it was fantastic.  The most tender, most flavorful, juiciest steak I’ve ever had…at any price.  The wine, the food, the potential for family findings, Centerville was truly a place I was meant to be.

After my first week of travel, I had found myself returning to the place where part of my roots, my mother’s family, had journeyed from – going west.  And I would be entering the land of my father, Indiana, the next day.  This trip was about more than starting over for me.  It was about finding my roots, trusting my heart, taking risks and learning that I was a good deal stronger and smarter than I had let myself believe.  It was about going home, the home of my heart, and finding that which had eluded me for so long.  Love.

When I woke the next morning, it was with a renewed commitment to myself and my daughter.  As I walked among the graves, searching for the one that would say SPOONER, I looked out over the valley and thought about what my forefathers would have thought about the world as it is now.  Internet and instant news feed.  Travel in automobiles, trains, airplanes, into outer space.  The simple quiet of an Iowa cemetery came over me and for a moment – time was of no consequence – I looked down at my feet and there was the name I had been seeking.  Spooner.  Lemuel L.  I knew that he had died in the Civil War – uncle to my grandfather Franklin Edward Spooner.  There were other graves around me – all Spooners – but the names and dates were gone – erased by wind and snow, broken by time and vandalism.  Yet they were here and so was I.  Suddenly, off to my right, a robin landed on a gravestone and cocked her head at me.  My beloved Aunt Dorothy always said that when she saw a robin, she knew it was her mother – Allie Spooner.  So here was Allie, watching me pay my respects to her grandfather and uncles and aunts.  She gave a chirp and flew off.  That moment will be with me forever.

My second Monday was not as warm and springlike as my first, but it was sunny and the travel down to Missouri, across the Mississippi River to Illinois, and on in to Indiana filled me with great hope.  I was back on track, back on schedule, back home in Indiana. 
Until….I got a little off track and took a highway that was indicated on my map as being a pretty straight shot to where I was headed – Bloomington…home of Indiana University and another  meet up in real life of an internet friend.  Straight shot my eye!  That road had more hairpin, 15 MPH turns than I’ve seen in a long time.  Narrow and winding...good thing it wasn’t rush hour because I wasn’t rushing through any of that.  Fortunately I never had another car coming at me as I guided my foot truck around those turns.  Just as I emerged at the end of this twisting nightmare; a semi-truck with trailer was starting down the same road in the opposite direction.  Good luck, buddy.   

                                                                                                                     

Tuesday morning was crisp and cool, but the sun was shining.  A welcome respite from all the gloomy clouds I’d been seeing.  I was picked up at my hotel and taken to breakfast at a lovely spot in downtown Bloomington by my friend.  She was exactly as I pictured her and we had a splendid breakfast and then she gave me a tour of the campus and town.  The drive to Columbus Ohio was delightfully non-eventful, well, except for the potholes.  I’ve travelled a lot of roads by now in a lot of places and I’ve yet to encounter roads as terrible as the ones in Indiana.  Holes you could drive a truck through – and I did.  My bones were rattled and I can only hope that my china, my wine, and my grandmother’s portrait had survived. I reached my destination for the night – the home of yet another friend – and was welcomed in with open arms.  Dinner was wonderful.  Conversation was delightful.  Bed was warm and comfortable.  It was a perfect respite.  If only I had known what lie ahead, I might have stayed.

Wednesday saw me heading into upstate New York.  My goal was Rochester because I wanted to visit the Susan B. Anthony house and stop by Seneca Falls on my way toward Massachusetts the next day.   Ohio and Pennsylvania were fine, but as I headed toward Buffalo, the weather started turning nasty again.  Mostly just wind and rain, but there was a chill in the air that gave me pause. Snow was in the forecast, but mostly for lower New York.  Fingers crossed, I reached Rochester in good time and HALLELUJAH there was a restaurant next door to the hotel.  I enjoyed my meal that wasn’t takeout and wasn’t pizza and retired to my room for a bit of computer and television time. 

Thursday morning found me once again in snow.  Now granted, this wasn’t the close the freeway kind of snow I had seen in Wyoming, but still!  It was nearly the end of April and I wanted spring dammit! I pulled on my boots and layered up my sweaters, and hit the road.  It was slow going through the mountains, but eventually, I was turning on to the Mass Pike.  I was in Massachusetts and my daughter was only hours away now. 

As if to underscore my joy, the clouds parted and the sun shone down on me.  I was going to make it.  Alive.  Whole.  Intact.  I felt like a pioneer – except that I had gone east – not west.  Still…I had done it.  On my own with no one beside me.

I got to my daughter’s house before anyone had gotten home from work.  I would be waiting for a bit – so I started reflecting on the journey behind me and the one in front of me.  While I would have some time to celebrate my achievements, there were new challenges just ahead of me waiting for me to take them on.  

Two robins flew down in front of the truck as I sat there.  Signs of spring and reminders of my grandmother and aunt; and I knew what this had all been leading up to.  Life really is about the journey.  It is about the roads we take and the ones we don’t.  Sometimes the road is smooth and untroubled.  Sometimes we are detoured around roads that are unfit to travel.  Ultimately, the roads we travel are exactly the ones we need to travel; to find our strengths and weaknesses, to meet our challenges, whatever they may be.  None of us travel the same road for the entire journey even when it seems that we are sharing the road for very long distances. There are always going to be destinations and challenges. There will always be road work and potholes, wind and dust and snow.  I will always be leaving something or someone behind.  I will always be meeting a new life or a new love.  But as long as I am present to the now – embracing the moment and seeing the beauty and splendor and glory that is in that moment – there will be no failure, no loss, no regret.  There will only be now.  There can only be now. 

As I stepped out of the truck and walked around to retrieve my luggage from the passenger seat, I looked down at my feet, and there was a penny on the ground.  My siblings will know what that penny meant to me.  I murmured a thank you to the universe and picked it up.  I’m exactly where I should be, where I am meant to be; doing exactly what I must do.  And I’ll be just fine.

So I leave you now…and move on to the next big thing, the next great adventure, the next expotition.  I just hope there’s better weather on the next one. ;)

Postscript – we have moved into our apartment and begun unpacking.  As I write this, I’m waiting for the installer who will, finally, hook me up to the internet again.  It’s been a long time in the desert of no information, no email, no television, none of the things we have become so dependent on.  The wine survived as did Grandma Spooner’s portrait; but the china had a minor tragedy.  After surviving as many years as I have been around, countless holiday dinners and celebrations, several moves, packings and unpackings, we lost 3 soup bowls.  It was a minor loss, to be sure.  Soon, we’ll have a dinner party and let the rest of the 12 place settings out of the box and open that bottle of well chilled sparkling Pinot Noir.  I’ll raise a glass to all of you, my friends and loved ones.