My Oregon Trail - Multiple Day Trip

A Departure

A journey through Colorado, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. 2/25/24-3/1/24

The Impetus

I hit a five year low. My depression that had previously been kept at bay was winning. All self-esteem had been replaced with self-loathing. I was on the fringe of going over the line of self-destruction that I had been toeing. I had been overindulging in media, comfort food, and laziness. My general routine had been reduced to two good hours of productivity in my life followed by checking out of it. The couch had contoured to enclose me and the blanket of misery was tightly wrapped. This surrender opened the path to fear. This isn’t a story of overcoming and being victorious in my battle of will. This is a story about trying. Before heading out I decided because I couldn’t find happiness, I would not impede others search for it.

I had been binging on travel programs and blogs for months, maybe years. I was trying to crack the code of creating perfect itineraries, packing lists, vehicles, and modes of travel. I was trying to game the system. I was filling my head with unrealistic scenarios and creating a perfect state that was completely unachievable. I had consumed so much information I became paralyzed. I created so many measures that I could never achieve a modicum of satisfaction from my pursuits. Media had dirtied my lens of world and what is worse is that I believed it. This was the spiral that sent me asunder. I was on the verge of turning back to the bottle to obliterate my feelings, and consciousness. I was almost willing to go down the rabbit hole of annihilation for the magical thirty minutes of bliss and euphoria before the self-hate arc would start to climb. I was fantasizing about my chemical lobotomy when I realized that there is a difference between darkness and absolute black. I didn’t want to go back into the blackness. It had taken me years to find a path through it and I honestly don’t think I have the fortitude or resolve to undertake another journey of that magnitude.

In the past I travelled to get away from problems or to engage in a romantic notion of being able to talk about how I was such a wheel-heeled traveler. I was that “you’ve never been,” asshole at the party that used their worldliness as a social currency and status uplift when in all honesty it was to camouflage my shortcomings, feelings of inadequacy, and fears.

This time was different. I was going out into the world attempting to gain some footing and distance from my problems so I could look at them with an uncluttered mind. I only had to think about my basic needs and I hoped that this would help get my head out of the morass. I just needed a little room to breathe.

Preparation

I had made a loose route on where I wanted to go. It principally relied on using the interstate minimally. I needed to slow down the frenetic paces I set in the past and attempt to enjoy myself. I wanted to see the world as it is not as the media and others portrayed it. I had to be self-respecting enough to form my own conclusions and opinions. This trip was to be about awakening. With the loose route in mind, I got the required maintenance done on the truck and did a clean out and assessment of equipment and clothing I would need. The fearful self made a complete inventory with dollar value in case I would get carjacked or experience a total loss of some sort so that I could make an insurance claim if need be. I would be travelling through mountains and desert in late winter, and I would be doing it solo.

Departure

Home to Amarillo, TX

I left before dawn and descended the mountain. To gain ground I decided it was best to take the interstate until I got to a point less familiar where I could veer off and begin taking US routes. I drove I-25 south to Pueblo, CO and picked up US50 that would then take me to Lamar, CO. In Pueblo I stopped and fueled up at a Love’s Travel Center and had a potato, egg, and cheese taco. It was the best decision I could make foodwise as I was trying to be more conscious of my diet and I had a romantic notion of eating at small independent restaurants. To no avail I failed at this condition out of the gate. This leg of the journey was unremarkable to me. I was still in the mode of gaining ground. I had done some research of the route to Amarillo, and I came across an article by Atlas Obscura that defined the Loneliest Roads in America by state. I had the romantic notion of getting to this point where I could settle in and enjoy the desolation. Pueblo to Lamar proved to be a bit of a blur. A couple of cattle stations that I passed made me rethink my position on eating mass produced beef and the smell permeated the truck. The cabin air filter just couldn’t handle the depth of it. I had to stew in that smell all the way to Amarillo.

In Lamar I stopped at another Love’s gas station to top off the tank and see if I could find anything healthier to eat since the breakfast taco had worn off. I realized during my depression I had been eating my feelings and when I am bored, or fearful since the depression continues, I am still in that mode. I decided to forgo food as long as possible as an attempt to start breaking this programming.

Highway 385, “the loneliest road in Colorado” proved to be a disappointment. I always had another vehicle in sight and typically it was a tractor trailer. The high plains had taken hold of the landscape and there would be gentle undulations of the land across a treeless scape. The route had abandoned homesteads and farms spread across it that I should have investigated and made note of, but I was literally being driven by fear at this point. I needed to make time and I was self-conscious of pulling off and abandoning my vehicle, my cocoon against the world. My pace would slow to a crawl as my route traversed through small towns. My heart wanted to pullover but my need to move was indignant that I push on. Every small town I went through began to have the same feeling as I saw business after business had been boarded up or was in decline. The small-town vibrancy I had experienced in my past travels had been sucked out. We are in an economic decline. I had wanted to stop and have a country café style breakfast but typically the only business open was gas stations.

Crossing over into Oklahoma the landscape changed, it became greener and quieter. The traffic had lessened and I inadvertently deviated from my US 385 route and was funneled onto 287 at Boise City, OK. The great flattening had begun, and the cattle stations continued. The landscape reminded me of the rural drives I had done all over the upper Midwest. The land felt the same here, carved up, manicured to fit our needs. My manic need to gain ground subsided as the need to eat rose. This section of Oklahoma is referred to as No Man’s Land according to a package of beef jerky I picked up.

I stopped in Stafford, TX needing a break. The Pilot service station had me encounter the same situation of trying to find the best of poor food choices. I settled on a literal cup of hardboiled eggs for lunch. I told myself it is about sustenance and not filling a void and I was well turned off of beef at this point. After the quick break where I wolfed down hard boiled eggs in my truck I turned my sites on Amarillo. I was feeling defeated at this point. Americana had not opened itself up to me like I had hoped and I realized that is me problem. The cattle stations and struggling small towns had amplified my baseline negative state. I told myself I just need to keep trying to find the value in my surroundings. Invoke a state of positive thinking in order to offset the current negative and maybe I would come up even. Well that didn’t work.

I came into Amarillo from the north on 87/287. This route sent me through an industrial district and into an impoverished part of town. The state of the neighborhood was an indicator that the residents in this neighborhood were struggling. This neighborhood emptied into the downtown area that was a complete ghost town even for a Sunday. My own fear was manifesting. I decided my exploring was over and headed to my hotel.

I stepped out of the truck to be greeted by the wafting aroma of the cattle stations that dot the area. The shit is gonna find me wherever I go. The hotel was tucked into the back corner of a series of parking lots next to a shuttered cinema.

I checked into the Holiday Inn Amarillo West Medical Center, room 246. I had decided prior to my departure that I would not turn this trip into a luxurious humble brag event. It was to be a journey of finding. Henceforth my meals and accommodations would be basic and safe. I had grown exhausted by all the luxury stays and outlandish meals I have seen on travel shows and while those things are nice and enjoyable occasionally it is not fiscally sustainable or responsible for me to endeavor everyday be an exultation of my specialness. Travel in of itself is a luxury endeavor. Pushing it beyond the basics for me was playing into the hands of consumerism and false narrative that had in part edged me into my depression.

I was exhausted once I got into my room, I thought of skipping dinner and just going to sleep. I knew however I would only muster 2 hours of sleep then be awake all night if I gave in now. I had to eat a proper meal. I did not want to get back into the truck so I decided whatever I ate would have to be within walking distance. The parking lot oasis that I had planted myself in was dotted with franchise restaurants ranging from chicken strips to steak. On the cusp of parking lot land was Lin’s Grand Buffet that seemed to attract the greatest number of cars. Having sworn off Chinese buffets years ago it was with trepidation that I go there. I entered the double doors and fell into line to enter the wonderland of Lin’s culinary delights. The mood was, pause, happy. It wasn’t the cattle call of oversized people lining up to feed their feelings like me. It was a wonderful diverse mix of people having Sunday outings, birthday parties, and family get togethers. Having lived on the side of the mountain in a predominantly white area for the past few years, the diversity was welcome and heartwarming. Everyone coming together for a meal and brevity. I realized I had hidden away in routine for too long.

I paid who assumed was Mr. Lin my entrance fee to the culinary carnival and was shortly escorted to my seat. I was starving at this point having only eaten 700 of my typical 2300 calories.  I told myself all you can eat wasn’t a challenge and ventured forth to eat vegetables and protein beyond beef. I put a modest amount of chicken, broccoli, and shrimp on my plate. Back at the table I tucked in and found the food to be highly mediocre but for $15.59 that was expected. I ate as slow as I could and took in the environment of happy people enjoying themselves. It was in all this happiness I felt alone. Really alone. My wife was in Tennessee for work, my dogs at home with the sitter and I was in Mr. Lin’s crowded restaurant sitting at a table for four by myself.

I failed at this point. I went and piled another plate with jeweled fried rice, General Tso’s chicken, cream cheese filled wontons, eggrolls, and fried fish. It was halfway through this second meal I felt disgusted with myself and got up and left. On the trek back through blacktop wasteland I phoned my wife and started to feel less alone as we chatted.

Back in my room I showered and unpacked and repacked my clothes and gear in my own neurotic fashion and decided 7:30 central standard time was a fine time to try and go to bed. Sleep didn’t come easy as every itch from dry skin manifested into bed bugs biting at me. Thanks travel bloggers for planting that fear in my subconscious so that it manifests on the edge of sleep. After hours of tossing and turning sleep took hold.

Amarillo, TX to Las Cruces, NM

3AM had me rousted. The hour where nothing is going on the hour I had typically closed out a bar and tried to find my way home. The hour that was only 3 hours from where I needed to wake up and function at a soul crushing job that did things to the world I hated like fill it with junk mail. I laid in bed for an hour reminiscing about where 3am used to find me. Knowing anymore sleep couldn’t be had I packed and was out of the hotel by 4:45am. Driving south on Texas 2590 I was granted my first gift. An illuminated Toot n Totum shining like a beacon in the night. I pulled in and refueled the truck. Something had awoken in me. That glimpse of courage to take a photo. To force my resisting hand to move and grasp the opportunity. I needed to shake off the day before where I had made excuses to hide the fact I was self-conscious and fearful to exit the truck or look out of place. I needed to break free from the trap I caught myself in. With an image under my belt I moved on into the night.

Escaping the cattle stations and smells I crossed into New Mexico at Farwell. The sun hadn’t risen at this point but there was brightness entering New Mexico. There was a defiance to the norm here.

Roswell is somewhere I had to at least take note of while passing through New Mexico. It had hit 7 am by the time I pulled into town and I was hungry. I drove the stretch of main street back and forth looking for anything resembling sustenance besides fast food. Instead I was greeted by aliens. I haven’t been living in a vacuum so I had a basic knowledge of Roswell’s affinity for the green men but they were everywhere. The green men were so prolific I believe that there must be a town ordinance to uphold a mandatory minimum and code enforcement on color and type. I wondered what the locals thought of living with all of this kitsch or if it was just an accepted mascot. To no avail I couldn’t find a decent breakfast so I succumbed to the last Burger King on the way out of town. A stale croissant and burnt hashbrowns rounded out my morning meal before stopping to refuel and gather up some snacks to lessen my food anxiety. Travelling along US 70 I began to find my feet. I was no longer passing opportunities to record my surroundings and I felt like I was succeeding in what I set out to do. I was finally getting out of myself and into the experience and the environment. I was also closing in on White Sands, a place that had become part of mythos. A quick stop at the Tularosa Travel Center yielded me a burrito that I put aside and I would later find to become indispensable. I stopped for a few more photographic opportunities on the way into Alamogordo with the obligatory stop at Pistachioland. I loaded up on pistachios for my wife, who is a fanatic, and tried to keep my speed at the limit while my excitement grew for White Sands National Park.

I arrived at 11am and began my hike on the Alkali Flats Trail.  I was mesmerized by the starkness. People looked like ants crawling up and down the dunes. White Sands quickly became the second place I would want my ashes scattered. The first being Sequoia National Park along the avenue of giants. There are few places that affect me so deeply. The Dunes at White Sands is one of them. The ever-changing environment and its purity in form touched me. It was at mile three of the hike that wind started to pick up and the fine particles started clouding the air. By mile four I couldn’t delineate the sky from the dune. The gusts had become more sustained, and the wind was blasting me with sand. I couldn’t see the next trail marker, so I decided it best to turn around and retrace my steps. I was still smitten and maybe even more so as it felt the dunes were swallowing me up and forcing me to concentrate on finding my way out. Part of me wanted to surrender and become engulfed by the dunes. That was the depression trying to disappear me. Admittedly there were a few moments of panic when I couldn’t source a marker but it seemed there was always one on the next rise. I clambered my over the last rise and saw the parking lot. I felt alive, elated. It was a personal triumph to persevere and not give in. Back at the truck all mobile signal was lost as I tried to call my wife and recant what I had just experienced. I was feeling happiness, the first time in a long time. Even though I couldn’t connect with her I had the company of my indispensable burrito. Having been through an emotional and physical rollercoaster I was starving. It was one of those things that was so good I couldn’t help but devour it.

The rest of the drive into Las Cruces went smoothly. I was still high on my White Sands experience. A quick check in to room 309 at the Holiday Inn Express off South Valley Road where I did a quick room dump while trying to figure out dinner. After an hour of hemming and hawing over my nearby choices I decide to just hit Albertson’s market pick up a salad and chicken and head back to my room. A hot shower stung my legs where the sand had blasted the skin raw and I retired for the night.

Day two in Las Cruces I had been able to get caught up on my sleep and decided to transcribe some of my notes of the journey to date. I played my OCD unpack and packing game then headed out to take a look around. I went to the revitalized main street and took in their art museum in less than 15 minutes and strolled the strip for another twenty. The amount of security guards everywhere was a little off putting but I guess that’s the way it has to be when there are so many desperate people in the world now. I was able to get a couple of photos before I hopped back in the truck and cruised the town some more. I ended up in the old part of town with its low slung houses made with adobe and resplendent with walls and bars on and around everything. I never felt unsafe but I felt I needed to be aware. It was pretty typical to see vehicles with missing or smashed out windows . The micro fortresses reminded me of my parents and how they had barricaded themselves into their home, fearing the world.

After grabbing some cash and mailing off a postcard I headed back to the hotel to figure out my next dining destination. I parked the truck and walked over to Chilitos Restaurant where I was served the largest gorditas I have ever seen. The food quality was good and clean. It was what I needed and would become the highlight meal of the trip with the exception of the indispensable burrito. I haven’t had the best luck sourcing a wholesome meal. The gorditas were a simple affair of seasoned ground beef stuffed into an amazing handmade corn tortilla. The toppings were simple American style taco toppings; lettuce, tomato, and cheese but that did not detract from the beautiful simplicity. I did not even try to attempt finishing the meal knowing full well this would be dinner as well.

At this point I became torn between getting back home and continuing on.  We were supposed to be getting some snow at the house that could always be substantial this time of year locking up the road in and out of our place. I think I was just using the weather as an excuse cut the trip short. I could make it home from Las Cruces in a day if need be, but the next leg will involve at minimum an overnight to return.

I decided I needed to push through my discomfort and continue on. This time of year was probably the most comfortable it will be in the Southwest for a while and I need to take advantage of it. I’m headed to see the saguaros next and stay in Maricopa, AZ

Leaving Las Cruces

The morning load up set a bad mood for the day. While I was packing the truck and readying for departure I got approached by a young guy that had been milling around the parking lot. At first I thought he was just someone trying to check in ridiculously early until I noticed he was trying to go unnoticed and be casual. He dropped his duffle by the hotel entrance and decided to approach me. I was blocked in between a van and my open truck door that could have been easily slammed on me. My hackles had gone up and then he started his pitch.

“I’m not looking for money but I ran out of gas on my way to see my mom in Deming and my truck is parked over at the gas station,” he said.

My mind went right to why the hell are you carrying around a duffle bag if you have a vehicle parked at a gas station 500 feet away.

I quickly dismissed him with, “I have no cash.”

That sent him on his way and I got in my truck and left. Typically it’s no big deal, really nothing worth mention, but I hated that I felt trapped and I felt the precipice of a physical altercation. I told myself it was just a desperate person and it was probably just as scary for him to approach me. I had been living in a bubble too long. I was no stranger to these situations having grown up in Chicago and living in urban areas most my life but I was out of practice on how to deal with them. Regardless of my rational the confrontation created an anxiety that would follow me through the day.

On the road a GPS failure had decided to reroute me up I-25 in order to save ten minutes instead of funneling me onto I-10 like I had expected. It also failed to notify me of the Border Patrol Check Station I wasn’t expecting this far north of the Mexican border or the road construction that would force me to backtrack in order to get back to my route. I was able to get off I-25 at exit 59 where I was able to refer to my road atlas. I would have to take a series of New Mexico routes to find NM26 that would take me into Deming where I could pick up I-10.

On NM 26 I entered a desert region and followed the two-lane road. I was renewed by feeling like the only vehicle travelling on this road with the exception of a semi or two that would go roaring past me. The sun was casting golden light on the subdued landscape. Ten miles in a silver Chevy Cruze sedan came up on me. I was expecting an overtake and I nudged towards the right shoulder, but the driver decided to stay on me tailgating. He would eventually fall back then come gunning right up on me again. This erratic behavior continued for five miles. My nerves were already heightened from this morning’s interaction and the isolation of the desert amped me up. I fished my pistol out of hiding and placed it on my lap because I had a fear this may escalate. I decided to set my speed at seventy-five and let the situation unravel instead of pushing a conclusion. The tailgater continued their erratic behavior for another twenty minutes. Something was awry since there had been more than ample opportunities for them to pass me by now. After a few more miles of this a semi came into view in my lane. I decided distance was the best course of action since I did not want to pullover and potentially put myself into a prone scenario. As I edged up to the semi I decided it was time to use the semi-truck as a buffer and place it between me and the silver car. Pedal down I exceeded 100 mph while passing the truck and continued at that speed well past the semi to see if my pursuer could coax that out of their small sedan. This is of course when my body decided it needed a piss break. I continued on NM 26 at 80 mph until I hit town where I stowed the pistol and jumped onto I-10 west. The silver car never reappeared. My bladder made it to Lordsburg where a populated truck stop appeared and I was able to get rid of everything bottled up in me and hit a reset.

Arizona

Entering Arizona on I-10 through the San Simon Valley there was a change in the geography of the land. Hills started to roll and the light was more golden. The sky was also beginning to darken. I had shaken off the experience of what I refer to as the New Mexico Bandit of NM 26 and began enjoying the drive. In the distance I could see the clouds deepening as I made my way towards Saguaro National Park. In southwest Tucson I diverted onto Arizona 86 and then headed north following the signs to the park. This was new territory to me and I was enthralled by the diversity of flora hugging almost choking out the road. The sky had started to spit rain and I no longer needed my sunglasses.

As I pulled up to the Redhill Visitor Center the sky really opened and showed its fury. A quick run into the center left me drenched. I had not bargained that I would need a rain jacket during this desert tromp and it was home in closet being useless. Inside the center I checked local weather, and it looked like this storm was going to settle into the region until 7pm. When the power in the gift shop went out due to lightning, I decided to make haste and head towards my accommodations for the night. The road into the park had signs warning of flooding sections so I decided it was best to get out and away as scenes of flash flooding played in my head. There was no waiting for the storm to abate. Weaving through flooded side roads in South Tucson I followed a convoluted route up to Marana where I found high ground on I-10. I merged onto the interstate and stayed in the right lane following the hazard lights of a semi through poor visibility. The storm let up at Picacho and I made it to the Ak-Chin Casino Hotel in Maricopa.

My attempt to check in early was met with a potential $35 fee that I decided was too much to pay in order to push me an hour quicker into my room. I walked the casino floor and found the most ludicrous slot machine available and subsequently lost $40 in 10 minutes. It would have been cheaper to have the early check-in, I mused.  All the restaurants were closed except Capitol Grille which was more reminiscent of a concession stand. I ordered a Cowboy Dog which was pleasantly good in a 2am stoned or drunk debaucherous way. Basically, right up my alley. With a beard streaked with aioli sauce and chili I watched the waddlers move about the casino chasing their luck. This wasn’t my place; these weren’t my people. I was the sore thumb in the waiting room of death. The 4pm check-in came to fruition and I lined up for my chance to get my plastic key of respite. I was deep in the throngs of “I want what I want,” people. As the line plodded forward I watched the game of manipulation begin as every waddler went up to the counter working their best argument as to why they were entitled to an upgrade. The $35 would have been worth it to avoid this rotting in line and witnessing the spectacle of entitlement.

Keys in hand I headed to the budget friendly Cactus Tower and went up to the fifth floor towards room 5022. Upon entering the basic room I had reserved yesterday I was pleased with the luxurious accommodation. This was the nicest room of the trip and was also the cheapest at $93 for the night. With my bags on the workstation I fell into the king sized bed with relief. A call home and an obsessive unpack and repack of luggage rounded out my evening. Bored at 8pm I decided to walk the grounds and found they had villas, a pool, firepits, and beautifully lit landscaping. The Cowboy Dog was calling me and endeavored another. Dog in hand I headed up to my room and ravaged about half of my meal realizing that it was much better the first go and I was sure to pay for my gluttony with heartburn.

Leaving Maricopa I got stuck in construction traffic that would add another twenty minutes of wait so I decided to just pull into the Denny’s and get some breakfast. The waitress reminded me of a girl I had fallen in love with in high school and I couldn’t help but slip into the stream of nostalgia I had been wading against. I thought of my sixteen-year-old self that had no prospects and had confused the adolescent idea of love with lust. By the time I was sixteen I had fallen off the track to success because all I wanted was freedom. I was a lonely, caged animal with no emotional intelligence. Not much of departure from now with the exception of a peppering of wisdom. That sixteen-year-old self couldn’t even fathom the great escape I had mounted when I was nineteen and the places I would find myself now. I always had an adventurous spirit in me. An impulse that would push me through fear and into the realm of hope. I had always hoped even in my despair that I would find my reason for being, my ikigai. I’ve been given glimpses but I never committed. I think however as my friend Jim put it to me when I was fighting to get sober there are different stages in life and a man changes at these stages. Too much philosophy for a Denny’s I’ll have to revisit it out on the road after I’ve had my omelet and coffee.

In my mid-musing an older couple waddled into the booth behind me. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their ailments and the importance of their food order. It went from a simple oatmeal for their cholesterol to a king’s feast. They settled on the king’s feast and began ordering off the menu of Waffle House expecting the waitress at a Denny’s to understand their vernacular. They treated her less than for her lack of knowledge but placated themselves by using please and thank you as if it repent from their already poor behavior. I noticed the generational gap that was between us or maybe that is just an easy way to dismiss them. There are people that want what they specifically want regardless if it is tangible or not and then there are people that are happy with what they get. I made a quiet vow to push myself towards the latter be happy with what I get out of this life.

Back in the truck I inched my way through traffic until I hit the outskirts of Phoenix where I was able to jump on I-10 and then grab I-17 north. I had burned out at this point and just needed to make miles towards home. The sprawl of Phoenix was impressive after driving through desolation for three days. I knew that it was a major city but I wasn’t aware of its true size. I would have to come back here and explore more. I broke out of the Phoenix sprawl on I-17 heading north towards Flagstaff. In the hills my road rage crept up on me. I felt as if everyone was impeding my progress towards home and I was in a negative state to be honest. I had manifested an “I want what I want” attitude. Gotta love hypocrisy. I learned in this moment that idealism will break your heart. I had ruptured and my old self came spilling out and manifested poorly on the interstate. I eventually broke away from the I-17 in Flagstaff and was able to settle myself. I had jumped onto US 89 where I would pick up US 160 and head through the Indian reservations towards my stop for the night in Durango, CO.

On US 89 I made some stops to admire the abandoned buildings. I’ve always been intrigued by the remnants of man be it ancient or modern. I like to think of the people that occupied these spaces and what catalyst they must have encountered to abandon them. Today was a big driving day as I was now pointed towards home. I followed US 89 and jumped on US 160. The land on the reservation was beautiful. This was not a verdant place but a land encased in sand and dust. This is somewhere I want to return to and explore at greater length. I know there is contention around these places so I decided to tread here respectfully and consciously.

 In Cow Springs I almost grabbed a dog that kept following me around the service station parking lot. That boy pulled at my heartstrings and knew how to work them. As I sat in my truck I had to acknowledge that this animal was free and who was I to take him from his freedom. I followed US 160 into Colorado forgoing the Four Corners visitor center and setting my sites on Durango.

I made my way through Cortez and having been there twice before it still didn’t feel familiar. The main street seemed to have more life than it did 20 years ago and even 2 years ago when we had visited Mesa Verde. Memory of this place had escaped me.

After being in the desert so long it was a relief to see snow again as I skirted the La Plata Mountains and headed into Durango. I was spent and the light was beginning to fade.

Holiday Inn room 434 was strange. It had been freshly remodeled and instead of one King bed I had one queen bed and a large open vacant floor space. I could have held a dance party if inclined. This was my final night away from home. I did my unpack and repack routine and was thankful that I was only six hours from home. In my youth I would have pushed through but now a little wiser and more tired that would be a dangerous proposition. I had five mountain passes to contend with between here and home. Being back in Colorado put me at ease. I felt less an outsider and more like a person from the Front Range. A language that was understood here. I laid out the cleanest clothes I had for tomorrow’s run home. It had been a long day with little food beyond snacks picked up at gas stations and coffee that had run out hours ago. I had abandoned any concept of a diet or healthy eating when I initially left home and the hotel had a restaurant named Burger Theory. I surrendered myself to ease and walked into the restaurant and ordered their Farmhouse burger. Burgers have never been something I get excited over, typically they fall into two categories for me, bad or decent. This place had a decent one. It filled me up and the brick in my stomach would send me off to sleep easily enough. Back in the room I played around with my photo gear and fastened the hatches so I could leave first thing when I woke.

On the way out of Durango I stopped for gas at a suspiciously familiar gas station. I think I went through here a couple years ago on my way to fish the San Juan River at Navajo Dam in New Mexico. Another trip, another story. I loaded up on their finest breakfast pizza, a chocolate bar, and more coffee. I was rewarded with free jalapeno, cheese, and sausage biscuit bites by the cashier that kept calling me Hun. I was back home. I finished my gas station breakfast and instantly regretted the free bites I was given. I was wondering how they could be called food.

Once I hit South fork the route became familiar. I cut north onto CO 112 at Del Norte and rode it out till I hit US 285 that would take me practically to my doorstep. I turned off my cameras and switched on my autopilot. I would be on my doorstep by 1pm.

Post

Being I home I felt changed. Not a dramatic thing but some life affirming action had taken place. I had chosen a goal and accomplished it. I had broken out of stasis.