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As I drove across the state line into Colorado, I told myself that I would watch for the mountains to appear on the horizon.  Then I crested a hill and suddenly Pike’s Peak was in front of me, half covered in snow.  How had I missed it until then?  I hadn’t.  The mountains don’t rise up from the horizon they resolve slowly, at first just a shade of blue that’s almost the same as the sky itself.  For a while I could almost see them, as if I were just a bit too near-sighted to make them out.  It seems that just as I gave up trying, they materialized.

This is where I live now.  this is home.

I unloaded most of what was in my truck into my new apartment, then drive to my sister’s.  Since then, I’ve been having a ball with her kids, who have been eagerly showing me drawings, new toys, books and everything else they can think of.

I saw this on a bumper sticker back in Hampton this summer;  How can you know where you’re going if you don’t know which direction you’re facing?  In September I turned and faced west, and as soon as I did everything started to make sense.  As hard as it was to leave my friends and everything I’ve known in the last 20 years or so, I knew that coming here was a good decision.  I’m still afraid–afraid that I won’t get my life together, afraid my money will run out, afraid that I will be stuck in a job I hate because I’m not good enough to do the work I love, and afraid that no one will ever love me again.  But this is where I need to be, where I can face my fears and try to overcome them.  This is the place.

I won’t look back.

What Was I Thinking?

The drive from Missouri to Colby Kansas was not as boring as I’d been told.  Kansas isn’t really that flat–Iowa is flat–but there are very few trees on the prairie and a lot of farmland.  As I drove along, I could see to the horizon in every direction, and I-70 is more straight than in the other states, so I could see the road before me for miles.  There is a bit of a hypnotic effect with a straight road, which I countered by listening to a collection of erotic short stories.  (I didn’t hit those wake-up grooves on the shoulder even once, so don’t judge.)

I saw my first windmill farm in Kansas.  The size of the blades is astounding.

I arrived at the hotel, eager to get out again to eat dinner and get back in time for Flash Forward.  I always leave my television on in hotel rooms so it seems as if there’s someone inside.  I ran across a Colorado station showing the weather forecast.  It’s going to be 17 degrees below zero in Denver tonight.

Did I really let my sister talk me into moving to Colorado?

On Arriving in the West

As I drove west from Hampton, Virginia, I didn’t see anything so interesting as to warrant taking a detour and incurring Garmin’s wrath, but I made notes in my journal:

Seeing wild turkeys in West Virginia * Crossing the New River gorge and trying not to think about how high up I was * Realizing that I wasn’t driving through the Smokies but over them * Turning on my fog lights as I drove through the thick haze that settled on the road * Seeing the gold dome of the Charleston State House * Trestle Bridges * Telling myself that I won’t get bored with the flat terrain in Kansas after going through the mountains * Seeing the Fifth third bank in Kentucky * Driving the Indiana backroads, which are like roller coasters * Telling myself that there will be more road at the top of each hill instead of a big black hole * Seeing a real roller coaster at a closed amusement park * Seeing my first snow plow in Illinois.

Then, just as I was about to get off I-64 and onto I-70 in St. Louis, I saw the Gateway Arch in the distance.  I took the next exit and went to see it, buying souvenirs and taking a few photos.  I realized that the arch represents my entry into the West after living most of my adult life in the East.  It was a point of no return, a symbol of the new direction my life is going to take.

Traveling with Garmin

It seemed absolutely sensible at the time.  I programmed my entire trip into my Garmin GPS, and each morning I set it for the address of the hotel at which I’ve reserved a room for the night and head west.

The problem is that I have no idea where I am or how I’m going to get where I’m going.  Garmin directs me to I-64 West and tells me I have about 400 miles to go.  What’s in between my starting point and my destination?  I have no idea.

This morning I woke up in West Virginia, thinking that I had crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains and would be going downhill, so I was surprised to find more mountains in front of me.  And are those really low clouds or was there a forest fire?  It took a while, but I finally realized that I was in the Great Smoky Mountains.

Later that day I stopped to buy some snacks and stretch my legs.  I went into the store, got out my cell phone to call my sister and let her know where I was, and realized that I didn’t have the slightest idea.  I had to ask another customer, who looked at me as if I were crazy.  I was in Mount Sterling, Kentucky.

I considered buying a map along with my Diet Dr. Pepper and Ritz crackers, but figured that would spoil the fun.

Garmin has yet to steer me wrong, but it (she–I selected the female voice) isn’t very forthcoming about the details of the trip.  She also doesn’t like to make stops.  Whenever I pull off the highway, she says, “Recalculating. . .” in what sure seems like a petulant tone, then keeps trying to make me turn left or right to get back on the highway.

I bought some postcards in Mount Sterling.  I sent some to my nieces and nephews, telling them to expect me on Friday.  I wanted to send a couple to my friends in Virginia but discovered that I didn’t have their addresses handy.  Sending a postcard of a Kentucky landmark that’s not postmarked in Kentucky is just not right, so I’ll have to try again tomorrow, perhaps in Illinois.

The weather today was beautiful.  I’m spending the night in Tell City, Indiana.