Everything's Bigger In Texas

The ride through the center of town to my destination starts slightly downhill. Its easy and hardly requires braking or much exertion to pedal the single-speed cruiser I’ve rented. The day has started bright and warm, even in these early morning hours. Many people say hello with friendly smiles as I pass by. My route is taking me along trail that runs beside a creek dotted with big trees and construction cranes building the future. At the halfway point to my destination, I cross one of the town's lakes and begin heading slightly uphill. These "lakes" are actually parts of the Colorado River, only dammed to stillness, and to my delight, I learn the bridge I used to cross over provides home to 1.5 million bats. Easy ride, nice people, tall trees - I could be in Boise except this city is much bigger.

Arriving at the recommended coffee shop, the attitude of the baristas, the aroma of delicious coffee and subsequent quality of my americano are comfortingly familiar. The place is packed with men and women, nearly all who are adorned with tattoos. In addition to tattoos, the men's uniform includes scruffy beards, tight, worn-in black jeans and tight often black, sometimes pink t-shirts, many with classic band logos on them. The women's includes thick, Wayfarer-style glasses and with a slightly messy but highly intentional, multi-colored, layered clothing system of tank under tee under cardigan over skirt with Dora-like shoes or flip flops.

Flipping through the local weekly to see what live music will be playing during the weekend, I can't help overhearing conversations around me. A man and woman to my left discuss plusses and minuses of life changes like moving cross country and she mentions the psychic she consulted for insight and maybe he ought to go see them too? Behind me, a group of college girls bounce from topic to topic competing for audible space with the couple: “It was so good and, like, my friend was, like, so grossed out”…”what’s interesting is the connection in Tennessee with the Cherokee and the Chauktaw” …"and then suck in your stomach and hold for like 20 seconds and if you do that every day you’ll have a flat stomach”...“This is where the career has been kicking my ass." I might just as well be in Seattle at Solstice near the UW or at Zeitgeist in Pioneer Square.

Then there is the pandemonium of birds; bold and incessant though not entirely unpleasant they hit a decibel that could nearly cause ear damage. Larger birds make a loud, sustained “squweeee” sound and the other littler birds a light, tinkling “chir chir chir.” They nestle in the flowering trees that shade coffee drinkers and hold on to branches as if they are surfing the light breeze. To my relief the air is not still and movement offers some relief from the heat. The humidity is so thick, my high-desert-of-Idaho-tamed mane into a voluminous look straight out of the Lion King. This place is so familiar, it could be Hawaii if there was an ocean nearby.

The night before, I had stepped off the plane and immediately started to sweat. The air, even at nearly midnight, was sticky. My initial impressions: hot, humid, big. Arriving so late, I had little visual perspective in the dark but had started building a human impression first from the two drunk men who’d been on my flight and kept asking where I was going to party that night as I dodged them on my way to baggage claim (luckily, I am highly trained in concourse navigation and have the speed of cheetah even when toting luggage). Then there was the very kind, award-winning travel guide on my shuttle with a big smile and gentle handshake who offered endless tips on where to go and what to do for anyone seeing his city for the first time. And, also the shuttle driver who went the wrong way down a freeway onramp to the unexpected excitement of all of us passengers.

The morning bike ride had finally revealed a visual of this city with traffic and panhandlers and construction noise that added to the impression of “big”. Even the people seemed louder, talking boldly of personal things in public. Maybe 6 months of living in a small city/big town has already changed me or maybe I’m just now learning that I’m just how private and quiet and cautious I actually am.

Which is what I’m thinking sitting at Jo’s, unintentionally eavesdropping on that couple next to me – is it a date?, just friends? – not that it matters. In their minds, they are in a private bubble and are comfortably sharing and being inspired to dig into meaty topics here at this busy outdoor coffee shop.

The birds mix with conversations and the sounds of trucks and cars rumbling up the street. Asphalt mixes with the scrubby trees and shrubs creating a natural feel in this urban hot spot. This city is a  mashup of natural and manufactured with bubbles of stillness every now and then that echo in the bustling city shuffle. I feel like I should already know this place but I keep getting lost.

Its not quite Boise, nor Seattle, Portland, or Hawaii, but a little of each. Familiar in so many ways but built by its own formula its also not. This is Austin, where the tattoos are plentiful, the biking easy and they make a damn fine cup of coffee. And food trucks. I forgot to mention the food trucks...

Nineteen Hours

First 19hr leg: Seattle to Vegas by way of Twin Falls with a five-hour sleep at the KOA and a drive-fueling breakfast at IHOP. 

Last 19hr leg: Newport Beach overnighting outside of Los Banos, CA in the back of my car with a brief stop at Mt Shasta enroute back home. 

The long and straight of it

Between these was the ~9 hour drive from Vegas to Newport Beach - in which I did have great company and a relief driver. And also was the 5hr RT drive back to Jtree in a last desperate attempt for one more day of climbing. Over the course of 11 days, I tallied 3,356.9 miles, most of which I racked up alone. 

There is a bit of pride that comes from the willingness to go for what I want, when I want, with or without anyone else. No partner for a memorial day weekend backpack? I'll sleep in the snow myself. Travel-mate-less catching a chicken bus in a country who's language I cant speak to a location I cant pronounce? No worries, I've got a smile, watched a lot of MacGuyver, and can get myself out of most situations. 

Many friends have taken on bigger projects, farther-off lands, longer journeys; alone. In my circle of adventurous friends this attitude is common, almost of a requirement of "being." Its typical among those who seek out adventure, and I feel, an especially noted point of pride in women. Just look at the number of books on Amazon with titles such as Wanderlust and Lipstick, A Journey of One's Own, or Gutsy Women. Its as if going through life solo is the most worthwhile, strong, honorable, and only way to go; by any other means is a life with less value. To be solo is to be independent. To be independent is to be strong in mind, and heart. To be strong in mind, and heart, well shoot, you're practically Yoda. Though my goings alone aren't all that exceptional, I've still how I've gone about life.

Somewhere in northern Nevada...

Living without needing others there has been my MO. There's no one else who's opinion must be weighed into plans. No one else's bank account balance to be considered when determining if I can or cannot extend my own dollars. No one else's needs that need meeting. No one else's thoughts to invade my own. The solo experience has meant independence of not having to deal with someone else. 

Solo time can be recharging, a good check in with myself, to quiet outside influences, and just breathe. I sometimes worry too much solo time might make me go crazy. But usually what seems like "crazy" is the road to my own sanity and I come out feeling refreshed and recharged to keep pushing for good things in my life. Solo can be good. 

Which is exactly the reason I found myself alone on a 19 hour drive to Vegas just over a week ago and a 19 hour drive home Sunday night. 

But a 19 hour stint in a car. Twice in just over a week...well, it provides a girl a lot of time to think. Alone.

And I realized, I've had it wrong. 

The experience of life is so much richer, fuller, more memorable when I have someone, or several someones, I care about along for the journey. The sun is brighter on my face when there is another face turning up to feel its warmth next to mine. Lightening storms are more intense, scary, and thrilling when friends sit on either side of me oohing and aaahing at the bolts that flash all around us. The weird road signs and interesting passerby are more laughable, more interesting when someone else's eyes see them too. What is challenging, beautiful, giggle-inducing, sorrowful, inspiring, mundane; it takes on an extra level of meaning when its witnessed not just by me, but also by the ones I'm with - even if we experience things on a wholly personal, unique level. 

Copilots are key in safe navigation...

So maybe its not the popular way of traveling through life, maybe its not my OWN old, preferred way of living mine. I might be considered weak, unable to truly face my inner self, or heaven-forbid, needy, by others (or myself) who tout the solo journey as the only way to find meaning in this experience of life. If that is the case, then I accept being weak, I accept that I'm needy, and I will never be as cool as Yoda. But who effing cares? My life will be so much richer for the sharing of it. And I am grateful to my friends and family who have shared parts and pieces of this life I have lived. And also to the ones who will share more with me down the road. 

Is there any point to all this blathering about of words? I suppose not really, or only really to me. That I'm newly challenged to redefine the value I find in this life I have been given. Now, time to go live it. Care to join me?