Alone at Last?

© Patti Poulin / RumBum.com

My time in Ouray grew to a close more quickly than I expected. When I had set off on this leg of my trip I knew time might be an issue, as my traveling companion had to be back to his life by a certain date. Finding myself enamored with the Rocky Mountains I realized I could have stayed longer, and explored more. For the first time I was feeling the pressures of compromise, something I had not taken into consideration when I happily agreed to integrate friends into my travel plans.

One of the main goals I had set for this prolonged life on the road was to take my time, soak up new environments and really make the most it. But, with a time constraint of a week and a half, we headed back west making a very brief stop in Moab, Utah, home to some of most inspirational natural beauty on earth. I wanted to explore the depths of Arches National Park or travel beyond the confines of the town. But, as time and weather (it was now below zero at night) would have it my dreams would have to wait until I found a way to return. We spent the next three days after Moab driving, bound for the eastern Sierra Mountains of California.

Finding Lone Pine

Arriving in the sleepy town of Lone Pine, California well after dark, we pulled into "town," wich consisted of no more than six blocks, and turned west onto a dirt road seeking a camping spot for the night. Never had I been so excited to set up the tent and sleep on the cold, hard ground – at least I would be out of the car.

© Patti Poulin / RumBum.comExhausted from driving, we set up camp and skipped dinner just so we could get to sleep faster.

One of the only great things about setting up camp at night in an area that is foreign is the anticipation of what beauty may be surrounding you the next morning. (Then again, that has backfired as well. Waking up to a field filled with cows and manure is never fun.) Luckily, we woke the next morning to a chill in the air and a warm sun rising from the east. I could see daylight peering through the tent and vague pastel colors lighting up the sky.

Pulling my jacket out from under my pillow and stuffing it into my sleeping bag to warm it, I wiped my eyes and slid the wool cap my mom had bought me before leaving over my head. Bundled from head to toe, I peaked my head out of the tent door only to be greeted by the snow capped Sierra Nevada Mountains and Mt. Whitney, the highest mountain in the lower 48, smiling down upon our randomly selected campsite.

Living Like "Hill" People

We spent the next four days hiking and rock climbing around the boulder fields at the foot of the mountains in an area known as Alabama Hills, while living in the shadow of a mountain that I had dreamed about conquering for many years. We had finally slowed our pace and I was happy to drive into town each day to mingle with the locals and lay out upon the warm rocks to soak up the uncommonly warm weather.

© Patti Poulin / RumBum.comAfter spending our second full day of climbing it was decided that we should drive the fifteen minutes back into civilization to have a beer, or two, at the local saloon.

Walking into Jake’s Saloon on Main Street felt like taking a step back into a John Wayne movie. Apparently, the area was a popular film location for many of the classic western movies. Three locals were sitting and the bar and the bartender sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette. Although completely different from the welcome we had received in Telluride, it was not an uncomfortable environment – at least not yet. We pulled up a couple bar stools and ended up hanging out for a couple of hours. Locals filtered in and out of the bar; from time to time, I would catch bits and pieces of the latest town gossip. Although the small town was far from what I was used to, I was starting to appreciate the simplicity.

Forced Back on the Road

Slated to spend two more solid days in the area, I really felt like I was starting to experience the trip that I had imagined. That was until one of the largest snow storms of the winter threatened to bear down upon our homestead at the foot of the mountains. After keeping a close watch on the impending weather, we opted to steer clear from being snowed on and began our journey north to take Doug back to his bay-area home.

As we drove closer to the hustle and bustle of civilization and away from the two lane highways we had been traveling, I began to feel a knot in my throat, and my shoulders began to ache. Was I getting sick? Reaching Interstate 5, my chest tightened, and my mind began to race. It took a ten-hour drive and reaching Doug’s house before I realized that I was not getting sick, but the thought of change combined with being thrust back into the hustle and bustle of daily life was causing me to stress.

Even though I was ready to travel alone, and go wherever and whenever I wanted to go, the reality of it caught me off guard. I had grown used to having someone to share the experiences with, and Dout and I grown closer as friends. Now after nearly a month it was time ties and set out on my journey with only my dog as the co-pilot. Where would I head next? Which direction would I wander? I was suddenly clueless.