Everyday grocery store shopping in Manhattan is like being in a suburban strip-mall just before Thanksgiving. No matter what time of day you choose to visit the local Trader Joe's, it is always packed with hungry consumers looking for outstanding products at outrageously low prices.
I've been a Trader Joe's faithful customer since they first arrived in Seattle about ten years ago. They call themselves a "Unique Grocery Store" and being a grocery store aficionado, I would have to agree. Where they lack in wow factor merchandising, they make up for in great prices on cheese, meats, wine, chocolate and just about every other good thing there is to eat. But those low prices justify the extra tossing of items into the cart and it takes a disciplined shopper to leave the store without spending a hundred bucks or more.
Once I've found a great store, I am a loyal, faithful shopper. When I lived in Elko, Nevada, I willingly drove five hours in one direction for a the closest TJ shopping experience. While living in North Carolina, I'd plan weekend excursions to Washington D.C. for grocery shopping and when I most recently lived in Florida, I was thrilled that TJ's finally made it south to Atlanta! On those trips I came prepared with cooler and ice packs to insure the quality of the products during my 9 hour drive home.
Now that I am living in New York, I had to go visit Trader Joe's first and only store in Manhattan. It is in Union Square, the place where artists, writers, musicians and the homeless hangout watching everybody do their own thing. It is a colorful place filled with sounds and smells. An organic market sets up in the square twice a week and business people stream out of the office buildings surrounding the two city block square. Whole Foods has a store in the same area across from the square and the park is packed with hungry people munching out of recycled cardboard boxes from noon until dusk.
As you enter the Trader Joe's one of the first things you might notice at the end of the first isle is a sign hanging from the ceiling with a big yellow arrow pointing down that reads, "12 items or less here." This is where the line starts for the registers. The line snakes through the isles and there are employees holding signs that read "end of the line".
It is a bit discouraging. My first few tries I abandoned my red basket running out of the store overwhelmed and intimidated by the weight of my basket and the length of the line. It took three visits before I mastered the art of shopping while standing in line. The trick is for you to enter the store, walk the produce isle, get what you need there and then hop in line! From there, as the check-out line snakes around the store, you jaunt off and pick up this and or that and return the items to your basket and the line. New Yorkers are pretty darned friendly and will typically hold your place for you as you do for them while dashing down the dairy isle in search of the quart of half-and-half or ever popular Greek yogurt. God forbid where we would all be in this day and age without Greek yogurt!
You know, you can make Greek yogurt for about a quarter of the cost with regular yogurt overnight. It is so simple. Just get a strainer and line it with cheese cloth or a paper towel or even coffee filters, then dump a quart of yogurt on top of it and place the strainer over a bowl to catch the dripping liquid. Let it sit overnight in the refrigerator, covered and by morning...voila! You have Greek yogurt! I keep the container it was purchased in and then put the yogurt back in it so I have an idea of the expiration date, and then away we go! I've purchased lemon yogurt and strained it for a delicious topping for desserts or fresh fruit. It is fantastic!
All Greek yogurt is strained yogurt, but people are lazy. In my case, I am living somewhere with a tiny kitchen and I get one little shelf in the refrigerator so I don't have the room to make Greek yogurt, but I think I'm going to start doing this again because Trader Joe's has the best yogurt in quarts for $1.99 that is worth waiting in line for 30 minutes. The good news is that Trader Joe's is opening a store in Brooklyn in the next couple of weeks and I am sure it will be a hit.
The best technique I've witnessed at Trader Joe's is going shopping with a friend. One of you stands in line with an empty cart, right when you enter, and the other goes off shopping returning to the cart when their arms are full. That's my current fantasy; go shopping with a cute guy...and a strong one who can carry the bags on the two train rides home from the store.
Urban life. How I love it.
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part XIV
My hair is finally clean. My skin refreshed. Being clean never felt so good. I turn my head quickly and get whiffs of grapefruit and rosewood leaving a lingering trail from my dark brown locks. Ah, such luxury in the wilderness. How refreshing.
Across the parking lot, the wounded vehicle stands alone in the distance. She is broken. A giant red tool box sits open at her tail, parts spread out ready to be handed to the tour bus driver and now, mechanic , Driver Dave. His white legs stick out from the back of the bus as Rory, a blond haired blue-eyed nineteen year old British guy squats down handing tools as requested. Cassie is pacing. She walks thirty-six feet south to the end of the bus then stops, pivots on her right foot and walks the same distance back as she talks on her cell phone.
Driver Dave has been a professional driver with the Green Tortoise for more than ten years. Next month he turns forty and has decided this will be his last season on the road. Come the fall, he will be working out of the main office for the company trouble-shooting phone calls from drivers like Cassie. This is the last summer where he will be underneath a 26,000 pound vehicle in the parking lot of the Grand Teton's National Park.
The giant silver and green bus is really leaning to one side now. The passenger side is much higher than the driver's side. Driver Dave has propped a spare tire underneath the bus near where he is working to prevent it from crushing him.
I shake my head laughing to myself as I return to the bus. God, this bus is just like the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper; unreliable.
As one of the first passengers to return to the bus, I am assigned the task to keep everyone off the bus as they return from the showers. Cassie put the phone down for a second and tell us to start pulling luggage out of the cargo bay.
"This is not a good sign." I say to Val and she nods in agreement as we extract over-sized backpacks and duffel bags tossing them like professional airport baggage handlers to the side of the road.
A cluster of cumulonimbus clouds gathers in the west. I recognize them from white water rafting. It is the same storm we left behind in Idaho and it seems to be following us. The clouds are thick and heavy with chilling rain drops. As I lift and throw seventy-five pound bags, I ask God, out loud, why I decided to take this trip. This is a question I ask myself many times during the remaining ten days.
"There are worse places to be broken down, Linda." Donna says as she organizes the bags we toss out of the bay. She is a happy person by nature and the children mirror her cheery disposition. Although it is not enough to lift the mood to those of us who dread the thought of being broken down on the side of the road.
Most of the passengers have finished with their showers and are returning to the bus asking for information.
"Hey, what's happening?" Joe asks in his thick New York accent.
"The bus is broken, but I'm sure it isn't serious." Donna says confidently. "These buses have great mechanics in San Francisco and are well looked after." She explains to the children working to keep the spreading anxiety of the adults away from the children. She's been on six Green Tortoise trips so sshe has the experience to back-up her comments.
As Driver Dave emerges from below the bus, another tour bus, The Adventure Bus, pulls into the parking lot and slows down to a crawl as they drive by, staring at us like a side-show attraction. Driver Dave and Cassie sneer at the drivers of the Adventure Bus.
"Those guys think they're so cool." Cassie says. "Well, they're not."
Adventure Bus was started in 1997 by a group of former Green Tortoise bus drivers. Their tour bus interior is identical in design to the Green Tortoise but they are different. Unlike the Green Tortoise which pushes to have full capacity trips, the Adventure Bus limit on the number of passengers allowed on the bus, which is much lower than the Green Tortoise. The Adventure bus averages fifteen to twenty passengers per trip where as the Green Tortoise pushes for thirty-six passengers and has been known to regularly over-book trips. Carol shared a horror story about one trip she was on that had forty-four passengers!
Oh sweet Jesus! I felt crammed on this tour and our group was only twenty-seven. Forty-four people all on this one little bus? I asked where they all slept and Carol said t hey doubled up on the bunks above and were much tighter in the big bed.
Yikes!
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from....you know where...
Linda
Across the parking lot, the wounded vehicle stands alone in the distance. She is broken. A giant red tool box sits open at her tail, parts spread out ready to be handed to the tour bus driver and now, mechanic , Driver Dave. His white legs stick out from the back of the bus as Rory, a blond haired blue-eyed nineteen year old British guy squats down handing tools as requested. Cassie is pacing. She walks thirty-six feet south to the end of the bus then stops, pivots on her right foot and walks the same distance back as she talks on her cell phone.
Driver Dave has been a professional driver with the Green Tortoise for more than ten years. Next month he turns forty and has decided this will be his last season on the road. Come the fall, he will be working out of the main office for the company trouble-shooting phone calls from drivers like Cassie. This is the last summer where he will be underneath a 26,000 pound vehicle in the parking lot of the Grand Teton's National Park.
The giant silver and green bus is really leaning to one side now. The passenger side is much higher than the driver's side. Driver Dave has propped a spare tire underneath the bus near where he is working to prevent it from crushing him.
I shake my head laughing to myself as I return to the bus. God, this bus is just like the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper; unreliable.
As one of the first passengers to return to the bus, I am assigned the task to keep everyone off the bus as they return from the showers. Cassie put the phone down for a second and tell us to start pulling luggage out of the cargo bay.
"This is not a good sign." I say to Val and she nods in agreement as we extract over-sized backpacks and duffel bags tossing them like professional airport baggage handlers to the side of the road.
A cluster of cumulonimbus clouds gathers in the west. I recognize them from white water rafting. It is the same storm we left behind in Idaho and it seems to be following us. The clouds are thick and heavy with chilling rain drops. As I lift and throw seventy-five pound bags, I ask God, out loud, why I decided to take this trip. This is a question I ask myself many times during the remaining ten days.
"There are worse places to be broken down, Linda." Donna says as she organizes the bags we toss out of the bay. She is a happy person by nature and the children mirror her cheery disposition. Although it is not enough to lift the mood to those of us who dread the thought of being broken down on the side of the road.
Most of the passengers have finished with their showers and are returning to the bus asking for information.
"Hey, what's happening?" Joe asks in his thick New York accent.
"The bus is broken, but I'm sure it isn't serious." Donna says confidently. "These buses have great mechanics in San Francisco and are well looked after." She explains to the children working to keep the spreading anxiety of the adults away from the children. She's been on six Green Tortoise trips so sshe has the experience to back-up her comments.
As Driver Dave emerges from below the bus, another tour bus, The Adventure Bus, pulls into the parking lot and slows down to a crawl as they drive by, staring at us like a side-show attraction. Driver Dave and Cassie sneer at the drivers of the Adventure Bus.
"Those guys think they're so cool." Cassie says. "Well, they're not."
Adventure Bus was started in 1997 by a group of former Green Tortoise bus drivers. Their tour bus interior is identical in design to the Green Tortoise but they are different. Unlike the Green Tortoise which pushes to have full capacity trips, the Adventure Bus limit on the number of passengers allowed on the bus, which is much lower than the Green Tortoise. The Adventure bus averages fifteen to twenty passengers per trip where as the Green Tortoise pushes for thirty-six passengers and has been known to regularly over-book trips. Carol shared a horror story about one trip she was on that had forty-four passengers!
Oh sweet Jesus! I felt crammed on this tour and our group was only twenty-seven. Forty-four people all on this one little bus? I asked where they all slept and Carol said t hey doubled up on the bunks above and were much tighter in the big bed.
Yikes!
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from....you know where...
Linda
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Kitty Kloset...
New York is filled with activities but meeting people here, like anywhere, is hard. New Yorkers are friendly and I've had many chats with strangers in the park, on the train, in cafes, but I haven't made any friends yet. Granted, I haven't been here long but I would like to meet some people who have shared interests.
I was chatting with a girlfriend about this and she suggested I do some volunteering and get involved with something. She said, "Find something that isn't repulsive to you and do it for a couple hours a week."
Good advice...so I took it.
I went to my resources for everything in New York; Craigslist. A lot of people hate Craigslist but it has been a good place for me....heck, I've been on job interviews, dates, found my writing group, found my apartment and even a new juicer (although I hate to add another to my scattered collection) all through Craigslist. Why not find my volunteering there too?
There are so many organizations where people need help and I considered several of them at The Lincoln Center, The Red Cross, Literacy Program, all sounded good but a bit daunting to me. Then I saw an ad for cat volunteers at a no-kill kitty shelter. This was sounding like something I could do, so I replied.
The non-profit organization is called Anjellicle Cats and is based out of Hell's Kitchen (which is right near the theater district.) Since this is a no-kill shelter, volunteers will go to kill shelters and rescue cats and kittens that are about to be put to death...often choosing the sick ones who aren't out in front of people and don't get adopted. Most of the sick kitties just have colds and that's how they come to us...yes, I am one of them now.
The kennel that I am volunteering at is in the back of a small pet shop on 49th street between 8th and 9th street. It takes me about 45 minutes to get there by subway...but that's how long it takes me to get just about everywhere because I'm living off a main line. The train I live near doesn't go into the city so it is always two trains just to get out of Brooklyn. I've gotten to know how the subways work pretty well for such a short period of time in New York.
This kitty shelter is more like a closet. New York is an expensive place to live and that is true for kitties as well as humans so I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw that the "shelter" was small. Not just small, but really, really tiny. It is about as big as an average bathroom. There are five cage where kitties who don't get along with others or who are sick are kept. Also the kittens are put in cages so they don't get stuck behind many of the small spaces in the tiny room.
Small is one thing, but is ridiculous. There are about fifteen to twenty cats living in this space. Those who aren't in cages are on the floor, on top of litter boxes, on top of storage bins, above the cages, underneath the cages...everywhere you look there is another cat. There are cats everywhere all craving attention and food, water, clean litter because no matter how often you change them, the kitties crave more.
When the door opens ten cats rush the door, some escaping into the pet shop which is the forbidden zone. There is a fat, healthy, happy pet shop cat and he has rule over the space which seems gigantic compared to where the kitties live. The shop owners are very stern about keeping the cats in the closet so the first task at hand is herding the cats back into the closet. Keep in mind these are not fat, suburban cats. These are New York City sleek city cats...skinny, long and limber. They are fast. But they listen too and I've found talking to them really helps them calm down and settle so I can give them what they want; clean water, fresh food and litter.
Next to the little room there is a tiny bathroom and my first shift alone, I let the cats run into the bathroom and sit on the cool tile floor while I swept out the cages and scooped dirty litter. I think they remember that, although I got busted big time by the pet shop boys. I was happy to take the heat for the kitties.
This week I kept the kitties in the closet and was dumping water dishes with small bits of kibble into the toilet before washing and refilling. As I did this, a rat swam up through the toilet pipes and out of the toilet to eat the food I was dumping. I screamed dropping the metal dishes and ran into the pet store to tell the guys and get help. When the three of us returned to the bathroom the rat was gone, hopefully back the way he came and the guys started flushing the toilets and opened the back of the tank to see if it was living there, but he was gone.
This experience showed me my ultimate NYC fear... a rat coming up through the toilet. I am lucky where I am able to manifest my fears almost immediately so to get them out of the way... at least that is how I am choosing to look at this situation. I have to look at it that way or else I'll make myself sick with worry and fear and I've got not time for that.
The pet shop guys kept asking me if I was sure I saw a rat. Oh yeah. I was sure. I've seen rats in the subways since I've moved here and I definitely know the difference between a rat and a mouse. This was no mouse. The experience left me shake and questioning if I'd picked the right volunteering opportunity for me. I mean, I didn't get any good loving time with the pussycats because there is too much to be done and the room is so tiny that I have a hard time breathing what with all the fur and fluff and dander everywhere. I was questioning if this was the right gig for me after the first time I went...the second time I had a rat encounter and I wondered again if I was doing the right thing.
A bit part of me feels like I am working off a karmic debt to Sing and Little Man, both of my cats who have run away. Naturally, I feel responsible for their actions. They were my responsibility and I was their owner. I made an agreement to care for these animals and I didn't do a very good job of it. It seems fair that I take care of these unwanted cats, scoop their poop, clean up their fur balls, wash out their water dishes, sweep the stray litter....
But is this what God has in store for me? Am I to be the kitties keepers? Perhaps I had a karmic agreement with Sing and Little Man and part of this arrangement was that they were to leave me. I don't know. What I do know is that if you are ever in need of using a bathroom and you are in Hell's Kitchen on 49th street between 8th and 9th, don't ask to use the toilet at Spoiled Brats Pet Shop. They would probably let you use it but you'll have to share the camode with some big city rats.
I wonder if volunteers are still needed at Lincoln Center?
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
I was chatting with a girlfriend about this and she suggested I do some volunteering and get involved with something. She said, "Find something that isn't repulsive to you and do it for a couple hours a week."
Good advice...so I took it.
I went to my resources for everything in New York; Craigslist. A lot of people hate Craigslist but it has been a good place for me....heck, I've been on job interviews, dates, found my writing group, found my apartment and even a new juicer (although I hate to add another to my scattered collection) all through Craigslist. Why not find my volunteering there too?
There are so many organizations where people need help and I considered several of them at The Lincoln Center, The Red Cross, Literacy Program, all sounded good but a bit daunting to me. Then I saw an ad for cat volunteers at a no-kill kitty shelter. This was sounding like something I could do, so I replied.
The non-profit organization is called Anjellicle Cats and is based out of Hell's Kitchen (which is right near the theater district.) Since this is a no-kill shelter, volunteers will go to kill shelters and rescue cats and kittens that are about to be put to death...often choosing the sick ones who aren't out in front of people and don't get adopted. Most of the sick kitties just have colds and that's how they come to us...yes, I am one of them now.
The kennel that I am volunteering at is in the back of a small pet shop on 49th street between 8th and 9th street. It takes me about 45 minutes to get there by subway...but that's how long it takes me to get just about everywhere because I'm living off a main line. The train I live near doesn't go into the city so it is always two trains just to get out of Brooklyn. I've gotten to know how the subways work pretty well for such a short period of time in New York.
This kitty shelter is more like a closet. New York is an expensive place to live and that is true for kitties as well as humans so I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw that the "shelter" was small. Not just small, but really, really tiny. It is about as big as an average bathroom. There are five cage where kitties who don't get along with others or who are sick are kept. Also the kittens are put in cages so they don't get stuck behind many of the small spaces in the tiny room.
Small is one thing, but is ridiculous. There are about fifteen to twenty cats living in this space. Those who aren't in cages are on the floor, on top of litter boxes, on top of storage bins, above the cages, underneath the cages...everywhere you look there is another cat. There are cats everywhere all craving attention and food, water, clean litter because no matter how often you change them, the kitties crave more.
When the door opens ten cats rush the door, some escaping into the pet shop which is the forbidden zone. There is a fat, healthy, happy pet shop cat and he has rule over the space which seems gigantic compared to where the kitties live. The shop owners are very stern about keeping the cats in the closet so the first task at hand is herding the cats back into the closet. Keep in mind these are not fat, suburban cats. These are New York City sleek city cats...skinny, long and limber. They are fast. But they listen too and I've found talking to them really helps them calm down and settle so I can give them what they want; clean water, fresh food and litter.
Next to the little room there is a tiny bathroom and my first shift alone, I let the cats run into the bathroom and sit on the cool tile floor while I swept out the cages and scooped dirty litter. I think they remember that, although I got busted big time by the pet shop boys. I was happy to take the heat for the kitties.
This week I kept the kitties in the closet and was dumping water dishes with small bits of kibble into the toilet before washing and refilling. As I did this, a rat swam up through the toilet pipes and out of the toilet to eat the food I was dumping. I screamed dropping the metal dishes and ran into the pet store to tell the guys and get help. When the three of us returned to the bathroom the rat was gone, hopefully back the way he came and the guys started flushing the toilets and opened the back of the tank to see if it was living there, but he was gone.
This experience showed me my ultimate NYC fear... a rat coming up through the toilet. I am lucky where I am able to manifest my fears almost immediately so to get them out of the way... at least that is how I am choosing to look at this situation. I have to look at it that way or else I'll make myself sick with worry and fear and I've got not time for that.
The pet shop guys kept asking me if I was sure I saw a rat. Oh yeah. I was sure. I've seen rats in the subways since I've moved here and I definitely know the difference between a rat and a mouse. This was no mouse. The experience left me shake and questioning if I'd picked the right volunteering opportunity for me. I mean, I didn't get any good loving time with the pussycats because there is too much to be done and the room is so tiny that I have a hard time breathing what with all the fur and fluff and dander everywhere. I was questioning if this was the right gig for me after the first time I went...the second time I had a rat encounter and I wondered again if I was doing the right thing.
A bit part of me feels like I am working off a karmic debt to Sing and Little Man, both of my cats who have run away. Naturally, I feel responsible for their actions. They were my responsibility and I was their owner. I made an agreement to care for these animals and I didn't do a very good job of it. It seems fair that I take care of these unwanted cats, scoop their poop, clean up their fur balls, wash out their water dishes, sweep the stray litter....
But is this what God has in store for me? Am I to be the kitties keepers? Perhaps I had a karmic agreement with Sing and Little Man and part of this arrangement was that they were to leave me. I don't know. What I do know is that if you are ever in need of using a bathroom and you are in Hell's Kitchen on 49th street between 8th and 9th, don't ask to use the toilet at Spoiled Brats Pet Shop. They would probably let you use it but you'll have to share the camode with some big city rats.
I wonder if volunteers are still needed at Lincoln Center?
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part XIII
Sitting in the egg shaped crimson compartment, the Tilt-a-Whirl went round and round and round until the world spinning by was a blur of colors perfectly smeared on a sky-blue background. Green leafy trees, white iron benches, yellow Chinese lanterns, summer clad tourists all blending together in perfect harmony. The old clammering diesel engine sputters black puffs into the sky and I am dizzy spinning round and round and round. Children's screams float through the air like brightly colored balloons. Flimsy metal bars sit loosely on their laps, bringing some sense of security. My skin feels sickly sweet from the cotton candy, waffle cones, funnel cakes saturating the air and I am transported in time and space, not thinking, just spinning, spinning, spinning until I am dizzy.
In the distance I hear words faintly saying, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The spinning continues round and round. "Shit! God Damned! Shit!" I hear louder. My eyes flutter open and I am in a foggy state, that place between dream time and human reality not knowing where I am. It is the wee hours of the morning. Stars brightly fill the big
"Urgh!" Cassie, overnight driver and professional babysitter, growled.
"I fuckin' did that!" she says with exasperation. "That’s it. I'm calling him."
"No! Don't wake him up!" the partiers say sitting together on the big bed behind the driver’s seat. Only a few were still awake at this hour, the others passed out in drunken slumber from strong cocktails served in blue plastic cups.
"No, screw you guys. I'm calling him." Cassie defiantly says.
I lean forward straining my ears to hear over the idling engine as Cassie tells the partiers to shut up as she picked up the walkie-talkie to ring Driver Dave who was sound asleep in the driver’s chambers in the back of the bus. No answer. She rang again.
Her tone changes from angry and frustrated to friendly and apologetic as Driver Dave finally wakes from his deep sleep. I readjust myself and Cassie lowers her voice so I cannot hear her at all.
“It’s okay. What’s up?” Dave says.
“Uh huh. Where were you?” He waits for an answer.
“Okay. Then what did you do?” He listens for a long time.
“Ummm, really? Weird. So then what?” He was as patient as she spoke for a while.
“What happened last night Cassie? Did you get lost?” Ryan laughs as he asks her. He is a buff Australian buck and he has a serious crush on Cassie. She pretends not to notice. All the young men have crushes on her.
I think when she is on the road she is babysitting too.
To be continued…
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I've always said...
I've always said I don't believe in writer's block, but that's what I've had lately. It hasn't been an actual block, it has been a road-block...where I write something and then an inner critic says that it is crap and before I can stop the fingers, the post has been deleted leaving me feeling empty and defeated. I know it is just a passing fancy and after what I saw tonight, I'll be sure to be able to write again soon.
Here's a teaser....I went to the new writing group that's been meeting on Monday night's at Think Coffee in the East Village. It is a hip spot and although there are only four of us who have met to share our writing, I have a feeling that this is a good place for me to be sharing work and getting support from other writers. Tonight there was a drop-in guest from London, Dave, who shared part of a screen-play he'd written for Radio-4 in London. Pretty cool stuff. After our two hour meeting he suggested we go to the poetry cafe a half a block away to see what the open mike was like, so we go.
How sad it is when stand-up comics take over for poets. Each person gets six minutes, which we all know in comedy...is a lifetime. Or as in this case, an eternity.
As my gift to humanity, I have decided to not share with you the ten acts I sat through...or as I will hence forward call it...the longest hour in my life. I won't tell you about the 400 pound hairy man fondly called Angry Bob. I won't torture you with the tales from the 6'8" Rastafarian's tale about his run-in with the cops for getting high in Central Park. I won't torment you with the gruesome details about the gap-dressed investment bankers talking about banging their 22 year old girl friends.
Ten acts I sat through before giving up and dashing into a cab to return me to my Brooklyn home. But something good did happen this evening. I realized that if these bozo's are able to get up on a stage and humiliate themselves for six minutes, then I certainly can keep on writing, no matter how loud my inner critic is yelling.
So my blog may not be genius writing, but I am back. I promise to work through these pesky insecurities. Let's blame it on the Lunar eclipse...too much darkness in the creative zones.
Thank you for keeping an eye on my blog and being patient with me. I do appreciate it.
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Here's a teaser....I went to the new writing group that's been meeting on Monday night's at Think Coffee in the East Village. It is a hip spot and although there are only four of us who have met to share our writing, I have a feeling that this is a good place for me to be sharing work and getting support from other writers. Tonight there was a drop-in guest from London, Dave, who shared part of a screen-play he'd written for Radio-4 in London. Pretty cool stuff. After our two hour meeting he suggested we go to the poetry cafe a half a block away to see what the open mike was like, so we go.
How sad it is when stand-up comics take over for poets. Each person gets six minutes, which we all know in comedy...is a lifetime. Or as in this case, an eternity.
As my gift to humanity, I have decided to not share with you the ten acts I sat through...or as I will hence forward call it...the longest hour in my life. I won't tell you about the 400 pound hairy man fondly called Angry Bob. I won't torture you with the tales from the 6'8" Rastafarian's tale about his run-in with the cops for getting high in Central Park. I won't torment you with the gruesome details about the gap-dressed investment bankers talking about banging their 22 year old girl friends.
Ten acts I sat through before giving up and dashing into a cab to return me to my Brooklyn home. But something good did happen this evening. I realized that if these bozo's are able to get up on a stage and humiliate themselves for six minutes, then I certainly can keep on writing, no matter how loud my inner critic is yelling.
So my blog may not be genius writing, but I am back. I promise to work through these pesky insecurities. Let's blame it on the Lunar eclipse...too much darkness in the creative zones.
Thank you for keeping an eye on my blog and being patient with me. I do appreciate it.
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Artist Collective
The Craigslist ad said, "Female artist forming female artist collective in the
I moved to
I replied and an email dialogue started between several women. We agreed to meet at Whole Foods in the Bowery to see how we all would get along and start the process of finding our space. I was excited to meeting new artists and creating community. In my minds eye I envisioned a table surrounded with women with different colored hair, vintage tee shirts, paint stained jeans, dirty finger nails and wild head scarves. I pictured an eclectic group of women committed to living the creative life. Just like me.
When I arrived, I expected to find the table quickly. I looked for a group with colorful unnatural hair color. I saw nothing like that but I did see a group of five young women. They were leaning in discussing something over a piece of paper so I approached them and asked, "Is this the group for the artist collective?"
"Yes!" Karen replied. She coordinated the effort and it was her vision.
"Great!" I said. "I'm Linda" and I seated myself at the large table.
I must say I was a little thrown by how young they were. The oldest was probably twenty-six. I realize that I've been a little hyper-sensitive about my age since my last birthday but that is passing. I am the kind of person who looks back on her life and is proud that I've taken risks and done things that most people wouldn't even consider...but as I sat down I immediately began to feel like a sorority house mother.
The women introduced themselves and I repeated their names, Bonnie, Vicki, Connie, Kelly, and Karen. They were in discussion about house rules and so rather than interrupt them, I asked them to just fill me in a little later and I'd listen and ask questions as we continued. They agreed and went back to the discussion.
"What about cleanliness?" Bonnie asked. Good point, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted to do was move into a place with ten other people who didn't clean-up after themselves.
"Yeah, we should be clean" said Connie.
"Yeah!" said Kelly.
"Well, since there will be so many of us, if we each kicked in ten bucks a week in our utilities I am sure we could afford a housekeeper who would keep the common areas, bathrooms and kitchen clean. Then we just take care of our own rooms." I say.
They all look at me blankly.
Karen gave me a cold hard stare and then said, "Well, I guess we could do it that way." I thought to myself, oh no. This is not going to be a good situation. Somehow I’d stepped on her toes and didn't know how I'd done so. Maybe she hated housekeepers. Maybe she had issues with another person coming into the space. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut a bit longer to see what the vibe was like among the women before sharing.
It was then that I pulled my enthusiasm back at the idea of living in an artist collective and really looked at the women who were gathered around the table. Physically they all looked like they came out of the same J. Crew catalog. Straight, long black hair, fashion forward outfits be they baby-doll tops, shear layers over designer dress shorts, impeccable make-up, a stylish hat here, a thin belt there. I began to feel underdressed for the occasion in my black shorts and turquoise coffee stained tee shirt.
Karen changed topics and said, "What about overnight guests?" And all the ladies started nodding their heads cooing, oh yes! Overnight guests!
Bonnie says, "Well if we pay the thousand dollars or more and have our own rooms, it shouldn't be an issue."
"Yeah, if I'm paying that I should be allowed my guests" says Connie.
A thousand dollars? I couldn't afford that, so that meant I'd be sharing a room with one of these girls. Looking at their dress, listening to how they spoke I started doubting that there was a painter or sculptor in the whole bunch. I waited as I listened to them yammer on about how often they go out and what kind of guys they like to bring home and how easy it was dating in New York. Sitting in the energy of what it might be like to live with these girls, my stomach didn't feel so good.
Finally I asked the group, "So, what kind of artists is everyone?"
"I'm an actress and part-time model." said Karen.
"Actress" said Bonnie.
"Actress" said Kelly.
"Actress" said Connie.
"I'm a part-time actress too, but mostly I'm a Balloon Artist." said Vicki sheepishly.
Finally! An artist!
I nodded and smiled at Vicki. There was hope for this artist collective after all!
"I'm a writer and musician," I said. Ooh's and aah's came from the women. How exotic.
I asked Karen if any other painters or musicians or writers replied to her ad and she said she didn't know.
Bonnie noticed Connie's shoes and started asking what size she wore and where she got the shoes and would she be willing to share them sometime and that she had a lot of shoes that'd she'd be willing to share and then Karen and Vickie started talking about wearing dresses and how much they each liked their outfits and was she a size zero too? No? A size two? Yeah, sometimes that fit her too and wasn't it terrible when she was bloated and couldn't fit into her favorite skirt?
I sat in the chattering noise laughing to myself that art comes in all forms and it was unlikely that these women would be having avant-garde performance pieces in the space ala Yoko Ono. I asked my gut what I should do next. It yelled: GET OUT!
And that's what I did.
I stood up and said that I wasn't a good fit for their artist collective. I thanked the women for their time and wished them the best of luck with their aspirations and walked away. That bullet didn’t even graze me.
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part XII
Tuesday July 1st, 2008
Grand Tetons
Jackson Hole, MT
Back in my corporate days, I used to ask unusual questions when interviewing potential new hires. At first I started out with the tame 1980's new-age typed query, like "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" While I was working for Whole Foods, I changed that question to relate to the different department I was interviewing for, so if you wanted to work in the Specialty department I would ask, "If you were a piece of cheese, what kind of cheese would you be and why?" Or the meat department, "If you were a cut of meat, what kind of meat would you be and why?" The answers showed creativity and product knowledge.
I became bored of those questions so I started asking more abstract like "If you could be an action hero, who would you be and why?" Those who wanted to be Superman burned out too fast. those who wanted to be Spiderman were good at finding solutions. Don't hire Batman because he lives in some crazy fantasy world where he has an unlimited budget to spend and can't will order everything he sees in the Office Depot catalog!
I used to do a lot of interviewing and I became bored with that question too until one day. A stroke of genius happened while conducting interviews and this became my favorite question to date, "If you had to eliminate on of the fifty states, which one would it be and why?"
I found it surprising at how many people hate Rhode Island. California, I expected but not little Rhode Island! It was also interesting to watch how many people didn't know half of the fifty states and watching them make a decision was part of the interview...were they able to make a decisive decision and feel firm by it? Did they waver between two states? Could they even make a choice having so many to choose from? And why did they settle on their choice?
If someone asked me right now, today, what state I would I choose it would be an easy decision.
WYOMING
I fucking hate Wyoming! I wish it would just be split into parts and absorbed by all the states surrounding it...or better yet, let's give it away to Canada! Or how about we lease the space to another country in need of some beautiful land unlike its natural habitat where the locals could get away....maybe Belize or Cambodia for example. Didn't we do a number on the Cambodian people in the 1970's? Don't we owe the country something? Wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave the land away?
Or what if we gave the land to Saudi Arabia and in return we could have unlimited oil for all vehicles that ran on green fuels for a dollar a gallon?
I mean, we're a creative country. Can't we just get rid of Wyoming and do something else with the space? We could sell it off for advertising space to Starbucks or Coca Cola and Budweiser to get rid of the mounting debt that we've accrued in the last eight years! I don't want to discuss politics but I mean, really? Don't we have a lot of debt right now? Can't we do something about it? I really believe we can get rid of this god forsaken state and do something better with it.
Why?
Why Wyoming?
It all began many years ago while traveling around the country in the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper with my incredible cat, Sing. He wasn't happy living in the bus but got used to it after many days. He perched himself on the top of the counter that covered the stove, directly behind the driver's seat and he'd sit with his paw on my shoulder watching were we were going as I drove through the mountains, high deserts, low plains.
One night I was fatigued and decided to stop and sleep in a truck stop. It was a warm July night outside of Cheyenne. I had the windows unrolled less than half-way to let the breeze in since I decided not to pop the top causing attention to myself. Somehow Sing crawled out of the camper and dashed away into the night. I was devastated. He never returned. Did he hear something that caught his attention? Did he smell something tasty? What called him away from the cozy spot next to my head on my pillow?
Only one thing could do that...the sultry call of the devil state, Wyoming.
Oh sure, Wyoming has its good points like being the first state to grant women the right to vote back in 1870....a good thirty years before anyone else. I don't want to talk about all the good its done. I'm still too angry at it for all its done to me.
I knew too, when I boarded the Green Tortoise that I would have to go through Wyoming and I thought to myself maybe it was time that I changed my attitude about this gigantic state. Maybe it was time I grew up, practiced some forgiveness and moved on with my life.
And maybe it was too soon.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Grand Tetons
Jackson Hole, MT
Back in my corporate days, I used to ask unusual questions when interviewing potential new hires. At first I started out with the tame 1980's new-age typed query, like "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" While I was working for Whole Foods, I changed that question to relate to the different department I was interviewing for, so if you wanted to work in the Specialty department I would ask, "If you were a piece of cheese, what kind of cheese would you be and why?" Or the meat department, "If you were a cut of meat, what kind of meat would you be and why?" The answers showed creativity and product knowledge.
I became bored of those questions so I started asking more abstract like "If you could be an action hero, who would you be and why?" Those who wanted to be Superman burned out too fast. those who wanted to be Spiderman were good at finding solutions. Don't hire Batman because he lives in some crazy fantasy world where he has an unlimited budget to spend and can't will order everything he sees in the Office Depot catalog!
I used to do a lot of interviewing and I became bored with that question too until one day. A stroke of genius happened while conducting interviews and this became my favorite question to date, "If you had to eliminate on of the fifty states, which one would it be and why?"
I found it surprising at how many people hate Rhode Island. California, I expected but not little Rhode Island! It was also interesting to watch how many people didn't know half of the fifty states and watching them make a decision was part of the interview...were they able to make a decisive decision and feel firm by it? Did they waver between two states? Could they even make a choice having so many to choose from? And why did they settle on their choice?
If someone asked me right now, today, what state I would I choose it would be an easy decision.
WYOMING
I fucking hate Wyoming! I wish it would just be split into parts and absorbed by all the states surrounding it...or better yet, let's give it away to Canada! Or how about we lease the space to another country in need of some beautiful land unlike its natural habitat where the locals could get away....maybe Belize or Cambodia for example. Didn't we do a number on the Cambodian people in the 1970's? Don't we owe the country something? Wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave the land away?
Or what if we gave the land to Saudi Arabia and in return we could have unlimited oil for all vehicles that ran on green fuels for a dollar a gallon?
I mean, we're a creative country. Can't we just get rid of Wyoming and do something else with the space? We could sell it off for advertising space to Starbucks or Coca Cola and Budweiser to get rid of the mounting debt that we've accrued in the last eight years! I don't want to discuss politics but I mean, really? Don't we have a lot of debt right now? Can't we do something about it? I really believe we can get rid of this god forsaken state and do something better with it.
Why?
Why Wyoming?
It all began many years ago while traveling around the country in the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper with my incredible cat, Sing. He wasn't happy living in the bus but got used to it after many days. He perched himself on the top of the counter that covered the stove, directly behind the driver's seat and he'd sit with his paw on my shoulder watching were we were going as I drove through the mountains, high deserts, low plains.
One night I was fatigued and decided to stop and sleep in a truck stop. It was a warm July night outside of Cheyenne. I had the windows unrolled less than half-way to let the breeze in since I decided not to pop the top causing attention to myself. Somehow Sing crawled out of the camper and dashed away into the night. I was devastated. He never returned. Did he hear something that caught his attention? Did he smell something tasty? What called him away from the cozy spot next to my head on my pillow?
Only one thing could do that...the sultry call of the devil state, Wyoming.
Oh sure, Wyoming has its good points like being the first state to grant women the right to vote back in 1870....a good thirty years before anyone else. I don't want to talk about all the good its done. I'm still too angry at it for all its done to me.
I knew too, when I boarded the Green Tortoise that I would have to go through Wyoming and I thought to myself maybe it was time that I changed my attitude about this gigantic state. Maybe it was time I grew up, practiced some forgiveness and moved on with my life.
And maybe it was too soon.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Birthday
Today is my birthday.
It has been quite the year so far...at least leading up to today. I had no idea on my birthday last year that my life would change so dramatically, so quickly from where it was...I thought I had everything that I wanted or needed last year this time, albeit there were a lot of issues happening.
The good news is that the drama is gone. My new life in New York is unfolding before my eyes. I am working at creating stability and a daily routine...but what I have found most important is that I cannot think ahead into the future...I mean, I can make plans for meeting a group of women tonight who want to start an artist collective and sharing loft/living space in Greenwich Village. That I can do. But think ahead about what I am actually doing here, why I am here, what am I going to do with all this time and who the hell am I anymore and my head starts to explode.
Byron Katie says something about that. She says (and I am paraphrasing) that she likes to witness the stories her mind tells her about herself and then not believe them. That includes the big ego part and in my case, the little ego that doesn't believe she can do anything.
It is funny to me at how both egos have so much power over us. I've seen both cases and neither one is good. I've witnessed the over-inflated ego that is so self-centered and self-involved that it believes no one around him can do as good a job. I've lived the tiny ego that believes she is worthless and cannot contribute, has no skills and is generally unworthy. Both are equally deadly.
The Little Me, as Echart Tolle calls it, and the stories it tells itself are quite compelling and rather believable. The Little Me is in hungry for any sort of ego-fuel be it over consumption or under-nourishment. My lesson is to keep it properly fed and in check, not allowing either parts to take control over my thought process or abilities.
I have felt unable to write for a variety of excuses but the reality is that I've felt the Little Me feeling meek in this big city. But I have felt that same feeling everywhere I've lived from Delray Beach Florida to Elko Nevada...Seattle, New York...it is all the same. No matter where I go, there I am.
My personal birthday wish for myself today (and feel free to use this yourself) is to stay present. Pay attention to when my mind captures its thoughts and drifts into low self-esteem land and bring it right back to this moment.
For this is all we have. Right here. Right now. Everything else has already happened or will happen later.
Thank you for sharing my birthday with me.
Now I am off to find a cupcake.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
It has been quite the year so far...at least leading up to today. I had no idea on my birthday last year that my life would change so dramatically, so quickly from where it was...I thought I had everything that I wanted or needed last year this time, albeit there were a lot of issues happening.
The good news is that the drama is gone. My new life in New York is unfolding before my eyes. I am working at creating stability and a daily routine...but what I have found most important is that I cannot think ahead into the future...I mean, I can make plans for meeting a group of women tonight who want to start an artist collective and sharing loft/living space in Greenwich Village. That I can do. But think ahead about what I am actually doing here, why I am here, what am I going to do with all this time and who the hell am I anymore and my head starts to explode.
Byron Katie says something about that. She says (and I am paraphrasing) that she likes to witness the stories her mind tells her about herself and then not believe them. That includes the big ego part and in my case, the little ego that doesn't believe she can do anything.
It is funny to me at how both egos have so much power over us. I've seen both cases and neither one is good. I've witnessed the over-inflated ego that is so self-centered and self-involved that it believes no one around him can do as good a job. I've lived the tiny ego that believes she is worthless and cannot contribute, has no skills and is generally unworthy. Both are equally deadly.
The Little Me, as Echart Tolle calls it, and the stories it tells itself are quite compelling and rather believable. The Little Me is in hungry for any sort of ego-fuel be it over consumption or under-nourishment. My lesson is to keep it properly fed and in check, not allowing either parts to take control over my thought process or abilities.
I have felt unable to write for a variety of excuses but the reality is that I've felt the Little Me feeling meek in this big city. But I have felt that same feeling everywhere I've lived from Delray Beach Florida to Elko Nevada...Seattle, New York...it is all the same. No matter where I go, there I am.
My personal birthday wish for myself today (and feel free to use this yourself) is to stay present. Pay attention to when my mind captures its thoughts and drifts into low self-esteem land and bring it right back to this moment.
For this is all we have. Right here. Right now. Everything else has already happened or will happen later.
Thank you for sharing my birthday with me.
Now I am off to find a cupcake.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part XI
There is a lot of energy and excitement in the boats. I am one of the few people who's never rafted before so I pay strict attention during our emergency training as we sit in the still waters on the shore.
"This here," Justin, our guide says, "is the Chicken Line." He pulls on the long red rope that runs down the length of the center of the boat. "If you feel like you're gonna fall in the water, hang on to this line and fall into the boat, not out of it." He looks at us seriously. "You don't know what kind of rocks there will be when we're crossing class four rapids and the last thing you wanna do is bash your head on some rock."
Bash our heads in? Oh no. I look for the Chicken Line and become best friends with the life-saving twine.
"Remember, if your gonna fall, fall into the boat." He looks at us for eye confirmation. I think to myself...fall towards the boat, fall towards the boat, fall in the boat.
"If you do fall in, depending on where you are, you may end up drifting down river aways until we can catch-up with you." His voice is stern. My breath quickens thinking about this possibility. "Don't panic. I will get you. I haven't lost anyone yet!" He gives a big Idaho smile. "Of course, this is only my third time leading a group." He laughs as he says this and I look horrified to my raft companions.
"Just kidding, just kidding...don't worry. I been using that line for the last six years and before that I was riding with my Dad over there since I was this big." He measures an imaginary height at his knee with his left hand. At that moment, his father looks up at him and they wave to each other, laughing and shaking their heads. Part of the initiation process for white water rafting is checking to make sure your heart works. Mine was pumping just fine.
"Seriously though, if you do fall in, here's what you do when we fish you out. Keep your arms straight at your sides and one of us will grab you from the bottom sides of your life-vest. Stay straight, okay?" We nod.
"Everybody ready?" He asks.
"Yeah! Let's Go!" We say.
"Okay!" Justin says just as excited as if it's his first trip too.
"Now to splash another boat, you gotta hold your paddle down at an angle and keep it straight pushing the paddle out with the back of the ore." He gives us a demonstration splashing his father with the back of his paddle. His father retaliates fast and saturates his son with water. The boat his dad is in has the partiers and they are ready for a splash fight. My boat is not interested. We want to see the sites and hit the rapids and as if we were of one mind, we start to paddle together in unison. Our boat has only six people compared to the others that have eight and we are fast since we are lighter. We outrun the splashing waters and head down river.
"Wow!" Justin says. "You guys are fast!"
"That's right." Carol says. "Let's show those punk kids we've got speed!" We all and cheer.
"Ya know, the Green Tortoise has been a good customer for us, so we made the trip about ten miles longer than usual this time. The rapids are really awesome this year." Justin says. "In fact, we haven't had class four rapids around here in a long time, so it's gonna be an exciting ride!"
The waters were calm and the current of the river was strong, pulling us down-stream. The two other boats had splash fights between them and we paddled enjoying the scenery. I spied a bald eagle's nest with its two golden eagle babies.
It is a beautiful sunny, warm day and the icy river feels refreshing. I drag my hands in the water as we coast. Zeke, a 26 year old socially awkward, unemployed college graduate, puts his feet in the waters. We drift past a the Boy Scouts of America camp and our companions in the other boats jump out and go for a swim. They drift downstream for a mile or two before we start to hit our first series of rapids.
Quickly, the other boats gather up their passengers and prepare for the first set of class three rapids. "Paddle hard!" Justin yells at us as we approach the white waters and we do as we're told. Waters splash up over the front of the boat as we hit a dip in the river and water crashes inside the boat. I stop paddling and hold onto the chicken line with both hands praying I don't fall in the crashing waters. Water is everywhere, splashing all around us and in an instant our boat is half-full of Salmon river water. The waters calm down and I ask our guide, "Should we be worried that our boat is filling up with water?"
"Nah, it's a self-bailing boat!" Justin smiles and says, "Look!" And as fast as he had spoke, our boat was nearly empty of all the water that rushed in.
"Cool!" I say. "That was fun!"
"That was nothing! Wait until after we pass the gold mine!" Justin says always smiling. He loves it job and it shows. We paddle down the river and pass through another series of rapids and I never let go of the chicken line. Sometimes I hold on with two hands although after three or four series, I begin to feel confident and enjoy the turbulent waters.
About an hour into our ride and I spot our Green Tortoise bus. I ask our guide if we are nearly finished, disappointed thinking the ride was nearly over.
"Oh no. That's the gold mine." Justin says. "We're gonna stop and take a tour!" The other boats are near us and hear our guide tell us where we're going and Joe calls out like the old prospector, "GOLD!?!" as he had been for the past day or so and we all start laughing. Our guides shake their heads not getting the inside joke.
We get out of the boats and take a short walk to the mine entrance. Our guides are also our tour guides through the gold mining process. The mine had been closed since the 1960's but there was talk about it reopening what with gold trading at nearly a thousand dollars an ounce nowadays. There were make-shift displays on blasting techniques with old photos of when the mine first began operating in the early 1900's. Photos on the walls showed black-faced miners with candle headlamps, filthy clothes. The men looked old and haggered.
We are guided to a large troff set-up with river rock, sand, stones and are given a demonstration on how to pan for gold. Every time one of the men says 'gold' Joe gives his reply. Each time it is funny.
The guides pass around plates of homemade chunky brownies and bottled water and we enjoy our snack in the hot sun. Some of us step into the mine entrance where it is cold to cool off. Our companions who didn't sign-up for the rafting trip ask us how it is going so far and we tell them about the fun we've been having. Esther, who really wanted to come but couldn't afford it, looked devastated upon hearing this news. I saddle up next to her and whisper into her ear, "It's not so great." She smiles instantly and says, "Thanks Linda."
Time is up and we load back into our boats for the second half of the trip. Many of us give our cameras to the non-rafting members of the Green Tortoise and they promise to take pictures of us crossing over the class four falls up ahead. We watch the bus load and race ahead on the narrow Idaho canyon road.
Almost immediately returning to the boat we are upon the class three and four rapids which will remain persistent until the end of the ride which will not be for another three hours.
Justin encourages one of us to take the front of the boat, straddle it like riding a mechanical bull, and keep one hand in the air, one foot in the water. This is the most exciting way to ride the rapids. Zeke is the only one who takes the suggestion and passes his ore to the back of the boat as he straddles the nose.
We approach the class four rapids and it is an intense, exhilarating feeling. I hold on to the chicken line with both hands, abandoning my ore which hits my boat mate in the head as the waters crash over the boat. I start falling and hear Justing yelling at me, "Fall in! Fall in!" and holding onto the line, I fall towards the inside of the boat being hit hard in the head with a wall of water. Zeke is laughing and holding on with one hand like a crazed cowboy laughing his ass off.
All my fears are gone, having survived this last round of rapids. "This is fun!" I yell to Carol and she nods in agreement.
Ahead in the canyon, storm clouds form. The air changes rapidly. Temperatures drop. One moment cold air is gusting across our bodies, the next hot air comes as relief. That can't be good, I think to myself. The mixture of hot and cold air can only mean one thing. Hail.
"Do you think we'll hit that storm ahead?" Carol asks Justin. "Well, let's hope not." Our attention changes back to the river as we approach another series of rapids. "Paddle Hard!" we hear and obey. During this round of rapids I feel rain drops hit my already soaked body. The thunderstorm comes in fast and the rain pounds hard into the boat.
Justin guides us out of the rapids and turns the boat so the rain isn't hitting us hard in the face. It is raining sideways, the winds are icy and immediately I am freezing cold. I have on only my bathing suit and tank top and thin shorts. I stick my hand back in the water and it feels warm compared with the outside temperature. As we drift down a smooth patch of river, some of the other boaters jump into the waters, this time to get warm.
The storm kicks in harder with thunder and lightening. I watch a flash of lightening and count to myself, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Missi... before hearing the thunder. The storm is about three and a half miles away. We're headed right for it.
"What do you do in thunderstorms?" I ask Justin.
"Ride it out...what else can you do?" Justin says shrugging his shoulders.
"How far away are we from the end?" Carol asks.
"Oh...it's a ways." Justin says.
I'll say. It was not just a ways, it was far, far a ways.
The fun stops as we're instructed to paddle hard through the next few series of rapids. In the icy rain, huge hail balls start pelting our skin. Zeke is still holding on with one hand. I am freezing, clinging to the chicken line and praying it would all end soon.
About an hour later, in a calm patch of water, I look at my boat companions all wet, cold, hungry. They are miserable. So am I. My fingertips are blue. I am cold, tired and cranky.
Carol says, "Wouldn't a nice hot cup of tea and a bath be nice right about now?"
"Oh Carol." I say with an attitude of disgust, "We're on the Green Tortoise! This is our bath! The first one in days!" Our first scheduled shower is still a few days away. I look down and notice pink flesh underneath my blue fingernails, the first time in three days! All the dirt is gone! I try to take a positive approach to watery situation. My feet are clean. I try to enjoy the feeling.
"I know what I'd like." Katherine, a silent, pretty woman from France speaks for the first time since we boarded the bus. "A hot chocolate." Murmurs of "yes" and "oh yeah!" are uttered in agreement.
"How much further?" Carol asks Justin again.
"Oh, it's still a ways." Justin says still smiling but with a guilty look, like he feels bad for us.
I look back at our sister boats and in one of them, all the passengers were waving their hands and wiggling their fingers in a "jazz hands" style. The did this for a while and then started laughing afterwards. A little while later, their boat begins to pass us and I yell to them, "What are you guys doing with your hands?"
Donna yells back, "Kundalini Yoga to stay warm!"
"What do we do?" I yell back.
"Shake your hands and fingers for sixty seconds!" She says enthusiastically. I drop my ore and raise my hands in the air and start shaking my hands and fingers. My boat companions join me and together we start counting to sixty out loud. Donna's boat joins us and it is hard not to laugh at the site of all of us, soaking wet, drifting through this beautiful mountain canyon, in this monstrous thunderstorm with our fingers waving hello to all of nature, everywhere. The third boat doesn't join us but laughs at us as it paddles past us.
I can almost feel my fingertips as we nearly finish counting. Then another series of rapids fast approaches and Justin yells at us to paddle hard. We do as we're told and then begin shaking our fingers again to warm ourselves.
Zeke looks over his shoulder at me and asks if I want to take the boat by the nose. What the hell, I think to myself. I can't get any colder and it is unlikely I'll have another chance to do so, so we switch positions. He takes my ore and I drop a foot into the water. It is warm.
Justin steers the boat backwards as we switch positions and then asks, "Ready?" I look back at him and nod, taking hold of the chicken line with both hands. I opt to not ride the nose like a bull, but straddle the boat.
"Paddle Hard!" Justin yells.
I tighten my grip, lift my left leg that is drifting in the waters as we bounce around the class four waters. "Whoo Hoo!" I yell laughing. "Lift your leg!" I hear from Zeke who was keeping an eye on me riding the nose of the boat. Then we hit an unexpected black pocket and nearly capsize. Water completely fills our boat. Justin looks rattled but keeps smiling as he steers us out of the dangerous rocky waters. He turns the boat around and has us paddle back towards the rapids we just went through. Behind us are the other two boats and Justin stands and gives hand signals to the other guides. They nod and steer their boats around the black rocks that we just rode through.
Ahead, in the distance, I spot the Green Tortoise parked under some trees.
"BUS!" I yell. And everyone in all three boats start cheering.
We all paddle hard through the last series of rapids and race towards our home on wheels. In my mind I began to inventory the contents of my day pack and realized that I did not pack any dry shorts or pants. I would have to sit in wet clothes until the next big-bag stop that was a few hours away.
We make it though the last round of rapids unimpressed, like old pros and all jump into the waters to warm up before getting into the bus in the pounding rain. We grab our bags and dry off best we can before we pass the hat to gather cash for tips for our guides.
Everyone looked exhausted, cold, and hungry when we got back on the bus.
"See Esther...it was good you missed this ride. Next time you come to the states, it will be better."
She smiled and gave me a hug.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
"This here," Justin, our guide says, "is the Chicken Line." He pulls on the long red rope that runs down the length of the center of the boat. "If you feel like you're gonna fall in the water, hang on to this line and fall into the boat, not out of it." He looks at us seriously. "You don't know what kind of rocks there will be when we're crossing class four rapids and the last thing you wanna do is bash your head on some rock."
Bash our heads in? Oh no. I look for the Chicken Line and become best friends with the life-saving twine.
"Remember, if your gonna fall, fall into the boat." He looks at us for eye confirmation. I think to myself...fall towards the boat, fall towards the boat, fall in the boat.
"If you do fall in, depending on where you are, you may end up drifting down river aways until we can catch-up with you." His voice is stern. My breath quickens thinking about this possibility. "Don't panic. I will get you. I haven't lost anyone yet!" He gives a big Idaho smile. "Of course, this is only my third time leading a group." He laughs as he says this and I look horrified to my raft companions.
"Just kidding, just kidding...don't worry. I been using that line for the last six years and before that I was riding with my Dad over there since I was this big." He measures an imaginary height at his knee with his left hand. At that moment, his father looks up at him and they wave to each other, laughing and shaking their heads. Part of the initiation process for white water rafting is checking to make sure your heart works. Mine was pumping just fine.
"Seriously though, if you do fall in, here's what you do when we fish you out. Keep your arms straight at your sides and one of us will grab you from the bottom sides of your life-vest. Stay straight, okay?" We nod.
"Everybody ready?" He asks.
"Yeah! Let's Go!" We say.
"Okay!" Justin says just as excited as if it's his first trip too.
"Now to splash another boat, you gotta hold your paddle down at an angle and keep it straight pushing the paddle out with the back of the ore." He gives us a demonstration splashing his father with the back of his paddle. His father retaliates fast and saturates his son with water. The boat his dad is in has the partiers and they are ready for a splash fight. My boat is not interested. We want to see the sites and hit the rapids and as if we were of one mind, we start to paddle together in unison. Our boat has only six people compared to the others that have eight and we are fast since we are lighter. We outrun the splashing waters and head down river.
"Wow!" Justin says. "You guys are fast!"
"That's right." Carol says. "Let's show those punk kids we've got speed!" We all and cheer.
"Ya know, the Green Tortoise has been a good customer for us, so we made the trip about ten miles longer than usual this time. The rapids are really awesome this year." Justin says. "In fact, we haven't had class four rapids around here in a long time, so it's gonna be an exciting ride!"
The waters were calm and the current of the river was strong, pulling us down-stream. The two other boats had splash fights between them and we paddled enjoying the scenery. I spied a bald eagle's nest with its two golden eagle babies.
It is a beautiful sunny, warm day and the icy river feels refreshing. I drag my hands in the water as we coast. Zeke, a 26 year old socially awkward, unemployed college graduate, puts his feet in the waters. We drift past a the Boy Scouts of America camp and our companions in the other boats jump out and go for a swim. They drift downstream for a mile or two before we start to hit our first series of rapids.
Quickly, the other boats gather up their passengers and prepare for the first set of class three rapids. "Paddle hard!" Justin yells at us as we approach the white waters and we do as we're told. Waters splash up over the front of the boat as we hit a dip in the river and water crashes inside the boat. I stop paddling and hold onto the chicken line with both hands praying I don't fall in the crashing waters. Water is everywhere, splashing all around us and in an instant our boat is half-full of Salmon river water. The waters calm down and I ask our guide, "Should we be worried that our boat is filling up with water?"
"Nah, it's a self-bailing boat!" Justin smiles and says, "Look!" And as fast as he had spoke, our boat was nearly empty of all the water that rushed in.
"Cool!" I say. "That was fun!"
"That was nothing! Wait until after we pass the gold mine!" Justin says always smiling. He loves it job and it shows. We paddle down the river and pass through another series of rapids and I never let go of the chicken line. Sometimes I hold on with two hands although after three or four series, I begin to feel confident and enjoy the turbulent waters.
About an hour into our ride and I spot our Green Tortoise bus. I ask our guide if we are nearly finished, disappointed thinking the ride was nearly over.
"Oh no. That's the gold mine." Justin says. "We're gonna stop and take a tour!" The other boats are near us and hear our guide tell us where we're going and Joe calls out like the old prospector, "GOLD!?!" as he had been for the past day or so and we all start laughing. Our guides shake their heads not getting the inside joke.
We get out of the boats and take a short walk to the mine entrance. Our guides are also our tour guides through the gold mining process. The mine had been closed since the 1960's but there was talk about it reopening what with gold trading at nearly a thousand dollars an ounce nowadays. There were make-shift displays on blasting techniques with old photos of when the mine first began operating in the early 1900's. Photos on the walls showed black-faced miners with candle headlamps, filthy clothes. The men looked old and haggered.
We are guided to a large troff set-up with river rock, sand, stones and are given a demonstration on how to pan for gold. Every time one of the men says 'gold' Joe gives his reply. Each time it is funny.
The guides pass around plates of homemade chunky brownies and bottled water and we enjoy our snack in the hot sun. Some of us step into the mine entrance where it is cold to cool off. Our companions who didn't sign-up for the rafting trip ask us how it is going so far and we tell them about the fun we've been having. Esther, who really wanted to come but couldn't afford it, looked devastated upon hearing this news. I saddle up next to her and whisper into her ear, "It's not so great." She smiles instantly and says, "Thanks Linda."
Time is up and we load back into our boats for the second half of the trip. Many of us give our cameras to the non-rafting members of the Green Tortoise and they promise to take pictures of us crossing over the class four falls up ahead. We watch the bus load and race ahead on the narrow Idaho canyon road.
Almost immediately returning to the boat we are upon the class three and four rapids which will remain persistent until the end of the ride which will not be for another three hours.
Justin encourages one of us to take the front of the boat, straddle it like riding a mechanical bull, and keep one hand in the air, one foot in the water. This is the most exciting way to ride the rapids. Zeke is the only one who takes the suggestion and passes his ore to the back of the boat as he straddles the nose.
We approach the class four rapids and it is an intense, exhilarating feeling. I hold on to the chicken line with both hands, abandoning my ore which hits my boat mate in the head as the waters crash over the boat. I start falling and hear Justing yelling at me, "Fall in! Fall in!" and holding onto the line, I fall towards the inside of the boat being hit hard in the head with a wall of water. Zeke is laughing and holding on with one hand like a crazed cowboy laughing his ass off.
All my fears are gone, having survived this last round of rapids. "This is fun!" I yell to Carol and she nods in agreement.
Ahead in the canyon, storm clouds form. The air changes rapidly. Temperatures drop. One moment cold air is gusting across our bodies, the next hot air comes as relief. That can't be good, I think to myself. The mixture of hot and cold air can only mean one thing. Hail.
"Do you think we'll hit that storm ahead?" Carol asks Justin. "Well, let's hope not." Our attention changes back to the river as we approach another series of rapids. "Paddle Hard!" we hear and obey. During this round of rapids I feel rain drops hit my already soaked body. The thunderstorm comes in fast and the rain pounds hard into the boat.
Justin guides us out of the rapids and turns the boat so the rain isn't hitting us hard in the face. It is raining sideways, the winds are icy and immediately I am freezing cold. I have on only my bathing suit and tank top and thin shorts. I stick my hand back in the water and it feels warm compared with the outside temperature. As we drift down a smooth patch of river, some of the other boaters jump into the waters, this time to get warm.
The storm kicks in harder with thunder and lightening. I watch a flash of lightening and count to myself, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Missi... before hearing the thunder. The storm is about three and a half miles away. We're headed right for it.
"What do you do in thunderstorms?" I ask Justin.
"Ride it out...what else can you do?" Justin says shrugging his shoulders.
"How far away are we from the end?" Carol asks.
"Oh...it's a ways." Justin says.
I'll say. It was not just a ways, it was far, far a ways.
The fun stops as we're instructed to paddle hard through the next few series of rapids. In the icy rain, huge hail balls start pelting our skin. Zeke is still holding on with one hand. I am freezing, clinging to the chicken line and praying it would all end soon.
About an hour later, in a calm patch of water, I look at my boat companions all wet, cold, hungry. They are miserable. So am I. My fingertips are blue. I am cold, tired and cranky.
Carol says, "Wouldn't a nice hot cup of tea and a bath be nice right about now?"
"Oh Carol." I say with an attitude of disgust, "We're on the Green Tortoise! This is our bath! The first one in days!" Our first scheduled shower is still a few days away. I look down and notice pink flesh underneath my blue fingernails, the first time in three days! All the dirt is gone! I try to take a positive approach to watery situation. My feet are clean. I try to enjoy the feeling.
"I know what I'd like." Katherine, a silent, pretty woman from France speaks for the first time since we boarded the bus. "A hot chocolate." Murmurs of "yes" and "oh yeah!" are uttered in agreement.
"How much further?" Carol asks Justin again.
"Oh, it's still a ways." Justin says still smiling but with a guilty look, like he feels bad for us.
I look back at our sister boats and in one of them, all the passengers were waving their hands and wiggling their fingers in a "jazz hands" style. The did this for a while and then started laughing afterwards. A little while later, their boat begins to pass us and I yell to them, "What are you guys doing with your hands?"
Donna yells back, "Kundalini Yoga to stay warm!"
"What do we do?" I yell back.
"Shake your hands and fingers for sixty seconds!" She says enthusiastically. I drop my ore and raise my hands in the air and start shaking my hands and fingers. My boat companions join me and together we start counting to sixty out loud. Donna's boat joins us and it is hard not to laugh at the site of all of us, soaking wet, drifting through this beautiful mountain canyon, in this monstrous thunderstorm with our fingers waving hello to all of nature, everywhere. The third boat doesn't join us but laughs at us as it paddles past us.
I can almost feel my fingertips as we nearly finish counting. Then another series of rapids fast approaches and Justin yells at us to paddle hard. We do as we're told and then begin shaking our fingers again to warm ourselves.
Zeke looks over his shoulder at me and asks if I want to take the boat by the nose. What the hell, I think to myself. I can't get any colder and it is unlikely I'll have another chance to do so, so we switch positions. He takes my ore and I drop a foot into the water. It is warm.
Justin steers the boat backwards as we switch positions and then asks, "Ready?" I look back at him and nod, taking hold of the chicken line with both hands. I opt to not ride the nose like a bull, but straddle the boat.
"Paddle Hard!" Justin yells.
I tighten my grip, lift my left leg that is drifting in the waters as we bounce around the class four waters. "Whoo Hoo!" I yell laughing. "Lift your leg!" I hear from Zeke who was keeping an eye on me riding the nose of the boat. Then we hit an unexpected black pocket and nearly capsize. Water completely fills our boat. Justin looks rattled but keeps smiling as he steers us out of the dangerous rocky waters. He turns the boat around and has us paddle back towards the rapids we just went through. Behind us are the other two boats and Justin stands and gives hand signals to the other guides. They nod and steer their boats around the black rocks that we just rode through.
Ahead, in the distance, I spot the Green Tortoise parked under some trees.
"BUS!" I yell. And everyone in all three boats start cheering.
We all paddle hard through the last series of rapids and race towards our home on wheels. In my mind I began to inventory the contents of my day pack and realized that I did not pack any dry shorts or pants. I would have to sit in wet clothes until the next big-bag stop that was a few hours away.
We make it though the last round of rapids unimpressed, like old pros and all jump into the waters to warm up before getting into the bus in the pounding rain. We grab our bags and dry off best we can before we pass the hat to gather cash for tips for our guides.
Everyone looked exhausted, cold, and hungry when we got back on the bus.
"See Esther...it was good you missed this ride. Next time you come to the states, it will be better."
She smiled and gave me a hug.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part X
After such a bad night's sleep and the fear of being left behind in Idaho, I decided to abandon the idea of rest all together and start setting up breakfast production around 6:30 AM with Driver Dave.
This becomes one of my regular jobs during the next eleven days. To set-up breakfast, first we pull out all the equipment from the cargo bays in the buses belly. For each meal we extract four six-foot folding tables, twenty over-sized stackable crates the contents which include coffee cups, plates, bowls, coffee brewing equipment, coffee, tea and hot chocolate ingredients, disposable sandwich bags and foil, assorted cereals, condiments, dried pasta, granola bars, olive oil and vinegar, miscellaneous dried ingredients like flour and corn meal, dried spices with salt and pepper mills. Also there are two huge tool boxes that hold chef knives and utensils plus the silverware we all use.
Once we unload the bins out of the bay, then comes setting up the huge pot we use to boil water for coffee and tea plus setting up the propane stove with five gallon propane tank. The is no weekend camp stove. It is cast-iron and very heavy designed to hold only one over-sized stock pot at a time. The first actual cooking task after bringing everything out and setting up the stove is boiling water. Everyone craves their coffee or tea first off in the morning. Occasionally we make other meals that require us to use industrial sized camp stoves with dual burners. We set two of those up back-to-back with another giant tank of propane.
We have a hand-washing station that uses a three compartment sink concept: soapy water, rinse water and bleach water to sterilize. Before anyone helps, they have to wash their hands. Also, we set-up a dish washing area with the same set-up but using bus tubs and there are four drying racks. Dishes and utensils must air-dry after being dipped into the bleach-water to kill bacteria.
Wavy Dave, the tax consultant, appoints himself as chief coffee maker in the morning. The only problem with this is that he is not a coffee drinker thus makes terrible coffee. We're drinking cowboy coffee which consists of boiled water poured on top of coffee grounds in a stainless steel pitcher with spout. We strain the coffee into plastic cups and put the leftover grounds back in the pot. When I kindly suggest to Wavy Dave that he use more of grounds in his cowboy coffee, he says, "That's not what Driver Dave instructed me to do."
Good times.
Except for a couple of days, each breakfast has cut fruit salad, granola and yogurt. On the other few days we had French Toast which wasn't so much fun for me since I can't eat bread without feeling sick, but people seemed to enjoy it. Carol, who also can't eat bread, made us cheese omelets instead for breakfast. That was nice. Another day, Cassie and crew made a Mexican scramble which was inedible. It was watery, wet eggs with soggy vegetables.
To set-up and tear-down breakfast takes a couple of hours. Once the food prep is done then we pack a lunch for the afternoon which are sandwich fixings, then we clean and put everything away. Not a fast process.
It is Sunday morning and we are headed to the Craters of the Moon. It is before 9 AM and already a hot 95 Fahrenheit degrees outside (that's 35 Celsius). Driver Dave drops us off and says the hike is only a mile around and there are caves to explore. He is wrong. It is a few miles but I do the hike quickly and return back to the bus and fall immediately asleep. I don't wake up for several hours which is blissful rest.
When I awake we are headed down Idaho canyon roads that weave around the Salmon River. It is a beautiful area, lush and green and all of our spirits are lifted. We arrive at our campsite which is off of the river so we can go for a swim, or at least a dip and it is the first night of camping. We pull our out big bags and tents and start setting up camp. Most of us will be sleeping outside. Those who didn't bring tents lay blue tarps on the soft grass and take cushions from the bus to sleep under the stars in their sleeping bags. It sounds romantic but I've slept under the stars plenty of times and don't like to wake up wet, covered in dew. But I can see the attraction. The party group set-up their tarps just like they are in the front of the bus except they don't sleep head-to-toe outside. They're side by side. Each tarp holds about four people.
I bought a new tent for this trip and it was a bargain. It is huge compared to my companions who have single or double tents. Mine can easily sleep four to six people. I take cushions from the bus to sleep on and bring all my gear inside. It is so nice to have all my stuff around me within the confines of my own space. There is a strong sense of self within my little tent. I savor the privacy, skip dinner and fall asleep for thirteen long, glorious hours.
The first night of camping was a success. A huge thunderstorm passed through our canyon after dinner and we were lucky, no tents were harmed. I slept through the whole storm and listened to the stories of the double rainbows that appeared following the storm. After breakfast we tear down camp and have a two hour wait before we head out white water rafting. Everyone is in good spirits and a group of us sits around a picnic table telling stories and laughing.
Joe is funny this morning. Every time someone says the word "gold" he stands up, crouches over like an old man and slaps his knee like he's a prospector from the 1800's and says really loud, "GOLD!?" The laughter feeds his soul and it becomes an inside joke for the next week, especially when strangers are around. We say the word in anticipation of Joe's response. Later in the trip Joe buys a black Stetson cowboy hat, black leather holster and a very real looking metal gun, so he looks more the part. He takes to sitting in full cowboy gear on the bus, hiding the gun when we roll into small towns. Joe takes no shame in playing dressing up and will do just about anything for a laugh on this trip.
A while later and we are back on the bus winding through the canyons to the drop-off point for the white water rafting. I was ambivalently about going rafting thinking about other things I could do with the sixty bucks, but decided I had never done it before and didn't know when I'd be back to the west coast again...and the snow pack was still melting so the trip was bound to be exciting. At the last minute I decide to go abandoning caution to the wind and face my fear of the white waters.
We are met by our Idaho guides, rugged, athletic, strong, handsome men who know this river inside and out. There are three boats. Two boats are full with eight people and mine has six. There is only one person who is not with the Green Tortoise group. His name is Todd. He is a teacher from Baltimore out west camping with some friends. His companions bailed out at the last moment once they found out that we would be on class four rapids.
Rating rapids is the same as rating tornadoes or hurricanes. It is a one through five scale, five being the most dangerous and one the easiest. The snow pack was still melting under the hot Idaho sun and the river looks intimidating. Our guides have increased the ride by ten miles. They are a small, family-owned business that dropped homemade cookies to our campsite after we arrived last night as a welcome present.
This should be an exciting ride.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
This becomes one of my regular jobs during the next eleven days. To set-up breakfast, first we pull out all the equipment from the cargo bays in the buses belly. For each meal we extract four six-foot folding tables, twenty over-sized stackable crates the contents which include coffee cups, plates, bowls, coffee brewing equipment, coffee, tea and hot chocolate ingredients, disposable sandwich bags and foil, assorted cereals, condiments, dried pasta, granola bars, olive oil and vinegar, miscellaneous dried ingredients like flour and corn meal, dried spices with salt and pepper mills. Also there are two huge tool boxes that hold chef knives and utensils plus the silverware we all use.
Once we unload the bins out of the bay, then comes setting up the huge pot we use to boil water for coffee and tea plus setting up the propane stove with five gallon propane tank. The is no weekend camp stove. It is cast-iron and very heavy designed to hold only one over-sized stock pot at a time. The first actual cooking task after bringing everything out and setting up the stove is boiling water. Everyone craves their coffee or tea first off in the morning. Occasionally we make other meals that require us to use industrial sized camp stoves with dual burners. We set two of those up back-to-back with another giant tank of propane.
We have a hand-washing station that uses a three compartment sink concept: soapy water, rinse water and bleach water to sterilize. Before anyone helps, they have to wash their hands. Also, we set-up a dish washing area with the same set-up but using bus tubs and there are four drying racks. Dishes and utensils must air-dry after being dipped into the bleach-water to kill bacteria.
Wavy Dave, the tax consultant, appoints himself as chief coffee maker in the morning. The only problem with this is that he is not a coffee drinker thus makes terrible coffee. We're drinking cowboy coffee which consists of boiled water poured on top of coffee grounds in a stainless steel pitcher with spout. We strain the coffee into plastic cups and put the leftover grounds back in the pot. When I kindly suggest to Wavy Dave that he use more of grounds in his cowboy coffee, he says, "That's not what Driver Dave instructed me to do."
Good times.
Except for a couple of days, each breakfast has cut fruit salad, granola and yogurt. On the other few days we had French Toast which wasn't so much fun for me since I can't eat bread without feeling sick, but people seemed to enjoy it. Carol, who also can't eat bread, made us cheese omelets instead for breakfast. That was nice. Another day, Cassie and crew made a Mexican scramble which was inedible. It was watery, wet eggs with soggy vegetables.
To set-up and tear-down breakfast takes a couple of hours. Once the food prep is done then we pack a lunch for the afternoon which are sandwich fixings, then we clean and put everything away. Not a fast process.
It is Sunday morning and we are headed to the Craters of the Moon. It is before 9 AM and already a hot 95 Fahrenheit degrees outside (that's 35 Celsius). Driver Dave drops us off and says the hike is only a mile around and there are caves to explore. He is wrong. It is a few miles but I do the hike quickly and return back to the bus and fall immediately asleep. I don't wake up for several hours which is blissful rest.
When I awake we are headed down Idaho canyon roads that weave around the Salmon River. It is a beautiful area, lush and green and all of our spirits are lifted. We arrive at our campsite which is off of the river so we can go for a swim, or at least a dip and it is the first night of camping. We pull our out big bags and tents and start setting up camp. Most of us will be sleeping outside. Those who didn't bring tents lay blue tarps on the soft grass and take cushions from the bus to sleep under the stars in their sleeping bags. It sounds romantic but I've slept under the stars plenty of times and don't like to wake up wet, covered in dew. But I can see the attraction. The party group set-up their tarps just like they are in the front of the bus except they don't sleep head-to-toe outside. They're side by side. Each tarp holds about four people.
I bought a new tent for this trip and it was a bargain. It is huge compared to my companions who have single or double tents. Mine can easily sleep four to six people. I take cushions from the bus to sleep on and bring all my gear inside. It is so nice to have all my stuff around me within the confines of my own space. There is a strong sense of self within my little tent. I savor the privacy, skip dinner and fall asleep for thirteen long, glorious hours.
The first night of camping was a success. A huge thunderstorm passed through our canyon after dinner and we were lucky, no tents were harmed. I slept through the whole storm and listened to the stories of the double rainbows that appeared following the storm. After breakfast we tear down camp and have a two hour wait before we head out white water rafting. Everyone is in good spirits and a group of us sits around a picnic table telling stories and laughing.
Joe is funny this morning. Every time someone says the word "gold" he stands up, crouches over like an old man and slaps his knee like he's a prospector from the 1800's and says really loud, "GOLD!?" The laughter feeds his soul and it becomes an inside joke for the next week, especially when strangers are around. We say the word in anticipation of Joe's response. Later in the trip Joe buys a black Stetson cowboy hat, black leather holster and a very real looking metal gun, so he looks more the part. He takes to sitting in full cowboy gear on the bus, hiding the gun when we roll into small towns. Joe takes no shame in playing dressing up and will do just about anything for a laugh on this trip.
A while later and we are back on the bus winding through the canyons to the drop-off point for the white water rafting. I was ambivalently about going rafting thinking about other things I could do with the sixty bucks, but decided I had never done it before and didn't know when I'd be back to the west coast again...and the snow pack was still melting so the trip was bound to be exciting. At the last minute I decide to go abandoning caution to the wind and face my fear of the white waters.
We are met by our Idaho guides, rugged, athletic, strong, handsome men who know this river inside and out. There are three boats. Two boats are full with eight people and mine has six. There is only one person who is not with the Green Tortoise group. His name is Todd. He is a teacher from Baltimore out west camping with some friends. His companions bailed out at the last moment once they found out that we would be on class four rapids.
Rating rapids is the same as rating tornadoes or hurricanes. It is a one through five scale, five being the most dangerous and one the easiest. The snow pack was still melting under the hot Idaho sun and the river looks intimidating. Our guides have increased the ride by ten miles. They are a small, family-owned business that dropped homemade cookies to our campsite after we arrived last night as a welcome present.
This should be an exciting ride.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Brooklyn Baby
I found a furnished room to live in Brooklyn yesterday. It's in a "transitional" neighborhood which means it doesn't have any Starbuck's and it's mostly Afro-American. J-Z, the rapper, is from this neighborhood. The residents are very watchful and church going folks. It borders the Hasidic Jewish neighborhood and there are Kosher butchers and pastry shops close by.
My new roommates seem nice and are very welcoming. It will be the first time that I live with children, a 9 year old girl and 11 year old boy also live there half-time, so we'll see how that goes. The good news is that if I don't like it I can move out....it's month to month.
Now what?
Write, I guess...find a community...maybe a good slice of pizza.
I move in on Friday.
Wow. I've moved to New York!
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
My new roommates seem nice and are very welcoming. It will be the first time that I live with children, a 9 year old girl and 11 year old boy also live there half-time, so we'll see how that goes. The good news is that if I don't like it I can move out....it's month to month.
Now what?
Write, I guess...find a community...maybe a good slice of pizza.
I move in on Friday.
Wow. I've moved to New York!
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Sunday, July 27, 2008
New York Bound
I am riding a bus with internet access complete with air conditioning and electrical outlets on the four hour ride from Boston to New York. Listening to Hildegard Von Bingen I am amazed at where I am today, at this moment.
I reflect mostly on Anne and her recent survival from open-heart surgery performed under emergency situations. How fleeting and fragile this life is. How tempting it is to become consumed with the mindless chatter, the monkey mind that invades trying to convince me that it is real when all that matters is this moment. Life is funny. It seems like only a moment ago I was a child and suddenly I am a woman. I am grateful for this life, this gift and pray that the right thing is in motion for me, that my intentions are pure and for the highest good of all the people, everywhere. For each action has a ripple effect and the more consciousness I bring to my every day, my every movement, my every thought it somehow will impact the world around me.
May my transitions continue to be smooth and blessed. May my fear of the unknown be replaced with trust that I will feel my answers in my body and receive confirmation from my surroundings.
Thank you Grandmother, Grandfather, Great Mystery, Creation, Spirit. I am present and in gratitude for this moment. May our planet heal from the pain that the humans have created by over using her beautiful resources. May she forgive us for our ignorance. May the winged creatures, the two legged and four legged beings, insects, flowers, rocks and trees forgive the foolish who invade her land and hold compassion as we visit this most beautiful vacation planet.
Amen. Ashey. Namaste.
Wish me luck.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
I reflect mostly on Anne and her recent survival from open-heart surgery performed under emergency situations. How fleeting and fragile this life is. How tempting it is to become consumed with the mindless chatter, the monkey mind that invades trying to convince me that it is real when all that matters is this moment. Life is funny. It seems like only a moment ago I was a child and suddenly I am a woman. I am grateful for this life, this gift and pray that the right thing is in motion for me, that my intentions are pure and for the highest good of all the people, everywhere. For each action has a ripple effect and the more consciousness I bring to my every day, my every movement, my every thought it somehow will impact the world around me.
May my transitions continue to be smooth and blessed. May my fear of the unknown be replaced with trust that I will feel my answers in my body and receive confirmation from my surroundings.
Thank you Grandmother, Grandfather, Great Mystery, Creation, Spirit. I am present and in gratitude for this moment. May our planet heal from the pain that the humans have created by over using her beautiful resources. May she forgive us for our ignorance. May the winged creatures, the two legged and four legged beings, insects, flowers, rocks and trees forgive the foolish who invade her land and hold compassion as we visit this most beautiful vacation planet.
Amen. Ashey. Namaste.
Wish me luck.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
The Green Tortoise Part IX
The Green Tortoise information page clearly states that they have a "Flexible" itinerary. We were on our second night and our itinerary was changed again from what I had booked. Two weeks earlier, when I booked my spot on the bus, we were scheduled to go white water rafting following our stop in the Ruby Mountains. We still were going, but it has been postponed a day. There was a late night announcement that we were still headed to the Salmon River but first we were going to "Craters of the Moon" which is a national monument and volcanic preserve. It is filled with black, razor sharp lava and caves.
The reputation of the Green Tortoise is that of a hippy bus and very laid back. I took this to mean that the passengers would be included in any itinerary changes and perhaps make suggestions or asked if they would like to visit new places. I know this was an assumption on my part and I had no reason to support this belief but somehow I believed that we would be included in the decision making process. So when I find out we are headed to "Craters of the Moon" I am disappointed. I've been there before too and it is no place I'd like to visit twice. Not to mention its name conjures images of a bad ride at Disney Land.
Being a passenger means that we receive information from our driver on a need to know basis. We don't need to know all the details, but I like knowing what is going on. I am accustomed to being a driver which means that I hold all the information...not receive it. Part of my personal transformation includes letting go of this obsessive behavior to know everything in every situation. That is an old habit I learned from being with people who were out of control of their behavior. It is a behavior I learned as a child to compensate for turbulent times. Letting go of my need to know means I am letting go of my need to control my situation. My lesson now is to learn how to trust. Trust that the right thing is in motion. Trust that I am a favorite child of God and that I am safe. This is a big lesson for me and I welcome it.
When you are a passenger on a bus all that you can control is your own behavior. You cannot control thirty other people, all you can do is notice your own response and grow as needed. The Green Tortoise provided me with ample opportunity to witness my own responses to others and I did my best to respond with dignity and respect towards all of the other passengers, even when their behavior infringed on my personal space.
During the second night's sleep, as we drove full speed ahead towards The Craters of The Moon and then Salmon River, Idaho, I was awakened several times by another passenger, Randi, who did not like where she was originally sleeping that night and squeezed in next to me during a bathroom stop.
Randi is addicted to drama and attention. She is a loud, self-absorbed woman from New Jersey. She is one of the few passengers who is always using her cell phone, iPod and lap-top. She talks loudly on the phone so we all can overhear her self-important conversations, she cries loudly while listening to her iPod and she complains loudly when there is no WiFi at any of our bathroom stops. She interrupts private conversations that she has been eavesdropping on to correct facts. She includes herself in hiking groups uninvited and she is always late. She holds the bus up several times from us leaving on time. Randi has many health issues she is very happy to share with anyone who will listen and especially to those who wish not to listen. It is not surprising to me to find out that she kicks in her sleep like she is at battle with her demons during the daytime and fighting for her life as she sleeps.
I find this out in fifteen minute intervals at one, two, three, and four AM. She kicks me repeatedly with force, hard kicks in the side, back and legs oblivious to her own physical actions. Each time I sit up to see why she is kicking me and she is sprawled out, snoring and drooling taking up two sleeping spaces, eyes moving in REM dreaming patterns. Even in her sleep she is demanding attention. The sleeping bus is full, all bunks taken, the party-drinking bunch are passed out from too much sunshine, hiking and Wild Turkey. There is no place to move, so I try to make my six-foot frame (or 1.8288 meters) tiny and move closer to my other sleeping companion.
When I look at Randi, I see a black cloud surrounding her as if her aura is not able to break free from her need to be liked and accepted, even in her sleep. Under normal conditions, I would channel compassion and say a prayer for her to find happiness and self-love in her life, but these are not normal conditions. I am cranky like a child, angry and tired. I crave my rest but can see it will not be happening for me this night. Accepting this situation I remain awake changing my energies to meditation in hope of gathering rest for my weary soul.
We pull into a lush rest area with rest stop with picnic tables underneath big trees. It is pre-dawn, one of my favorite times of day, when the star filled skies gently turn from midnight to indigo to soft light blue as sensual pinks and tender tangerine prepare my eyes for the magnificent sun to arise for another day warming my skin and nourish our ever evolving planet.
Our driver crawls into her bunk to grab a few hours sleep. I am exhausted from no sleep and in dreary exhaustion slip off the bus to use the bathroom. I take my sleeping bag and go outside under the stars, alone to watch the sunrise. I nod off and am awaken to the bus engine starting and backing out of the rest stop. I realized I did not put anything on the driver's seat to let them know I'd moved off the bus and I forgot to grab my emergency bag with cell phone and wallet. Panicked, I sprint at a mad dash towards the bus dragging my sleeping bag through the dew filled lawn.
Driver Dave stops and opens the door and says, "Don't worry. I'm just turning the bus around. We're gonna make breakfast here before heading out."
I can only imagine how terror stricken I must have looked at that moment dashing through the rest area and take a moment to thank god that I would not be left behind although I was starting to wonder if I might not be happier if I'd just get off the bus and head to New York on a Greyhound bus.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
The reputation of the Green Tortoise is that of a hippy bus and very laid back. I took this to mean that the passengers would be included in any itinerary changes and perhaps make suggestions or asked if they would like to visit new places. I know this was an assumption on my part and I had no reason to support this belief but somehow I believed that we would be included in the decision making process. So when I find out we are headed to "Craters of the Moon" I am disappointed. I've been there before too and it is no place I'd like to visit twice. Not to mention its name conjures images of a bad ride at Disney Land.
Being a passenger means that we receive information from our driver on a need to know basis. We don't need to know all the details, but I like knowing what is going on. I am accustomed to being a driver which means that I hold all the information...not receive it. Part of my personal transformation includes letting go of this obsessive behavior to know everything in every situation. That is an old habit I learned from being with people who were out of control of their behavior. It is a behavior I learned as a child to compensate for turbulent times. Letting go of my need to know means I am letting go of my need to control my situation. My lesson now is to learn how to trust. Trust that the right thing is in motion. Trust that I am a favorite child of God and that I am safe. This is a big lesson for me and I welcome it.
When you are a passenger on a bus all that you can control is your own behavior. You cannot control thirty other people, all you can do is notice your own response and grow as needed. The Green Tortoise provided me with ample opportunity to witness my own responses to others and I did my best to respond with dignity and respect towards all of the other passengers, even when their behavior infringed on my personal space.
During the second night's sleep, as we drove full speed ahead towards The Craters of The Moon and then Salmon River, Idaho, I was awakened several times by another passenger, Randi, who did not like where she was originally sleeping that night and squeezed in next to me during a bathroom stop.
Randi is addicted to drama and attention. She is a loud, self-absorbed woman from New Jersey. She is one of the few passengers who is always using her cell phone, iPod and lap-top. She talks loudly on the phone so we all can overhear her self-important conversations, she cries loudly while listening to her iPod and she complains loudly when there is no WiFi at any of our bathroom stops. She interrupts private conversations that she has been eavesdropping on to correct facts. She includes herself in hiking groups uninvited and she is always late. She holds the bus up several times from us leaving on time. Randi has many health issues she is very happy to share with anyone who will listen and especially to those who wish not to listen. It is not surprising to me to find out that she kicks in her sleep like she is at battle with her demons during the daytime and fighting for her life as she sleeps.
I find this out in fifteen minute intervals at one, two, three, and four AM. She kicks me repeatedly with force, hard kicks in the side, back and legs oblivious to her own physical actions. Each time I sit up to see why she is kicking me and she is sprawled out, snoring and drooling taking up two sleeping spaces, eyes moving in REM dreaming patterns. Even in her sleep she is demanding attention. The sleeping bus is full, all bunks taken, the party-drinking bunch are passed out from too much sunshine, hiking and Wild Turkey. There is no place to move, so I try to make my six-foot frame (or 1.8288 meters) tiny and move closer to my other sleeping companion.
When I look at Randi, I see a black cloud surrounding her as if her aura is not able to break free from her need to be liked and accepted, even in her sleep. Under normal conditions, I would channel compassion and say a prayer for her to find happiness and self-love in her life, but these are not normal conditions. I am cranky like a child, angry and tired. I crave my rest but can see it will not be happening for me this night. Accepting this situation I remain awake changing my energies to meditation in hope of gathering rest for my weary soul.
We pull into a lush rest area with rest stop with picnic tables underneath big trees. It is pre-dawn, one of my favorite times of day, when the star filled skies gently turn from midnight to indigo to soft light blue as sensual pinks and tender tangerine prepare my eyes for the magnificent sun to arise for another day warming my skin and nourish our ever evolving planet.
Our driver crawls into her bunk to grab a few hours sleep. I am exhausted from no sleep and in dreary exhaustion slip off the bus to use the bathroom. I take my sleeping bag and go outside under the stars, alone to watch the sunrise. I nod off and am awaken to the bus engine starting and backing out of the rest stop. I realized I did not put anything on the driver's seat to let them know I'd moved off the bus and I forgot to grab my emergency bag with cell phone and wallet. Panicked, I sprint at a mad dash towards the bus dragging my sleeping bag through the dew filled lawn.
Driver Dave stops and opens the door and says, "Don't worry. I'm just turning the bus around. We're gonna make breakfast here before heading out."
I can only imagine how terror stricken I must have looked at that moment dashing through the rest area and take a moment to thank god that I would not be left behind although I was starting to wonder if I might not be happier if I'd just get off the bus and head to New York on a Greyhound bus.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
Friday, July 25, 2008
Update
I am in Cambridge, MA...I've been here a week housesitting and on Sunday I am headed into New York City to find a place to live. I will continue to write about the my Green Tortoise experience but I am feeling quite anxious not knowing where I am going to live, or how it will all work out. It is hard to write about the recent past while I am in such transition, although I seem to be doing it. I am taking a huge leap of faith by moving to NY and everyday I wonder if I am making the right decision or if I should retreat and head back to Seattle with my tail between my legs.
My birthday is August 7th and will be here in no time at all. I realize that it is not an important date but for me it signifies the beginning of a new year, so relocating is happening at the exact right time.
I am scared and nervous but trust the right thing is in motion. I am hoping to find a room to rent in Williamsburg for about $600/month...which is possible, just not too common. I get back into the city, I have a place to stay for a few days while I sort this all out. It will all work. I just don't know how.
If you have a moment, keep me in your kind thoughts as I move forward with another day as a human being on planet earth.
Now I will go find a cup of chowder. I am in Boston after all.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
My birthday is August 7th and will be here in no time at all. I realize that it is not an important date but for me it signifies the beginning of a new year, so relocating is happening at the exact right time.
I am scared and nervous but trust the right thing is in motion. I am hoping to find a room to rent in Williamsburg for about $600/month...which is possible, just not too common. I get back into the city, I have a place to stay for a few days while I sort this all out. It will all work. I just don't know how.
If you have a moment, keep me in your kind thoughts as I move forward with another day as a human being on planet earth.
Now I will go find a cup of chowder. I am in Boston after all.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part Vlll
As the bus pulls out of the parking lot and onto I-80 East, I slip into the forbidden bathroom and change into my bathing suit.
Joe tries to get a party started in the front of the bus but Driver Dave stops him with another rule.
"People, there is another rule!" Conversations stop quickly so we can hear the latest rule. I start to wonder if he makes these rules up along the way just as he sees fit.
"RULE NUMBER 10: YOU MUST ASK THE DRIVER IF IT IS OKAY TO DRINK! Sometimes it is cool to have a drink on the bus, other times it isn't and the Driver always has to know when you're drinking." He focuses his attention to those sitting near the front of the bus and gives a hard gaze. They listen intently.
"In some places it will be okay for you to have a drink, and other places it's not cool. Just ask, okay?" he says nodding his head looking for head bobbing as a response.
Joe pipes in, "Can we have a drink now?"
"No." Dave says. "We are going on a hike and then into hot springs and it is a bad idea to mix alcohol and hot springs. But once we are back on the bus you can have a drink."
He turns his attention to the rest of us and says, "You know, you don't have to drink to have a good time."
This statement wins my heart. Maybe my immediate fears are all wrong! Maybe this won't be a party bus. Maybe, just maybe, this will be a great trip.
Maybe.
Joe grumbles in disappointment and puts the bottle of vodka he produced away for later.
I feel bad for Driver Dave having to be the "bad guy" in this situation but appreciate him and what he does. He and Cassie work their asses off grocery shopping, driving and keeping the bus safe with all these people on it. It seems like a thankless job. And it reminds me so much of the kind of work I used to do...babysitting a bunch of people who would push the rules as far as they could...showing up for work drunk, being late, stealing. It was a thankless job and I imagined myself as a bus driver for the Green Tortoise, treating "Sol" (the name of our bus) as my own.
Immediately I banished the thought from my head as I gazed into the sleeping cupboard. No thank you! When I had the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper at least I was able to have a large bed and she was oh, so comfortable to sleep in. God bless Malibu Stacey.
"Are we there yet?" Joe asks in his thickest New York accent. Joe is not only a republican spin master, he is an ammature stand-up comedian.
"No." Driver Dave says as drive by the second exit to Elko. "It'll take about an hour or so to get where we're going."
People return to their small clusters and wonder what will be for dinner since many are very hungry from a full day hiking. It is getting late in the day. Some people stopped by the deli to pick-up fried chicken as a snack, others munch on Pringle's potato chips and Elfin' chocolate cream cookies. I have a pint of raspberries, an avocado and a couple of hard boiled eggs.
The bus pulls off the freeway and drives through the desolate town of Wells, Nevada. It was a destination for the Western Shoshone Indians during the 1840's and 50's and then became a stop for pioneers moving west for gold. When they crossed the salt beds after crossing the mountains, Wells became a destination to replenish gear and supplies before the long haul through the Nevada desert and Sierra Mountains.
Many of the old buildings have been restored but the town still looks abandoned; depressed. Now there are a couple of truck stops that are open but not too many other businesses look thriving as our bus drives down main street.
We cross over railroad tracks and onto a smaller road, then another turn and onto a dirt road. The bus finds our location and turns around before we rise to exit, gathering our things. Driver Dave instructs us to bring a towel and our flashlights since it will be dark when we are hiking back to the bus.
Like school children, we do as we are told grabbing things and stuffing them into our day packs. As we exit the bus we are each handed something that will be a part of our dinner to carry into the hot springs. I am handed a big box of assorted crackers and take all the cardboard off.
"People, we are on private land and we leave no trace that we were here. That means what we carry in, we bring out. Everything. Got it?" Driver Dave instructs.
"Is there a bathroom?" a voice asks.
"Only the bushes." Driver Dave replies. "We will be stopping much later tonight at a truck stop to "Miracle" the bus so you may want to hold number 2...or take a shovel with you, it's in the bay. Should I get it out?"
"No." the voice replies.
"The hot springs are about a mile that way," he points east. "You are gonna have to cross a stream and I don't know how high it will be but pay attention because when you're walking back, it will be dark out so try and figure out how to cross in the most shallow spot."
"Start walking." He says.
We head down the dirt road in the middle of nowhere, Nevada.
I am a walker. I walk just about everyday at least three miles a day. Before this trip, I was walking up to eight miles in a day so I know how far a mile is and when we'd been walking for about thirty minutes, and still no sign of the stream, I started to get concerned. It was clear that we were on the right road, since there were no other options before us. Wild sage brush and black flies were everywhere. As we the road made a slight turn to the left, we saw about a hundred heads of cattle all mooing "hello".
An amours bull chased after several cows in hot pursuit. Young calves were being escorted away from the road and the intruders by their protective mothers. Several people in our group started mooing hello back to the animals and the field filled with sound.
"Watch your step." I say to my companions as cow pies were everywhere. Cows appeared on our left stopping from crossing the road to let us by first. I waved.
We had walked two miles and still no sign of the stream.
"Did we miss it?" Someone asked.
"I don't think so." Someone else replied.
The group was getting tired. Many had already hiked five miles today and we were not at our destination yet. Everyone was hungry. We all were starting to smell.
A half a mile later and we see the stream. Headed towards us is a family carrying a cooler. I stop and ask them if we are close to the hot springs.
"Yup." The father replies. "It's about another mile or so that-a-way." And he points in the direction we'd been walking in.
The stream is icy cold glacier water mixed with cow manure and many in the group stop waiting for someone else to cross first. The young boys start crossing and take a step into the icy waters. "Come on in! It feels good!" they cry to the people standing at the edge.
I move forward, see how far the water comes up on their waist and choose a different spot. Icy waters hit me mid-thigh and I quickly trot across the stream assisting others come across. Judy from Australia is an active woman. Once crossing the waters she says to me that she is worried about crossing the stream in the dark. Several others say the same. I offer to lead them back immediately following dinner once we hit the hot springs.
A half a mile later and we arrive at the hot springs. Cassie spreads out a large blanket and she and Driver Dave start gathering all the ingredients we carried. It is a smörgåsbord of appetizers such as hummus, carrots, Brie, horseradish cheddar cheese, crackers, lunch meat, rolls, grapes, brownies, cookies. We swarm the food wet from a quick plunge into the hot springs.
"Let's not think about how dirty we all are in this warm bath water." I say as we sit snuggly in the small hot springs. The springs feed into the stream that we crossed earlier. The Europeans are excited that there is a cold water plunge after being in the hot water.
When we are eating a customized pick-up truck pulls up to our spot and four drunk local early twenty guys emerge. They open the coolers in the back of the monster truck and start drinking beers. I say hello.
"You all walk here?" they ask.
"Yeah." I say. "That was our bus back there a ways."
"Damn! That's a long walk!" one of the guys says to me. "Want a beer?"
More than anything, I thought to myself...but Driver Dave said no drinking at the hot springs and I was just about ready to head back with Judy.
"Better not." I say. "Don't want to get in trouble..." and I look over my shoulder towards Dave and they nod knowingly. I was glad there were kids with us. They were playing with Driver Dave and they guys seemed to understand that we weren't drinkers. Maybe they thought we were Christians or even Mormons. There are a lot of Mormons in Eastern Nevada.
"You about ready?" Judy asks me holding a small plate of food.
"Yup." I say. I tell the guys we're headed back before sunset and excuse myself. They head for the hot springs and start playing "Dunk the Little Guy". I did not want to hang-out with the locals and was glad Judy was eager to get back to the bus.
I tell Cassie that Judy an I are headed back and ask if there is something for us to carry. She hands me extra mustard that we didn't use and hand sanitizer. Judy gets uneaten crackers and some rolls. We stow the items and start to head out. Several other travelers grab items from the buffet and follow us.
"One mile? One mile? Bloody Hell!" Judy says angerly. Like many of the other travelers, she did not know that she would be walking eleven miles today. She was tired, cranky and wanted a good hot shower. We all fantasized about hot showers that day and everyday until we got one in the Grand Tetons.
I am a fast walker and once we crossed the stream, I asked Judy if she minded if I walked faster, at my normal pace. She said she didn't mind and she'd meet me on the bus so I moved ahead alone.
It was the best walk on the trip. The cows mooed hello and I watched the sunset across the high desert enjoying the purple wild flowers, green pastures, yellow hay fields. I savor the peace and quiet on the bus, still warm from the setting sun. The temperature drops dramatically outside and I feel bad for the people walking back to the bus cold and in the dark. I am so glad that we returned early.
I change my clothes, pull out my sleeping bag, make an emergency bag to take with me in case I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night that has my wallet with ID, cell phone, shorts and a bra and my daily thyroid medication. I pray quietly to myself as I prepare for another nights sleep on the bus.
Oh Dear God...
Please hold my bladder tight as we travel tonight. May the other people be warm and safe as we drive through the night. I am serious God. Keep us safe. We need the protection. Thanks for the snacks and for Judy wanting to come back early. I really loved the walk...thanks for all the beauty. Amen. Ashey. Namaste.
I sleep through everyone returning to the bus tired and hungry again from the walk back and am awakened at the truck stop when it is time to "Miracle" the bus. They let me keep my sleeping bag where it was and as soon as I can, I crawl back to sleep not knowing where we are headed next.
To be continued....
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Joe tries to get a party started in the front of the bus but Driver Dave stops him with another rule.
"People, there is another rule!" Conversations stop quickly so we can hear the latest rule. I start to wonder if he makes these rules up along the way just as he sees fit.
"RULE NUMBER 10: YOU MUST ASK THE DRIVER IF IT IS OKAY TO DRINK! Sometimes it is cool to have a drink on the bus, other times it isn't and the Driver always has to know when you're drinking." He focuses his attention to those sitting near the front of the bus and gives a hard gaze. They listen intently.
"In some places it will be okay for you to have a drink, and other places it's not cool. Just ask, okay?" he says nodding his head looking for head bobbing as a response.
Joe pipes in, "Can we have a drink now?"
"No." Dave says. "We are going on a hike and then into hot springs and it is a bad idea to mix alcohol and hot springs. But once we are back on the bus you can have a drink."
He turns his attention to the rest of us and says, "You know, you don't have to drink to have a good time."
This statement wins my heart. Maybe my immediate fears are all wrong! Maybe this won't be a party bus. Maybe, just maybe, this will be a great trip.
Maybe.
Joe grumbles in disappointment and puts the bottle of vodka he produced away for later.
I feel bad for Driver Dave having to be the "bad guy" in this situation but appreciate him and what he does. He and Cassie work their asses off grocery shopping, driving and keeping the bus safe with all these people on it. It seems like a thankless job. And it reminds me so much of the kind of work I used to do...babysitting a bunch of people who would push the rules as far as they could...showing up for work drunk, being late, stealing. It was a thankless job and I imagined myself as a bus driver for the Green Tortoise, treating "Sol" (the name of our bus) as my own.
Immediately I banished the thought from my head as I gazed into the sleeping cupboard. No thank you! When I had the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper at least I was able to have a large bed and she was oh, so comfortable to sleep in. God bless Malibu Stacey.
"Are we there yet?" Joe asks in his thickest New York accent. Joe is not only a republican spin master, he is an ammature stand-up comedian.
"No." Driver Dave says as drive by the second exit to Elko. "It'll take about an hour or so to get where we're going."
People return to their small clusters and wonder what will be for dinner since many are very hungry from a full day hiking. It is getting late in the day. Some people stopped by the deli to pick-up fried chicken as a snack, others munch on Pringle's potato chips and Elfin' chocolate cream cookies. I have a pint of raspberries, an avocado and a couple of hard boiled eggs.
The bus pulls off the freeway and drives through the desolate town of Wells, Nevada. It was a destination for the Western Shoshone Indians during the 1840's and 50's and then became a stop for pioneers moving west for gold. When they crossed the salt beds after crossing the mountains, Wells became a destination to replenish gear and supplies before the long haul through the Nevada desert and Sierra Mountains.
Many of the old buildings have been restored but the town still looks abandoned; depressed. Now there are a couple of truck stops that are open but not too many other businesses look thriving as our bus drives down main street.
We cross over railroad tracks and onto a smaller road, then another turn and onto a dirt road. The bus finds our location and turns around before we rise to exit, gathering our things. Driver Dave instructs us to bring a towel and our flashlights since it will be dark when we are hiking back to the bus.
Like school children, we do as we are told grabbing things and stuffing them into our day packs. As we exit the bus we are each handed something that will be a part of our dinner to carry into the hot springs. I am handed a big box of assorted crackers and take all the cardboard off.
"People, we are on private land and we leave no trace that we were here. That means what we carry in, we bring out. Everything. Got it?" Driver Dave instructs.
"Is there a bathroom?" a voice asks.
"Only the bushes." Driver Dave replies. "We will be stopping much later tonight at a truck stop to "Miracle" the bus so you may want to hold number 2...or take a shovel with you, it's in the bay. Should I get it out?"
"No." the voice replies.
"The hot springs are about a mile that way," he points east. "You are gonna have to cross a stream and I don't know how high it will be but pay attention because when you're walking back, it will be dark out so try and figure out how to cross in the most shallow spot."
"Start walking." He says.
We head down the dirt road in the middle of nowhere, Nevada.
I am a walker. I walk just about everyday at least three miles a day. Before this trip, I was walking up to eight miles in a day so I know how far a mile is and when we'd been walking for about thirty minutes, and still no sign of the stream, I started to get concerned. It was clear that we were on the right road, since there were no other options before us. Wild sage brush and black flies were everywhere. As we the road made a slight turn to the left, we saw about a hundred heads of cattle all mooing "hello".
An amours bull chased after several cows in hot pursuit. Young calves were being escorted away from the road and the intruders by their protective mothers. Several people in our group started mooing hello back to the animals and the field filled with sound.
"Watch your step." I say to my companions as cow pies were everywhere. Cows appeared on our left stopping from crossing the road to let us by first. I waved.
We had walked two miles and still no sign of the stream.
"Did we miss it?" Someone asked.
"I don't think so." Someone else replied.
The group was getting tired. Many had already hiked five miles today and we were not at our destination yet. Everyone was hungry. We all were starting to smell.
A half a mile later and we see the stream. Headed towards us is a family carrying a cooler. I stop and ask them if we are close to the hot springs.
"Yup." The father replies. "It's about another mile or so that-a-way." And he points in the direction we'd been walking in.
The stream is icy cold glacier water mixed with cow manure and many in the group stop waiting for someone else to cross first. The young boys start crossing and take a step into the icy waters. "Come on in! It feels good!" they cry to the people standing at the edge.
I move forward, see how far the water comes up on their waist and choose a different spot. Icy waters hit me mid-thigh and I quickly trot across the stream assisting others come across. Judy from Australia is an active woman. Once crossing the waters she says to me that she is worried about crossing the stream in the dark. Several others say the same. I offer to lead them back immediately following dinner once we hit the hot springs.
A half a mile later and we arrive at the hot springs. Cassie spreads out a large blanket and she and Driver Dave start gathering all the ingredients we carried. It is a smörgåsbord of appetizers such as hummus, carrots, Brie, horseradish cheddar cheese, crackers, lunch meat, rolls, grapes, brownies, cookies. We swarm the food wet from a quick plunge into the hot springs.
"Let's not think about how dirty we all are in this warm bath water." I say as we sit snuggly in the small hot springs. The springs feed into the stream that we crossed earlier. The Europeans are excited that there is a cold water plunge after being in the hot water.
When we are eating a customized pick-up truck pulls up to our spot and four drunk local early twenty guys emerge. They open the coolers in the back of the monster truck and start drinking beers. I say hello.
"You all walk here?" they ask.
"Yeah." I say. "That was our bus back there a ways."
"Damn! That's a long walk!" one of the guys says to me. "Want a beer?"
More than anything, I thought to myself...but Driver Dave said no drinking at the hot springs and I was just about ready to head back with Judy.
"Better not." I say. "Don't want to get in trouble..." and I look over my shoulder towards Dave and they nod knowingly. I was glad there were kids with us. They were playing with Driver Dave and they guys seemed to understand that we weren't drinkers. Maybe they thought we were Christians or even Mormons. There are a lot of Mormons in Eastern Nevada.
"You about ready?" Judy asks me holding a small plate of food.
"Yup." I say. I tell the guys we're headed back before sunset and excuse myself. They head for the hot springs and start playing "Dunk the Little Guy". I did not want to hang-out with the locals and was glad Judy was eager to get back to the bus.
I tell Cassie that Judy an I are headed back and ask if there is something for us to carry. She hands me extra mustard that we didn't use and hand sanitizer. Judy gets uneaten crackers and some rolls. We stow the items and start to head out. Several other travelers grab items from the buffet and follow us.
"One mile? One mile? Bloody Hell!" Judy says angerly. Like many of the other travelers, she did not know that she would be walking eleven miles today. She was tired, cranky and wanted a good hot shower. We all fantasized about hot showers that day and everyday until we got one in the Grand Tetons.
I am a fast walker and once we crossed the stream, I asked Judy if she minded if I walked faster, at my normal pace. She said she didn't mind and she'd meet me on the bus so I moved ahead alone.
It was the best walk on the trip. The cows mooed hello and I watched the sunset across the high desert enjoying the purple wild flowers, green pastures, yellow hay fields. I savor the peace and quiet on the bus, still warm from the setting sun. The temperature drops dramatically outside and I feel bad for the people walking back to the bus cold and in the dark. I am so glad that we returned early.
I change my clothes, pull out my sleeping bag, make an emergency bag to take with me in case I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night that has my wallet with ID, cell phone, shorts and a bra and my daily thyroid medication. I pray quietly to myself as I prepare for another nights sleep on the bus.
Oh Dear God...
Please hold my bladder tight as we travel tonight. May the other people be warm and safe as we drive through the night. I am serious God. Keep us safe. We need the protection. Thanks for the snacks and for Judy wanting to come back early. I really loved the walk...thanks for all the beauty. Amen. Ashey. Namaste.
I sleep through everyone returning to the bus tired and hungry again from the walk back and am awakened at the truck stop when it is time to "Miracle" the bus. They let me keep my sleeping bag where it was and as soon as I can, I crawl back to sleep not knowing where we are headed next.
To be continued....
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Green Tortoise Part Vll
Our time in the Ruby Mountains ends and we gather back at the bus, as instructed, ten minutes before departure time, with muddy feet and sunburned limbs. Once aboard, Driver Dave gives further instructions for the rest of the day.
"Okay. We're going to make our first 'Store Stop' which we will do most days. These are short stops so don't waste a lot of time. All your stuff needs to be moved from the front bench," he points to the side behind the driver's seat and continues. "That is where the ice chest is and we will need to repack it with ice so move your stuff." There were bags, books, games, cards, abandoned lunches, water bottles, and dirty socks sitting on the bench seat.
Cassie whispers loudly to Driver Dave, "Oh yeah, don't forget to tell them about that rule we talked about."
He nods back at her and finishes his thoughts on the store stop. "Remember, there is no need for you to stockpile anything. We are feeding you three times a day. We will stop at a store almost everyday so no need to bring a bunch of food back on the bus, okay?" He looks in our eyes for confirmation. We nod in understanding.
"After we board the bus from the store, we are headed to Wells, Nevada to some hot springs. It is about a mile hike in and we will pack-in dinner, spend time soaking in the hot springs and walk back in the dark. You will need your flashlights because it is a dark hike coming back and we may have to cross some streams so wear shoes you can get wet." I look around at the eager faces excited about the hot springs and I shake my head.
I lived in Elko Nevada for about 11 months back in the late 1990's. I first was called there by an old boyfriend of my sister's, Steve. Lisa met him first when she moved to Seattle in the 1980's and he worked as a traffic information gatherer for her when she was a news anchor on a radio station. Steve was very funny and she introduced us when I first arrived in Seattle in 1986. He felt like the long lost Silberman brother I knew existed somewhere and when he met Anne in 1987 after she moved west, he fell in love.
Sadly, Anne didn't have the same romantic feelings for him as he had for her but they remained friends. He found love through a personal ad and met his wife Carol. She was a nurse and found a job in Elko Nevada which was pretty close to her parent's in Idaho so they packed up their city lives and moved to the mountains. Once there, Steve wanted to open a business and there was no espresso in Elko at that time, so he hired me to help him start the business.
I named the shop Cowboy Joe. People were skeptical at first but receptive to the espresso wave hitting the nation and Steve was able to play boss which was good for him since he was the laziest person I'd ever met. He told me, many years later, that he used to make up traffic for my sister when she was on the air...but he was that kind of guy. The kind of guy who naturally charmed anyone into doing anything for him while making you laugh all the while.
Plus he was one of Elko's only Jews. He liked that.
Cowboy Joe did so well that he hired me to come back to open a second location. Then he wanted to open a small restaurant and he hired me to come back to help assist with that project and the word of mouth spread that there was a fancy, restaurant consultant from Seattle in town and I was hired to do a special project for the local chamber of commerce and then another restaurant remodel and grand reopening. I was pulled into Elko lifestyle and became a small part of the community.
There wasn't much to do in Elko. The county, which is the largest in the state of Nevada, has 35,000 people, most of whom life away from others on ranches or work in the gold mines that surround the Ruby Mountains. The Red Lion Casino, the biggest hotel in town, had their own chartered flights from small cities across the west to Elko Nevada. All you had to do was make a reservation in Spokane, WA and show $40 in cash to the flight attendants and you were on a free flight to Elko. While in flight there were lessons on black jack and poker to make you hungry for the tables although most people came for the "loose slots".
People were flown in because it took about five hours in any direction to get anywhere. Five hours to the east is Salt Lake City, Utah. Five hours to the west is Reno, Nevada. Five hours to the north is Boise, Idaho. Five hours to the south puts you in the heart of Nuclear Test sites from the 1950's but if you push on three hours more, you'll end up in Las Vegas.
So when Driver Dave said we were headed to Wells, Nevada and not the Idaho hot springs that was on the itinerary, I was skeptical. I'd hiked just about everywhere in these hills and Wells Nevada was practically a ghost town.
"These hot springs are on private land and you must be on your best behavior." Driver Dave warned. "No drinking allowed." The party-bunch, led by Joe, moaned in unison to this news.
"The rule!" Cassie reminded Dave.
"Oh yeah, RULE NUMBER 9! NO PERFUME OR BUG SPRAY OR ANYTHING SMELLY ALLOWED ON THE BUS! If you must use these things, apply them off the bus, okay? Many people are chemically sensitive and have negative reactions to your chemical smells. That means if your sunscreen has a strong scent to it, put it on off the bus. Same with bug spray, hair spray, deodorant, whatever... Got it?" He looks sternly at us.
We nod yes.
"Good." He says. Cassie smiles and nods.
Cassie starts the bus, the door shuts and Dave yells, "Buddy Check!" We all look around for our new buddies and call out each other names like giddy school children and the bus heads down the mountain for our store stop. I am quiet following my prayer and time on the mountain and take in the landscape one last time, not knowing if I will ever return to these mountains again.
We pass through Lamoille Canyon where Kayla's father had taken me on Thanksgiving to teach me how to shoot guns. He was impressed by my skills and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had learned to shoot a few years earlier when studying with a Native American Shaman in New Mexico. I let him think that his expert teaching brought me to that level.
The road gradually becomes larger and wider to handle the traffic of the small city that Elko has become. We ride past the restaurants I created and Cowboy Joe. I smile to myself looking out the window as we pass by. The bus drives us to Smith's, a large grocery store near the I-80 on ramp. We park and Driver Dave yells, "TWENTY MINUTES AND THE BUS LEAVES!" We know he's serious about staying on time so we scramble off the bus, some grabbing day packs with personal care kits and head for the store bathrooms. This will become a regular event for us over the coming weeks...rushing through grocery stores looking for bathrooms and emergency items that were needed like band-aids, bandages, tweezers, potato chips, cookies, coca cola, beer, wine, vodka, cigarettes...and for me, almond butter, rice cakes, fresh fruit, nuts and gallons of water.
As I crossed the parking lot I was torn between going across the parking lot to the new Starbuck's or heading into the store. I was glad to see that Starbuck's had made it's way to Elko and decided that it was too late in the day for a cup of coffee and not enough time to get out my laptop to write, so I decided to do a quick refresher in the grocery store public bathrooms and pick-up some snacks.
This mad-dash through the grocery store was the first time I felt like I was on some kind of weird reality TV show. There was a line, of course, for the lady's room and the clock was ticking. Which was more important? A clean face? Brushing your teeth with running water? Washing off your feet? Charging your cell phone for twenty minutes? Going to the bathroom? Changing into your swim suit for the hot springs? Or was it finding fresh water to drink? A new People's magazine to pass the time while the bus rode into the night?
I decide to wait my turn and use the flush toilet, brush my teeth and wash my face before quickly shopping for a snack and some protein bars to have with me. I have the advantage to having shopped this grocery store many times and know it's lay out.
"I wonder what the hot springs will be like?" A voice comes from the bathroom stall.
"I don't know." I say. "I've visited hot springs in these parts before and they're not too fancy. I don't know how one can hold all of us. We may have to go in turns."
"Yeah, it's the same way in Oregon at some of our hot springs there," Val says.
Donna takes the time to wash out Mackenzie's wounds and bandage them up again this time using real first-aid tape and gauze and bandages. Mackenzie looks relieved as the bleeding finally stops.
"Road rash is the worst, and so painful." I say to Mackenzie.
"It's not too bad." She replies. What a trooper!
I finish up, buy a few items and head back to the bus where people are helping load in the hundred pounds of ice into the cooler. Party Master Joe returns with bottles of Wild Turkey and the under-aged kids have twelve-packs of coke to mix it. I see a bottle of Southern Comfort which is a sweet whiskey that is blended with fruit flavors, spices and sugar. It is popular with kids because it has a 100% proof alcohol (which means it's 50% proof) and it is like candy. But it doesn't taste the same way going down as it does coming up!
Kids.
There are a handful of kids on the bus between 18 and 28. Normally I wouldn't put the 28 year olds in the "kid" category, but when they behave like 18 year olds....I do. We have two kids from England who are on a GAP year. It is acceptable in Europe, for kids graduating from school to take a year off to travel the world and then start their studies in college. It makes for a more mature, well-rounded kid who is ready to focus their energies on schooling. Well, that's the theory at least. And I can see it to be true in Rory and Esther. Both are in a GAP year and more mature than the young 18 year old American's on the trip. They have already partied and are responsible for keeping the group more in line than the American or Australian kids.
I'm not a prude, but I hadn't thought about this factor when booking my trip. Since it was a rule that the back of the bus is quiet, I end up sleeping there most evenings during our drives at night with ear plugs in to not be disturbed by the party crowd. On day 11, during an over night drive, Driver Cassie has to tell the group to put the bottles away and get to bed at 3 AM.
It is a party bus.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
"Okay. We're going to make our first 'Store Stop' which we will do most days. These are short stops so don't waste a lot of time. All your stuff needs to be moved from the front bench," he points to the side behind the driver's seat and continues. "That is where the ice chest is and we will need to repack it with ice so move your stuff." There were bags, books, games, cards, abandoned lunches, water bottles, and dirty socks sitting on the bench seat.
Cassie whispers loudly to Driver Dave, "Oh yeah, don't forget to tell them about that rule we talked about."
He nods back at her and finishes his thoughts on the store stop. "Remember, there is no need for you to stockpile anything. We are feeding you three times a day. We will stop at a store almost everyday so no need to bring a bunch of food back on the bus, okay?" He looks in our eyes for confirmation. We nod in understanding.
"After we board the bus from the store, we are headed to Wells, Nevada to some hot springs. It is about a mile hike in and we will pack-in dinner, spend time soaking in the hot springs and walk back in the dark. You will need your flashlights because it is a dark hike coming back and we may have to cross some streams so wear shoes you can get wet." I look around at the eager faces excited about the hot springs and I shake my head.
I lived in Elko Nevada for about 11 months back in the late 1990's. I first was called there by an old boyfriend of my sister's, Steve. Lisa met him first when she moved to Seattle in the 1980's and he worked as a traffic information gatherer for her when she was a news anchor on a radio station. Steve was very funny and she introduced us when I first arrived in Seattle in 1986. He felt like the long lost Silberman brother I knew existed somewhere and when he met Anne in 1987 after she moved west, he fell in love.
Sadly, Anne didn't have the same romantic feelings for him as he had for her but they remained friends. He found love through a personal ad and met his wife Carol. She was a nurse and found a job in Elko Nevada which was pretty close to her parent's in Idaho so they packed up their city lives and moved to the mountains. Once there, Steve wanted to open a business and there was no espresso in Elko at that time, so he hired me to help him start the business.
I named the shop Cowboy Joe. People were skeptical at first but receptive to the espresso wave hitting the nation and Steve was able to play boss which was good for him since he was the laziest person I'd ever met. He told me, many years later, that he used to make up traffic for my sister when she was on the air...but he was that kind of guy. The kind of guy who naturally charmed anyone into doing anything for him while making you laugh all the while.
Plus he was one of Elko's only Jews. He liked that.
Cowboy Joe did so well that he hired me to come back to open a second location. Then he wanted to open a small restaurant and he hired me to come back to help assist with that project and the word of mouth spread that there was a fancy, restaurant consultant from Seattle in town and I was hired to do a special project for the local chamber of commerce and then another restaurant remodel and grand reopening. I was pulled into Elko lifestyle and became a small part of the community.
There wasn't much to do in Elko. The county, which is the largest in the state of Nevada, has 35,000 people, most of whom life away from others on ranches or work in the gold mines that surround the Ruby Mountains. The Red Lion Casino, the biggest hotel in town, had their own chartered flights from small cities across the west to Elko Nevada. All you had to do was make a reservation in Spokane, WA and show $40 in cash to the flight attendants and you were on a free flight to Elko. While in flight there were lessons on black jack and poker to make you hungry for the tables although most people came for the "loose slots".
People were flown in because it took about five hours in any direction to get anywhere. Five hours to the east is Salt Lake City, Utah. Five hours to the west is Reno, Nevada. Five hours to the north is Boise, Idaho. Five hours to the south puts you in the heart of Nuclear Test sites from the 1950's but if you push on three hours more, you'll end up in Las Vegas.
So when Driver Dave said we were headed to Wells, Nevada and not the Idaho hot springs that was on the itinerary, I was skeptical. I'd hiked just about everywhere in these hills and Wells Nevada was practically a ghost town.
"These hot springs are on private land and you must be on your best behavior." Driver Dave warned. "No drinking allowed." The party-bunch, led by Joe, moaned in unison to this news.
"The rule!" Cassie reminded Dave.
"Oh yeah, RULE NUMBER 9! NO PERFUME OR BUG SPRAY OR ANYTHING SMELLY ALLOWED ON THE BUS! If you must use these things, apply them off the bus, okay? Many people are chemically sensitive and have negative reactions to your chemical smells. That means if your sunscreen has a strong scent to it, put it on off the bus. Same with bug spray, hair spray, deodorant, whatever... Got it?" He looks sternly at us.
We nod yes.
"Good." He says. Cassie smiles and nods.
Cassie starts the bus, the door shuts and Dave yells, "Buddy Check!" We all look around for our new buddies and call out each other names like giddy school children and the bus heads down the mountain for our store stop. I am quiet following my prayer and time on the mountain and take in the landscape one last time, not knowing if I will ever return to these mountains again.
We pass through Lamoille Canyon where Kayla's father had taken me on Thanksgiving to teach me how to shoot guns. He was impressed by my skills and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had learned to shoot a few years earlier when studying with a Native American Shaman in New Mexico. I let him think that his expert teaching brought me to that level.
The road gradually becomes larger and wider to handle the traffic of the small city that Elko has become. We ride past the restaurants I created and Cowboy Joe. I smile to myself looking out the window as we pass by. The bus drives us to Smith's, a large grocery store near the I-80 on ramp. We park and Driver Dave yells, "TWENTY MINUTES AND THE BUS LEAVES!" We know he's serious about staying on time so we scramble off the bus, some grabbing day packs with personal care kits and head for the store bathrooms. This will become a regular event for us over the coming weeks...rushing through grocery stores looking for bathrooms and emergency items that were needed like band-aids, bandages, tweezers, potato chips, cookies, coca cola, beer, wine, vodka, cigarettes...and for me, almond butter, rice cakes, fresh fruit, nuts and gallons of water.
As I crossed the parking lot I was torn between going across the parking lot to the new Starbuck's or heading into the store. I was glad to see that Starbuck's had made it's way to Elko and decided that it was too late in the day for a cup of coffee and not enough time to get out my laptop to write, so I decided to do a quick refresher in the grocery store public bathrooms and pick-up some snacks.
This mad-dash through the grocery store was the first time I felt like I was on some kind of weird reality TV show. There was a line, of course, for the lady's room and the clock was ticking. Which was more important? A clean face? Brushing your teeth with running water? Washing off your feet? Charging your cell phone for twenty minutes? Going to the bathroom? Changing into your swim suit for the hot springs? Or was it finding fresh water to drink? A new People's magazine to pass the time while the bus rode into the night?
I decide to wait my turn and use the flush toilet, brush my teeth and wash my face before quickly shopping for a snack and some protein bars to have with me. I have the advantage to having shopped this grocery store many times and know it's lay out.
"I wonder what the hot springs will be like?" A voice comes from the bathroom stall.
"I don't know." I say. "I've visited hot springs in these parts before and they're not too fancy. I don't know how one can hold all of us. We may have to go in turns."
"Yeah, it's the same way in Oregon at some of our hot springs there," Val says.
Donna takes the time to wash out Mackenzie's wounds and bandage them up again this time using real first-aid tape and gauze and bandages. Mackenzie looks relieved as the bleeding finally stops.
"Road rash is the worst, and so painful." I say to Mackenzie.
"It's not too bad." She replies. What a trooper!
I finish up, buy a few items and head back to the bus where people are helping load in the hundred pounds of ice into the cooler. Party Master Joe returns with bottles of Wild Turkey and the under-aged kids have twelve-packs of coke to mix it. I see a bottle of Southern Comfort which is a sweet whiskey that is blended with fruit flavors, spices and sugar. It is popular with kids because it has a 100% proof alcohol (which means it's 50% proof) and it is like candy. But it doesn't taste the same way going down as it does coming up!
Kids.
There are a handful of kids on the bus between 18 and 28. Normally I wouldn't put the 28 year olds in the "kid" category, but when they behave like 18 year olds....I do. We have two kids from England who are on a GAP year. It is acceptable in Europe, for kids graduating from school to take a year off to travel the world and then start their studies in college. It makes for a more mature, well-rounded kid who is ready to focus their energies on schooling. Well, that's the theory at least. And I can see it to be true in Rory and Esther. Both are in a GAP year and more mature than the young 18 year old American's on the trip. They have already partied and are responsible for keeping the group more in line than the American or Australian kids.
I'm not a prude, but I hadn't thought about this factor when booking my trip. Since it was a rule that the back of the bus is quiet, I end up sleeping there most evenings during our drives at night with ear plugs in to not be disturbed by the party crowd. On day 11, during an over night drive, Driver Cassie has to tell the group to put the bottles away and get to bed at 3 AM.
It is a party bus.
To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda
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