From desert to mountains to snow I go

I reach the last motel room of my solo journey

“I’m home!” I cried as I threw myself on the clean white bed and burst into tears. I’m not all the way home, but back in Medford, Oregon at a motel I know well. The woman at the desk was friendly and open to chatting, something I have not experienced much elsewhere. Next door is a Black Bear Diner, the motel breakfast starts at 6:30, and there’s a park where I am going to walk in a minute.

I have stayed here in the snow and in extreme heat. I slept here on my way home after my father died. I was broken, walking around the nearby dog park fighting tears. I’m teary again now because I’m almost home, just five hours and a lunch break from my house.

Today’s drive was fraught as I left my brother’s house in the mountains, where I zoomed in for a one-night visit. I had to pull off the road twice because I was too sleepy to drive. When I got off the freeway for lunch after the adrenaline rush of driving through Stockton and Sacramento, the weather and road reports were dire. Heavy snow. Ice. wind. Must carry chains. Don’t go.

It had sounded safe enough in the morning, but now that I was too far north to change course, what could I do but pray and hope I could find a good place to stop and wait if it got too bad.

As I approached Mt. Shasta City, rain let loose, followed by sleet and then . . . it stopped. The sun came out. I still had the much higher Siskiyou Pass to cross. I had bad memories of getting caught there years ago with a nearly empty gas tank and blinding snow. They closed the road a few minutes after I skidded through.

But this time, the “storm” was nothing, just a few light flakes at the summit. Then I was over the hill in the sun, checking in at one of the best Best Westerns (Exit 27, Barnett Road, Medford).

This journey of over 5,000 miles, from South Beach, Oregon to Tucson, Arizona, to Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Los Angeles and Catheys Valley, California, has been harder than I expected. I would not repeat it. Driving hundreds of miles a day, hopping from motel to motel takes a toll.

But I have seen so many different worlds. Six days ago, I was touring the saguaro forest in the desert, where it was 85 degrees. Then I was in a big hotel in Phoenix, 95 degrees. A day later, I was in midtown Los Angeles, temps in the 60s, everything crowded, confusing and loud. Homeless shelters made of trash all over graffiti-covered streets. From there I went up into the lush green hills between Merced and Yosemite to visit my brother and his family. Suddenly I was in a house again, with no elevators or Styrofoam coffee cups and with people I could hug.

Now, at last, I’m back in Oregon, where folks are friendly, the hills are green year- round, and gas station workers pump your gas for you.

I will be honest. I was not sure I’d make it all the way to Santa Fe and back. All sorts of mishaps could end my journey. Something could still happen tomorrow. You never know. There were definitely points along the way when I wanted to bag the whole thing and go home.

I never meant for this trip to be a marathon. I wanted an adventure and a vacation. It has been all that. But I feel like the marathon runner who crosses the finish line and throws herself on the ground, sobbing.

I will travel again, but not this way. Add it to the been there, done that list.

In future posts, I will share some lessons I have learned about traveling alone, thoughts about whether going solo is that much different from traveling with a partner (at least no one heard me screaming, “Jesus, don’t let me die!” when I made left turns in LA), and whether it is more difficult for women than for men to hit the road alone.

Would a guy cry or care that they showed up with their lipstick chewed off and their hair a mess? Would they feel safer just because they were male?

We have so much to discuss, but I am going to take a much-needed walk and hit the diner for dinner.

Can a person travel alone? They sure can. I do it. Lots of people do it. But sometimes we have to consider why we’re going and what mode of travel fits our abilities and our comfort level.

It’s a big world with so much to see. It can be scary, but if you don’t venture out, you miss a lot. Do you have to do it the way I did? No. But open that door and step outside.

Love from Oregon, where I probably won’t run into characters like the friendly writer at the AWP conference who wore pink lipstick and had glitter in their mustache. Or the Uber food cart that drives itself to the restaurant, beeps, collects its takeout food and rolls away to deliver it. Or the poet whose first and last names are the same. For real.

Keep the great comments coming.

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One of the things I have seen on my trip is kids, oodles and boodles of kids. I really don’t encounter many children where I live. Suddenly they’re in the pool, the breakfast room, the elevator, and every museum and gift shop. I wrote about it for my Childless by Marriage blog. You might want to take a look.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. The Kindle price has just been reduced! Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.