"When we are on the road, Karen usually drives. I plot out the directions before we leave and write them down on the notepad most motels provide next to the telephone. Even though the route might be straightforward, I get nervous that we will miss a turn, and within a short time I reach in my pocket and get out the pad to check the directions. Then I grab our worn atlas to look at the map. I love to look at road maps. There on the page is the state we are in or going to, and I feel a sense of mystery. What will the town to which we are going look like? What about the landscape? The map might show mountains or desert, but mountains and deserts come in all shapes and sizes. Southern Utah is desert, and so is southern Arizona, but they are not at all alike.
There are towns and places that I have always wanted to see. It might be the name, or a town’s remote place on the map, or something I remember from childhood. Winnemucca, Gila Bend, Deadwood, Fruita, Needles, Yuma, Barstow, Devil’s Tower, the oxbow in the Snake River, the Badlands, the Great Basin, the bristlecone pines, wild flowers in Death Valley. What will they be like? I imagine exotic locales, strange people, mystery. My heart beats faster as we get closer.
Sometimes my expectations are exceeded. When we hiked to the oxbow, the view was dazzling and we saw moose crossing the river. On the hike out, we stopped at the Jackson Lake Lodge, where we stood on the terrace and looked at the Tetons, one of the most strikingly perfect mountain ranges in the country. We visited Death Valley this past March. The temperature was in the seventies; there was still snow on Telescope Peak; and just off the highway, there were millions of wild flowers, as far as the eye could see. A week later, we hiked through snow and on rocky fields 10,000 feet up in the White Mountains, determined to see the bristlecones. We didn’t make it to the oldest groves, but the ancient ones we did see were so starkly beautiful that we forgot the cold and stared in wonder." . . .