“Where some have found their paradise, others just come to harm.”
~Joni Mitchell
Early in the week, my rattlesnake paranoia was still pretty high. I realized it was not logical. I’ve spent 90% of this past year in Arizona, and I’m certain I’ve been close to rattlesnakes many, many times. I just didn’t know it because I was not close enough for them to rattle and warn me. I am always cautious (or so I thought), constantly scanning the ground every time I go outside. So how did I get within 5 feet of the guy coiled up right outside my back door? A lapse in full attention? I cannot possibly be on high alert every second of every day. I guess I wasn’t so much scared, as I was annoyed with myself. I thought I’d developed a healthy awareness of my surroundings. This incident really threw me.
The wind had been howling all week, with gusts up to 45 m.p.h. Cosmo and I mostly stayed inside, and at night it got cold enough that we had to close all doors and windows. Despite it being one of the most beautiful spots I’ve stayed in, I was not enjoying it anymore. I decided to move on Tuesday, heading east along I-40 and I planned to stay in Seligman and Ash Fork before heading south the first week in May to visit Barbara and Lark. I did a final check of the weather. It was still getting down in the mid to low 20’s most nights. Damn. I did not want to be cold. I definitely didn’t want to head into freezing weather where my pipes could freeze. I wanted sunshine, warmth, light breezes. I spent a few hours researching online and came up with a plan to head south, to parts not only unknown, but near towns I’ve never even heard of. After quite a bit of mapping and weather checking, I decided to head southeast for a week, and then northeast for another and I’d end up in Prescott Valley at the beginning of May. The weather promised to be warm (mid 80’s) but the BLM camping reviews were mixed and mostly out of date by about 4 years. That made the places I was heading to very iffy. I started packing up Monday so I could leave Tuesday morning. While packing my tent, I reached into a bag and a scorpion scampered out of it. I was done with this spot for sure.
Tuesday morning, I drove down to the truck stop, topped off my fresh water and propane tanks and filled up with gas ($4.15 a gallon). I drove into Kingman for some essentials and then headed down the road past a little town called Wikieup. I found the BLM land shortly after 2:00 p.m. One of the reviews had warned that the road got unpassable after a mile, so I pulled into the first place I found, just about a mile in. There were numerous fire rings, but only one had someone set up near it. I pulled to the opposite end, separating myself from the other camper and choosing a spot behind some trees. I got set up and made lunch. I just felt exhausted. But it was warm and sunny and there was a light breeze. Cosmo and I sat outside and enjoyed the warmth and lack of gale-force wind. No rattlesnakes or scorpions in sight. I let out a sigh of relief. I was not only warm and safe, but I felt like I was home again.
Lessons From The Road: I’m learning to be in the present. I think after 50 years of having my own businesses and always feeling like there was something more that needed to be done, I often found myself worrying about the future. I was always in a rush to get task #1 done so I could move on to task #2. I’ve left some of that behind me, but not all of it. I slept like a log on Monday night (which is unusual for me on the eve of moving to the next spot) and didn’t get up until around 6:30. I woke up refreshed and had just a minor tinge of “hurry-up-and-get-ready-to-move” syndrome. I sat quietly in bed until it passed. I reminded myself that I had no place I had to be at any certain time. The BLM land that I’d chosen was an hour from Kingman. Even if I didn’t leave until afternoon, I had plenty of time to do errands and still get settled into my new spot way before sunset. I made a second cup of coffee. sat in bed and read e-mails. This was a big deal for me. I’m almost always in high anxiety mode on moving days. I forced myself to abandon that habit, at least this time.
I’ve also been hyper vigilant about scanning for rattlesnakes when I go outside. I’m obsessed. I researched tips for avoiding them, and discovered things to place around the van that snakes don’t like (clove, cinnamon and eucalyptus essential oils, vinegar and mothballs). I also stumbled across a passage about snakes being a sign of transformation. I have tried to focus on that as opposed to fixating on my life being under threat. And thinking about it, my life is indeed in transformation. This past year, for the first time, I spent much of it camping with someone else. When I left Matt, I moved to the hot springs where I also connected with some friends, old and new, who I hung out with daily. Then back to camping with Matt again. This is the first time in a year that I’m totally alone, with not another human in sight. (The camper who was here when I arrived left the next morning.) That caused me to think back over the last 5 years in the wild, and about alone times and times with my tribe, and the friends I’ve made. I’ve had a lot of experiences; now feels like a good time to sort through them and assess the parts that have made me happiest and the parts that were just “getting by” and decide how I want my coming years on the road to be.
And finally…
