Another endless drive across the desert. Dust swirls. silent mind.
Arrival feels as impossible as the beer I can’t quite reach in the ice chest behind my seat.
Visions of sitting outside by a campfire at sunset. A night walk through the sage brush. Being in one place for a night.
Stillness can only be found -inside- it seems.
Driving on down the bumpy dirt road. Tire goes flat. Nothing was built to last, but sure was made to fix.
The circles continue. Closer and closer together. Tighter turns. Nevada, Utah, Arizona, California. Home on the wide open western range. Places become the familiar faces, to a neighbor on the way home to where? I’ll never get there. There’s no place to arrive. I’m a vehicle. I pass, write on through.
Saw this articl and thought of the new book and all your research on the area https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/10/01/why-two-chefs-in-small-town-utah-decided-to-sue-president-trump
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This is a great article and Utah establishment. I am majorly inspired by these women, and their food refueled me after backpacking one of the routes to be featured in the guidebook I’ve been working on.
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