“Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese
Swiftly we flowed down the West Coast, hitting towns only long enough to gas up. We paused for sleep, setting alarms to wake one person up to start the bus rolling in the crisp dark mornings while the others slept. As the day wore on, the others would wake up, and life on the bus would continue.
We picked up two riders, one in Calgary and one in Seattle. With four on the short bus, things were… cozy. Negotiations took place for most movement. “I would like to get under that bed to get my socks, could you shift over to the other one?” or “My food bag is by your feet, could you pass it over?” Cozy indeed. It did turn into a small community, and I was sad to see our riders get off at their respective stops in northern California.
We stopped in Ashland just before we left Oregon, to visit some of the great people I had met there when on tour with Mythmaker. Even tho I had given such minimal notice of when we would roll into town, friends made some time in their schedules, and welcomed us with open arms and smile. Considering we had been on the road for a handful of days by this point, you can imagine what friendly people these guys truly are! Though I did receive several invitations to use the shower…
We had planned to hit the Wellsprings, natural sourced hot pools near Ashland. I was delighted to make a plan to meet up with a Mythmaker Tour ’10 Alumni (ha, sounds so fancy) at the pools, and had told my fellow bus riders all about the pools. We were all pretty excited to go. Well, we met up with one of the Ashland friends, and she reminded me that every Monday was ladies night. Sigh, as with many plans on the road, you have to be flexible. The two girls on the bus went with the Ashland friend, and I was still able to meet up with my tour mate from the summer. I was thrilled to be able to mull over recent happenings in our respective lives, and share a bottle of mead. The night grew late too quickly, and the early morning push to make it there at a decent time took it’s toll on me. We reluctantly called it a night, and made our way back out to the bus.
The morning dawned brisk, and we rose with the sun to make the drop off time our riders had wanted. A bittersweet farewell, an alleycat goodbye, another path diverges in the wood. It is not for us to know the future, nor when we shall meet again.
We wound our way through the red hills of northern California, our tires rolling down pavement, down gravel roads. A musky scent pervades the air here, and the vegatation is strange to my eye. The plants guard their water, fending off the encroacher with spines and bitter taste. We bid another farewell, and are down to three.
As the tires roll over the pavement, the kilometers fall away, or add up, depending on your point of view. We drove into the dusk, and made our rendevous for our last rider. Another farewell, and Dan and I are left looking at each other over the now roomy expanse of the bus. We move about, still mindful of the other’s space and task, but not constantly in each other’s way. It is a nice change, and I get back to the knowing of my home. I put a few things away, and puttered about before bed.
Today brought the redwoods into light. After a leisurely departure, we made our way down the road to a grove of redwoods. The tall trees reached up into the sunlight, and defied my puny human perception of time. I stared up at the leafy canopy far above me, and dreamed of giants. We walked among their roots, crawling things. THe scars of fire marked their bark, a fire so long ago the rest of the ground vegatation had grown back in seamlessly. A fire, such a temporary thing, possessing no solid form. No doubt it passed in a blink of the forest’s gentle eye. And yet, here, it has written it’s story, and the trees have worn it on their skin, testament to a battle long over, a worthy foe outlasted, withstood. We find a fallen tree, it’s roots gutted by fire. Even in it’s grave, life goes on. A younger tree grows up out of the charred stump.
I am humbled by the grove, as it should be, to my way of thinking. It is good to confront your own very temporary nature every so often. My own life is less than the touch of a feather to the great face of time, a brief caress from a one night lover. Forgotten wholly in the next turn of the head. This is strangely peaceful to me. As much as I might fret on the challenges that arise in my life, they are truly trite in the greater view. My life is only most important to me. I matter to others only through my interactions with them. Therefor, should I not cast off the strife of self-aggrandizing concerns and go out to dance with those I meet? For in the end, the concerns will wash away, and I shall have a nest of memories to keep my spirit warm, conversations had around the fire, drink shared, and oh yes, music we joyously surrendered to.
Wherever you are, Be There 