Adventure | Bertram's Blog

You Call This a Road?

July 16, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I seem to have backed myself into a corner with only a nightmare that barely resembles a road as a way out.

Ever since I returned from my road trip, I’ve tried to find a room or an apartment to rent without any luck. I considered just heading out again, but it’s way too hot to drive in a car without an air conditioner, and even if I drove two days north to find cooler weather, there would still be the problem of summer vacation. Not only is it harder to find good camping sites during the summer, but it’s almost impossible to find the quiet I crave. Too many screaming and squealing children everywhere. In fact, the motels and hotels I have been staying were unpleasant for that very reason.

I’d run out of alternatives when I got an answer to my ad on Craig’s List. A woman wanted to rent a room, and offered full house privileges at a reasonable price. I went to see the room, which was pleasant, the woman was nice, the area was beautiful in a desert-y sort of way, and her friend (who was there to offer help in case I turned out to be a nefarious character) assured me that the aura of those highlands would help my creativity. Even though the place was many miles from the dance studio where I am back taking classes, I figured the distance was doable.

What wasn’t doable was the one-lane dirt road leading to her house. Imagine the worst road, the steepest hill, the most rutted and rocky dirt track you have ever driven, and times that by two.

If I hadn’t fixed up my car and was still driving what I considered a throw-away car, I might not have minded. If I were driving a modern car with great suspension, I might not have minded. But driving my 44-year-old vintage Volkswagen was terrifying. No matter how slowly I drove, very rock, every rut jolted the poor relic until I feared the ancient welds and rusty bolts would give way, and my car would simply fall apart, leaving me sitting, holding the steering wheel, in the midst of a thousand pieces, like a character in a cartoon.

After the friend left, after the woman and I visited a bit, I stood there in her living room, totally flummoxed.

If it weren’t summer with temperatures over 100, I would have packed my car and hit the road, but I am still a month away from that being a viable option. So, what to do? Find another unsatisfactory room in a noisy motel? Or deal with the road from hell?

I finally told the woman I had no place to go and asked if I could pay for a couple of weeks on a trial basis. She agreed. So far, we get along fine (well, it’s just been one night and we are both still on our best behavior), and it would be a good situation for me . . .

But oh, that road! I dread the very thought of it.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: backed in a corner, dirt road, no place to go, worst road ever. 5 Comments »

Laughlin Adventure

July 13, 2016 — Pat Bertram

In the last years of their shared life, my parents often went to Laughlin, Nevada. In fact, that was the destination of the last trip they took together. On the way home, my mother felt ill, and she died nine months later.

My mother loved to play the penny slots, and when she could no longer go to a casino, my brother bought her a slot machine. She kept a bucket of quarters by the machine, and even though she only won her own money back, she spent many happy hours in her own private casino.

I never understood her fascination for the game. It seemed boring to me because there was no real challenge except to keep playing as long as you could before your allotted money ran out.

I’d never been to Laughlin, and since I needed an escape from my failure to find a place to live, last weekend I headed to Nevada to the hotel where my parents always stayed. I treated myself to a prime rib and crab buffet dinner, then wandered the riverwalk that connected the casinos, which were strung along the Colorado River. An advertisement for a jet boat trip to Lake Havasu caught my eye, so the next morning when the ticket kiosk opened, I went to buy a ticket, but they were sold out. Determined to get out on the water, I went to get a ticket for a more localized boat tour, but I got there too early to buy a ticket.

So I hopped on a water taxi, paid for an all day pass, and didn’t get off again for five hours. If I hadn’t been kicked off when the boat needed to stop for refueling, I might be there still. There was something so soothing about being on the water, feeling the power of the engine beneath my feet, the rocking of the waves, the surge of speed when the boat accelerated.

It seemed like a carnival tour, watching all the activity of the vacationing hordes. People riding jet skis, sunbathing on a minuscule beach, wading in a roped off area. People excited about eating, shopping, playing.

Most entertaining of all was Captain Joel, the taxi driver, who had a kind word, a joke, a flirtatious tease, or a witty comment for each of his passengers. He kept a bag of gold fish crackers to feed the birds who met the boat. If he was late handing them their treat, they hopped aboard and helped themselves. One perky fellow named Black Jack even attempted to steer the boat, but as Captain Joel admitted after we almost ended up on the rocks, he hadn’t yet trained Black Jack to steer properly.

At one port, striped bass were waiting for their treat, jumping out of the water to catch the orange crackers. It seemed cannibalistic to me to feed fish to fish, but Captain Joel assured me the crackers were whales, so the fish were nibbling on mammals.

Captain Joel had been a park ranger when he was young, flipflopping between Alaska and the Everglades. After seeing every bit of the USA and Canada between those two far points, he is now a world traveler. The most fascinating story he told was about his visit to the Galapagos Islands. Apparently there is a barrel there where people drop addressed but unstamped post cards for other tourists to pick up and hand deliver when they get back home, a tradition begun in the nineteenth century when sailors would leave their mail for homebound ships in the hopes the letters would get to their destination. Captain Joel hand delivered four such postcards to people in Huntington Beach, who were amazed both by the post card and the delivery system.

When I had to leave the boat, I went to the casino to do a bit of gambling in my mother’s honor. At first, it was as boring as I remembered, then I got into the swing of it, enjoying the energy of the place, enjoying the whir of the spinning icons in the machine, enjoying even more when I won. At one point, my twenty-dollar seed money grew to about a hundred dollars. I considered taking the money, but decided that the tribute to my mother was about playing the game, not necessarily winning, so I used the money to play the maximum bet instead of just the few pennies at a time I had been playing. I enjoyed feeling like a high roller, felt, in some way, my mother’s presence. And then an old lady came and hung over me. Wouldn’t go away. And I lost the illusion of my mother’s presence. The old woman sat on the stool next to mine and asked me to teach her to play. Although she was there with her daughter and son-in-law, she seemed lonely, chattering on and on about her dead husband, her new hair style, her family, so I tried not to resent the intrusion and helped her. Weirdly, she started to win and I began losing. And continued to lose. I was actually glad to zero out because then I had an excuse to leave without being rude. I wandered around the casino for a while. I didn’t want to go back to my room and do the things I always do — read or use the computer — so I went back to play again. Again, I started winning, and again, the old woman came to play and chatter next to me, and again I lost.

So I went out and took a couple more circuits on a boat taxi, then went to bed.

The drive back was hard — not just the unremitting heat, but the feeling of foolishly losing all that money.

Now that I have some perspective on the experience, I am glad I spent the money. All I truly lost was my original stake, and since it allowed me to play and to channel my mother for five or six hours, it was money well spent. I also feel as if I have a greater understanding of my mother, which was priceless.

Another weekend is coming up, and again I need to escape. I considered going back to Laughlin, but I don’t think I could handle that long drive in the heat. Besides, it wouldn’t be the same. The experience was profound, a once-in-a-lifetime gift of connection, wealth, feeling free. Being.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: boat taxi, Galapagos Islands mail, gambling, Laughlin, penny slots, riverwalk, slot machines, understanding my mother. 13 Comments »

Still in Flux

June 30, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I’m back in the high desert after a 21-week road trip across the USA and it seems as if nothing was accomplished. Nothing was gained. Nothing has changed.

That isn’t true, of course. I’ve seen 12,000 miles worth of scenery, met in person at least a dozen people I’d known only online and talked to many others in passing, have experienced various cuisines and entertainments, walked for miles in all sorts of terrain, camped and moteled, endured sadness and loneliness and occasionally felt pure joy.

And yet, it still feels as if nothing was gained (except pounds — I’d hoped to lose ten pounds on the journey, and I still have eighteen to go).

Before I left, I had a hard time finding a place to live, and that hasn’t changed. I still can’t find a place to live. There doesn’t seem to be any such thing as a one-bedroom or a studio apartment around here, so I’ve been checking out rooms to rent. One room I went to see was a windowless cell no larger than seven feet by nine feet, and the “private” bathroom was three rooms away. Another place would have been ideal — a fabulous suite in a farmhouse — but it’s an hour or two drive from here, and I would have had to contend with some of the world’s worst traffic to get to dance class three or four days a week.

Mostly, things have been falling into place without too much trouble, so perhaps things are still falling into place. If it’s this hard to find somewhere to live, it’s possible I’m not supposed to be here for long. At the moment, I am staying in a fleabag motel, but the bed is comfortable, there is room for me to do my daily stretching, and there is a quiet road near here where I can take a walk every morning. I might even be able to do some writing while here. (I did pull out my WIP and set it on the desk, so we’ll see.)

Even though it feels as if I am just vegetating (there are no dance classes until next week, so I am mostly just lounging around reading), I am gradually getting things organized for the next leg of my journey. I finally got my computer fixed. I have an appointment next week to get my car serviced. And I am rethinking my supplies. I brought things with me I didn’t use, sometimes because the item was packed too deeply to easily retrieve, and sometimes because the emergency it was meant for didn’t arise. One thing I know I need to get is a couple of pairs of light colored pants. Apparently, mosquitoes love black, and that’s mostly what’s available in my size, so that’s what I’ve been wearing. I also need to figure out how to do better with food. I didn’t eat the freeze-dried meals I brought, didn’t open the peanut butter, ate only a bit of the tuna, but I did go through all the various food bars I brought. And I ate too much convenience store non-foods.

I’d always planned to come back here and settle down for a while, take dance classes, wander in the desert to soothe my soul, but now I don’t expect to stay for more than a couple of months. Whatever it is that has been driving me ever since the death of my life mate/soul mate and more recently, the death of my father, which left me without a place to live, is stronger than ever. I don’t think I’m looking for anything in particular (except the wisdom and wonder I am always looking for) but still, I continue to feel that need for . . . something. Something to override the lingering void those deaths left behind, perhaps. (Writing might do it, but I am too much alone to welcome the thought of spending even more time inside myself.)

So, see? Nothing has changed. I am still in flux. Still planning for . . . I don’t know what.

***

Posted in Adventure, life, writing. Tags: 12000 miles, can't find a place to live, fleabag motel, nothing has changed, road trip across the USA. 10 Comments »

Rainbow-Colored Mysteries

June 25, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I read once that to be happy you need to narrow the distance between expectation and reality. The article was about happy marriages, and the premise was that unhappy people had unmet expectations, and the greater those unmet expectations, the greater the unhappiness. The closer the reality was to expectation, the happier the people were. The solution, then, was not to stop expecting, but to temper one’s expectation to reality. For example, if you envision life as a perpetual dance and your spouse is a klutz who can’t follow a beat, you can either hold to your vision and be miserable, or reevaluate your expectations and find a more realistic vision.

This expectation-to-reality formula works in other ways. For example, if I looked only at my expectation of the Petrified Forest to be an actual forest, my visit to the park would have been highly disappointing because a few pieces of tree trunks is not my idea of a forest. Yet, when I gave up my expectation and just enjoyed what that visit brought, it was a wonderful side trip on my drive across Arizona. For one thing, the Painted Desert, the scene of the Petrified Forest, was totally unexpected and simply stunning — panoramic views with many hues. For another, the individual tree rocks were spectacular in their own way. (Oddly, there is way more petrified wood outside the protected park than inside, so anyone who wishes to own such a piece of geographic history can easily obtain a piece or ten. In fact, the museum/gift shops at the gate give away small chips as a come-on to get you inside the shop.)

The mysteries of the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest weren’t the only rainbow-colored mysteries of my drive across Arizona, but first, let me set the scene.

As I drove to Flagstaff after I left the park, I felt sorry for myself because although I was looking forward to journey’s end, there was no joy in the expectation. I would be able to take care of a few matter such as getting my computer fixed and my car serviced, and I would be able to visit friends and take dance classes again, but I wasn’t going home to a special someone, wasn’t going home to a special place. I was simply going.

And then, as if the very heavens took pity on me and wanted to send me a bit of encouragement, a streak of emerald flashed in the sky. I leaned forward and peered up over the steering wheel to get a better look, and the sky lit up with drapes of horizontal color. For a second I thought I might be seeing the aurora borealis, but there is no way the northern lights could be seen so far south. I watched, amazed, as the emerald gave way to peacock blue, and the rainbow swathe grew crayon bright. I pulled off the highway as soon as I came across an exit so I could get a photo, but by the time I finally was able to take the picture, the bright rainbow had faded to pale sunset colors, though the peacock blue still held true.

Apparently, what I saw was a rare fire rainbow. (Fire rainbows are formed when the sun, high in the sky, shines through cirrus clouds made up of hexagonal ice crystals.)

Awesome. Unexpected. And totally joyous.

You’d think that the message of the heavenly sign (if a sign it was) that things would be okay would sink in, but no. The next day, as I drove from Barstow to Apple Valley, unexpectedly, I started to cry. Then it occurred to me what those tears were about: this was the first time I had driven that road since my life mate/soul mate’s death. On that previous trip, I was on my way to visit my father, and Jeff was still alive, waiting for me back home. It’s amazing to me that no matter how long it’s been since Jeff’s death, “firsts” still can freshen the sorrow.

I did learn something from my Arizona drive, though. Don’t expect what isn’t. Instead, accept what is.

Now I just have to put the lesson into practice.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: cross-country road trip, distance between expectation and reality, fire rainbow, fire rainbow over Flagstaff, journey's end, Painted Desert, Petrified Forest. 2 Comments »

Adventurous vs. Disastrous

June 24, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I find it strange that I like camping. I have always been a reader, not a doer, and I have always preferred being comfortable. Despite all the improvements in camping equipment, camping is not often comfortable. In fact, it can be downright miserable when you factor in adverse weather, inconsiderate neighbors, and insects. My last foray into camping included such unpleasantness as lawn mowing operations, interminably screaming children, aggressive dogs, and even more aggressive spiders. (They happened to find two places I missed with the insect repellent — jawline and knee — and one place I never even thought of putting it, the top of my head that’s still healing from my tumble down the stairs. ) I suppose the bites could be from my old nemesis, mosquitoes, but the ping-pong-ball-size swellings indicate otherwise.

And yet, with all that, I came away from that last night in Kansas at Meade State Park with a feeling of satisfaction. A feeling of being soul-fed.

Even the horrendous day of driving afterward seemed more adventuresome than disastrous. After all, if I had wanted to zoom across the country problem-free, I would not be driving a forty-four-year-old VW bug.

Heat, hills, head winds were too much for my air-cooled engine. It vapor-locked on me, once when I was driving, and once after I stopped for gas. (I had to push it into a parking space and wait until the engine cooled.) To be fair, the fault lies not with my poor old car but with modern gas and its low burn point.

As I sat in there in the blistering heat, looking around unsuccessfully for a bit of shade, I couldn’t help thinking how nice a bit of rain would be. As if on cue, the wind blew in a few clouds to offer me and my vehicle shade, and after we were back on the road, rain came. Not a lot, just enough to take the burn out of the over-heated air. And so I was able to continue my journey for a while longer. Actually, a lot longer. Five states worth. The only state I drove all the way across that day was New Mexico, but I started in Kansas, caught the corners of Oklahoma snd Texas, and stopped for the night just over the Arizona border. I wimped out and stayed at a motel. The bug bites worried me, and I didn’t want to risk more bites. Nor did I want to have to worry about my car not starting if I were in the wilds. Actually, it probably wouldn’t have been in the middle of a wilderness area but in a state park, which brings me to my final excuse for staying in a motel. Although I never felt unsafe in a national park, staying in a state park made me feel vulnerable. It was too close to civilization and access was too easy for anyone out looking for mischief.

I’d better get going while it is still a bit cool out. See you on down the road.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: aircooled engine, camping, insect bites, love camping, Meade State Park, road trip, vapor lock. 4 Comments »

Beguiled

June 21, 2016 — Pat Bertram

In traveling, as in reading, the surprises scattered among the expected are what make an experience exceptional. Although I have seen thousands of lovely views, the unlooked for, the unforeseen, the unanticipated are the most memorable. Going around a bend and seeing a fabulous valley spread out far beneath me. Finding fanciful rock formations hidden behind a bleak landscape. Passing a fairytale house in a prosaic neighborhood. All wonderfully unexpected.

In Kansas, which has the reputation of being a rather boring state, I have been beguiled by the scattered sculptures that enhance the natural beauty of the Wellington and Wichita area. A herd of unheard horses thundering across a lawn. Children reading. Water fowl taking flight. A blue heron all but hidden in the reeds. These photos are below.

Other sculptures I only caught glimpses of as we passed — children jumping into a swimming hole, a mother and child walking in the garden, a prairie woman gathering flowers, a little boy catching minnows by a pond, a man soaking his feet in a fountain.

Apparently, there are dozens of such sculptures scattered about the Wichita area, though I only saw these few. Still, whenever anyone speaks of Kansas in a derogatory tone, I will smile to myself and remember these wonderful sculptures that add a fillip of playfulness to beautiful but otherwise unsurprising scenes.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: bronze sculptures in Wellington, bronze sculptures in Wichita, Kansas, surprises. 6 Comments »

Experiencing Kansas

June 20, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Studies have shown that weather seldom impacts happiness (except I am sure, when the weather thwarts one’s plans). With that in mind, I have tried to ignore the mind-numbing and body-crushing over-heated humidity I have experienced in Kansas and to enjoy whatever adventure came my way.

I sampled most of the Mexican restaurants in the area with food ranging from acceptable to excellent. Enjoyed gold both in the evening sky and the misty fields. Wandered through botanical gardens where colorful fish swim beneath a dragon wall. Visited the Keeper of the Plains, a forty-four-foot, five-ton sculpture of a tribal chief. Viewed historic homes. Spent a morning browsing in the Wellington library, a Carnegie library that is a twin to one in Delta, Colorado. (At the library, I learned that standing like superwoman, legs wide, hands on hips is empowering. Discovered that highway 89, from Flagstaff almost to the Canadian border, passes by or through at least five national parks — a trip of a lifetime that one day I will undertake.)

I even attended a father’s day cookout.

A particular joy of this cross-country trip of mine has been slipping into the lives of the people I’ve visited, borrowing, for a time, their habitat and habits. My siblings are scattered across the country, seldom in contact with one another. And yet, here in this small Kansas town, my current hostess is surrounded by generations of her sprawling family, from her elderly parents to their youngest great-great-grandchild, most of whom came to the cookout. It was nice, for a day, to be part of such a gathering.

And it was nice experiencing Kansas in such a personal way.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: Carnegie library, father's day cookout, Kansas, living someone else's life, Mexican restaurants, multi-generational family, standing like superwoman. 7 Comments »

Unwitting Angel

June 17, 2016 — Pat Bertram

All along the way of my as yet unfinished cross-country journey, I have been blessed by various angels in human — and electronic — form. These angels have given me shelter in bad weather, brought me companionship in loneliness, taught me cosmic and earthly lessons, gifted me with books, taken me to wondrous events. And sometimes have steered me to safety.

When I left St. Ansgar after my stint of playing innkeeper, I’d planned to take US 63 straight south to have lunch with a friend in Rolla, Missouri. I turned on Google maps to help me get through Waterloo, Iowa, and for some reason, the app sent me on a huge loop around US 63 almost to the Illinois border. As I approached a snarl of highway intersections I needed help navigating, Google maps decided to quit. Fearing I would get hopelessly lost on my own, I took the nearest exit off the highway so I could reset the app. I pulled into a gas station, did my little chores, but could not drive away — the accelerator pedal, which had been sluggish, became rusted into immobility. (Although the bug has been partly restored — paint job, new seat covers, rebuilt engine and transmission — it is still a forty-four-year-old vehicle, with the crotchets and creakings of the elderly. The bug has spent most of its life in dry climes, and doesn’t quite know what to do about the great humidity it has encountered recently except to quietly succumb to rust in inconvenient spots.)

I played around with the pedal and the throttle. Discovered that the throttle was fine — the culprit was the hinge on the pedal itself. Unfortunately, the gas station store was out of 4D40. I explained my predicament and, taking pity on me, the manager rummaged in the back room for some sort of lubricant. When she didn’t find anything suitable, she went to a store shelf, grabbed a bottle of Dawn, told me to pour a few drops of the detergent on the hinge, and bring the bottle back. So I did. The pedal immediately loosened, and I continued my journey, wondering about the incident. Would things have worked out the same if I had taken the route I’d planned? Had Google purposely taken me to safety or was it simply coincidence? Google ex machina or a strange sort of luck?

And now another angel is coming to my aid. I’d purchased an external battery to use for enmergency phone recharges since my ancient car has no cigarette lighter or other electrical source to charge modern devices, and after a few uses the battery stopped working. I notified the company, and they volunteered to send me a new one. I gave them the address of a woman in Kansas (another online-now-offline friend) who had invited me to visit. I thought the package would arrive within the week of my visit and I would be able to head out before I became too much of a stink. (Wasn’t it Benjamin Franklin who said fish and visitors stink after three days?) What I didn’t know was that the battery pack was coming via Royal Mail. Still, it got to Chicago in just a few days but sat around untended for even more days. (It will take longer to get from Chicago to Kansas than from England to Chicago.) My friend has graciously agreed to let me stay here until the package arrives, though I am sure she would be just as glad to see me on my way. Still . . . there is a major heat wave extending all along my proposed route. And my being here a few more days will — I hope — allow me to travel in less dangerous weather.

Who knew I would find an unwitting and unintentional angel in Kansas?

Ah, I am blessed.

Of course, no one has asked my various angels if they wish to be cast in such a role, but so far they have allowed themselves to be swept up in the energy of my journey.

Yep. Truly blessed.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: ancient VW bug, angels, ex machina, external battery pack, guests stink after three days, road trip. 5 Comments »

Ten Thousand Miles

June 13, 2016 — Pat Bertram

On February 6, 2016 — a cool but sunny winter day — I set off on a cross-country trip. I figured the 7,000-mile round trip would take about three months, but because of zig-zagging through different states and going further north than I had planned, I have now been on the road for almost four and a half months, and I have driven over 10,000 miles. I am still 1,300 miles and perhaps two weeks from returning to my starting point, a small city in the high desert of California.

The most shocking revelation to me is that I won’t be returning to cool winter desert temperatures but to intense summer heat. Funny how the mind works — somehow I thought that I would be looping back to the beginning, that no time would have passed. It’s not that I expected nothing to have changed — in fact, I am a bit worried about returning to dance class knowing how far behind I will be — it’s more that this has seemed such a timeless journey. Wherever I have gone, there I was, living in the ever-present moment. But the world has kept turning and the seasons have kept churning without any regard to me and my travels.

It’s an amazing thing, all those hundreds of hours spent driving. Thoughts and emotions drifted tbrough my mind the way the scenery drifted through my body as I drove. (Scenery seems to be out there somewhere, something apart from us, and yet we are a part of it. Vibrations of light impinge on our retinas, allowing us to see. Sound waves reverberate in our ear drums, allowing us to hear. Particles flow through our nose, allowing us to smell. The fabric of the scene — the air — swirls around our body and through it, allowing us to feel our surroundings, to breathe it, to become it.)

It’s all very zen-like, this driving. It became a thing in itself, not just a means of getting to my various destinations, but a separate reality. Just . . . driving. Feeling the passing scenery, watching the passing thoughts.

So what did I think during all those miles? Not much. If you let thoughts drift in, note them at the moment, then leave them in the dust as you continue driving down the road, they obviously don’t remain with you.

I wanted a lot from this journey — wonder, joy, change, wisdom, focus, direction, all of which I have found. Particularly direction. Ever since the death of my life mate, soul mate, constant companion, I have been adrift, looking for a bedrock upon which to build a new life. And in the midst of all the drifting thoughts, it came to me. The three w’s. That’s where to begin.

Before I got a computer and the internet, during a time of great upheaval in my life (the first unacknowledged sense that Jeff was pulling away from life and me, along with a growing numbness to the coming death of “us”), I kept to the discipline of those three w’s — walking, writing, weight lifting. I’d gotten away from these three daily activities for various reasons, though they had been a comforting (but not always comfortable) part of my life.

I’d hope that on this trip I would get back into walking and writing, but both have pretty much dropped by the wayside. I would like to try to get back to those three w’s, though it’s easy to make such a determination when there is little opportunity for any of them. But maybe, this summer . . .

I have come to another realization — there is no need to choose between a settled or a nomadic life. During this trip, I have often stayed in one place for a while, sometimes a week or two, sometimes a few days, and once for three weeks. So finding a place to stay in the high desert for the summer will be just a longer hiatus in my continued journey.

Although 10,000 miles seems like a lot, there is so much I haven’t seen, so much I haven’t done. It would take a year to experience what any one state has to offer, and on this trip I caught mere glimpses of 21 of the states. I didn’t see many of the greatest tourist attractions and passed by probably thousands of little-known attractions. I also didn’t camp or hike much, didn’t get an intimate feel of many wilderness areas. All joys still to come.

Currently I am in Wellington, a small town in southern Kansas, visiting in real life a friend I met on Gather, that fabled but extinct social networking site. Then . . . who knows?

One of the many things I wanted from this journey was to become more spontaneous, and that I have done, following whatever whim and invitation that has come my way, so perhaps I will do as I have planned — scooting the rest of the way back to the desert to settle in for the summer with my 3 w’s.

Or . . . perhaps not.

***

Posted in Adventure, life, writing. Tags: 000 miles, 10, becoming more spontaneous, cross country trip, nomadic life, scenery, the zen of driving, Wellington Kansas. 5 Comments »

Stepping into Adventure

June 5, 2016 — Pat Bertram

The longer I stay in one place, the more my life looks like my pre-adventure life — internet, internet, and more internet. Not exactly exciting and way too familiar.

Although it might sound adventurous being the innkeeper pro tem of a bed and breakfast, in reality (my reality, that is), all I do is have a few friends over. Well, they’re not friends beforehand, but while they are under “my” roof, the guests are friends. I talk to them, fix them breakfast, then leave them to go about their business.

And I go back to the computer.

Whenever I have access to the internet, I do volunteer work for my publisher, mostly trying to herd my fellow authors into reciprocal promotions, and failing miserably. Most of them (or rather most of the unapathetic ones) seem stuck on the thought of doing reciprocal reviews on Amazon and won’t listen to the truth — reviews do no good if you can’t get people to go check out your books on Amazon, and reciprocal reviews are subject to being deleted since they are against Amazon’s rules. But hey, what do I know? I’ve only been researching book promotion for nine years and still haven’t managed to become a bestselling author.

The only real adventure I’ve had since being here at the B&B is falling down the stairs backward, and as painful and frightening as practically scalping myself and being stapled back together was, it was a heck of a lot more exciting than my online work.

After feeling like Frankenstein’s monster for ten days, I am now staple-free. The bruises are fading, and I am making friends with all the stairs in my current life. When my hip isn’t stiff and my knees allow, I hike up and down the stairs just for fun. Stairs have been absent from my life for a long time, so they have become rather an adventure of their own.

And I am trying something new — standing up to work at the computer. Sitting aggravates my hip, undoing all the work I go to in order to stretch my piriformis muscle, so I am trying to stand more and sit less. So far so good. My main problem is that standing makes it too easy to walk away, which, considering how frustrating my volunteer work gets, is not really a problem.

I will probably be leaving here Friday, making the long slow journey back to the high desert. Once I get there, I am planning on looking for a place to stay for a while, and if I find one, returning to dance class. If I can’t find a place? Continue adventuring, I guess.

That’s all I have — a guess. After months of traveling, I still have no clear idea of what my life is, what it is becoming, or even what I want it to be.

The only thing I have learned is the necessity for finding a solid footing before taking the next step into … wherever.

***