Where I Am Supposed to Be

July 23, 2015 — Pat Bertram

When I was starting to come out of the worst of my grief, when life overwhelmed me, I used to take a deep breath, let it out, then tell myself, “I am where I am supposed to be.” The ritual brought me comfort even though I don’t really believe that there are any “supposed to be”s. There just is “is”. And yet . . .

Because of an unexpected series of events, I spent the night in a town I had never heard of. The string of happenstance began even before the encounter between a peacock and the Amtrak bus I was in yesterday. (In case you didn’t read yesterday’s post, a few minutes after I began my trip, the bus I was in collided with a peacock in flight, which destroyed the windshield. The poor bird died.) I would not have been in the bus except for a series of unexpected events — the woman I am going to visit offered to pick me up in a distant town, and the woman I was staying with so kindly agreed to get me to the station at 6:00 am, so that allowed me to take a different and quicker route than I had planned.

As things worked out, it wasn’t quicker (though the hours spent on bus and train remained almost the same). Because of the peacock incident, I missed my connection to Eureka. Antrak put me up in a motel. (A very expensive motel that certainly didn’t use the money to clean.) Amtrak also paid for a taxi to and from the motel, as well as dinner last night and breakfast this morning. All that was wonderful, of course, especially since it will allow me to see the scenery I pass through today. (If all had gone as planned, most of the final leg of this journey would have been I’m the dark.) But all those perks are not what gave last night its “supposed to be” feel.

I’m using my new backpack for luggage, and every time I put the thing on, I had to wonder once again if backpacking, even short distances was for me. And yet, whenever we passed a trail of any kind, I could feel the pull. I’ve always liked mysteries (though it’s really the truth finding I love more than the mystery itself. I like to know esoteric things that not everyone knows). And the pull of the trail is its mystery. Where does it go? What’s around the next bend?

So, after a day spent watching the world pass by my window and wondering what it would be like to be walking instead of being driven, I ended up spending the night in Martinez, in the Muir Lodge, two blocks from where John Muir lived.

That sure gave me pause!

John Muir was a naturalist, co-founder of the Sierra Club and was instrumental in the development of our national parks system. He is something of an inspiration to hikers, the grandfather of ultralight backpacking. And last night I found myself steeped in his aura.

Maybe I am where I am supposed to be. If so, then where I am currently supposed to be is on an Amtrak bus, heading for other places I am supposed to be.

***

(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.”)

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Non-Adventure Update

July 17, 2015 — Pat Bertram

Nothing important to say. Just a lot of little updates, so feel free to head to more interesting blogs. You won’t hurt my feelings.

I’m still reeling from my recent yellathon. I called the auto body guy who’s restoring my ancient VW Beetle, and when I found out that once again he’s stopped working on it, I yelled, “It’s been four months. You’ve had my car four months.” I don’t like yelling, but I don’t know how to get through to this guy. Tears didn’t do it. Patience didn’t do it. Telling my sad story didn’t do it. (No car, no family to speak of, no  place to live, no way to get to someplace.) I could threaten him, but with what? That I won’t pay him? Then he won’t do the work. That I could get someone else to do the work? He knows as well as I do that no one will do it as well or as cheaply, and besides, taking it to anyone else would start the clock ticking again, and I’d have another three or four months to wait.

So, every time he said anything, offered any excuse, such as that I wouldn’t want him to do a Mickey Mouse job or that he was beezybeezybeezy or that there was a lot of work left to do on my car, I yelled, “It’s been four months! You’ve had my car four months!”

Did I get through to him? I doubt it. I guess I should count myself lucky. A friend just told me about a car place who had a friend’s car for nine months, and when she went to check on it the other day, it wasn’t there. Yikes. At least this auto body guy still has my car, even if it is sitting under the desert sun and my new tires are rotting to say nothing of what’s happening to the recently replaced mechanical parts.

So, back to waiting. I had planned to take a trip by bus or train until the car is done, but if I’m not here to go check on the car occasionally and to keep reminding him, “It’s been four months! You’ve had my car four months,” it could be years before he finally gets it done. (And I sure as heck don’t want to be wandering around on either the bus or train for that long!) I’m trying not to regret the decision to have the car restored, and mostly I’m okay with it, but sometimes I do wonder. Still, in all the months of looking for a new car, I didn’t find one that spoke to me, so here I am in this no-man’s land (no woman’s land? no nomad’s land?), just waiting. Well, not just waiting. I am gearing up for adventure.

Several people have expressed worry that I’m spending a small fortune on backpacking equipment that I might never need (the way it looks at the moment — bleak — who knows if I will ever get on the road). But the truth is, even if it turns out I hate camping and/or backpacking, it doesn’t hurt to have a camping quilt, sleeping pad, tent, water filter, and solar charger packed away in the car for emergencies. (Because this is lightweight packing gear, it takes up almost no room.) And a good pack is always a great thing to have. An elderly man recently died in the desert when he took a short cut on a back road and damaged his car. If he had such equipment with him, he might have been able to survive, so no matter what happens — adventure, accident, Armageddon, Apocalypse — these items aren’t a wasteful purchase. Besides, all of these things together don’t add up to a single month’s rent and utilities.

I so seldom buy anything but necessities, it’s been fun playing with my new toys. The pack has a lot of lovely pockets and pouches, and plenty of straps and buckles to ensure a perfect fit. The solar charger works great to recharge my phone, and though it didn’t seem to add any charge the external lithium battery unit that came with the charger, there is always the possibility of recharging the external battery by plugging into a wall socket when available. (The fully charged battery will charge my phone about four times, so I will no longer have to worry about running out of battery power on my phone at inopportune moments.)

This weekend I will take the time to figure out the tent. Meantime, I’ve been watching videos on how to set it up. Takes about four minutes once you know what you’re doing. Oddly, they don’t explain how to use the guy lines. I guess they think this is an experienced person’s tent. Also, the “gear loft,” a series of mesh pockets for small necessities did not come with the tent (though for the price, it should have) and I didn’t buy one. Other than that, it really looks well thought out. Should be fun.

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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.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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“Wild” is Tame

April 25, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I never had any intention of reading Cheryl Strayed’s Wild. — I didn’t want to be a me-too, living someone else’s adventure in case I ever decide to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail, and besides, I almost never read books that everyone is reading. To me, reading is a very personal thing, and the hoopla surrounding such books diminishes them for me.

Wild was a last-minute birthday gift from a friend who knew my feelings and so knew it was a sure bet I wouldn’t already have the book. During the last nights in my father’s empty house, I was desperate for something to do — there is just so much websurfing, blog writing, solitaire playing one can do, especially sitting on a very uncomfortable stool — and I happened to find the book I’d tucked away and neglected to pack.

Oddly, I didn’t hate the book, but I didn’t particularly like it, either. I have heard so much about it, but much of what I have heard is wrong. (People have recounted episodes that simply are not in the book, which makes me wonder if they are in the movie.) Some people hail Strayed as a hero, though she is not. Some members of the hiking community vilify her, though she is no villain.

What she is, is a good character for a story, in the same vein (and vain) as Scarlett O’Hara. She wants something desperately, if only to be other than she is. She is willing to do anything and use anyone to get it, and her own imperfections create drama and tension. If she were what the hiking community wishes she were — responsible, a great hiker, someone who prepared and trained for her mission, someone who tested her equipment ahead of time, someone who followed the rules of “leave no trace,” someone who was sane and sensible — who would read her story? No one. Or only those members of the hiking community who read.

Although some people would pay to read a book written by me if I were to undertake such an adventure, it would reach only a fraction of the readership Cheryl’s book did because any book I write would not stir up controversy. I am not foolhardy. I am not desperate. I have nothing to redeem, no self-destructive tendencies to overcome. I am prudent and would not undertake such a mission unless I were prepared, training myself to carry a heavy pack (though the filled pack wouldn’t be anywhere near as heavy as hers). I am responsible, try to do the right thing, try to follow the rules if only because they make it easier for everyone, and so I would learn the rules of the trail, such as packing out toilet paper and digging holes for body waste. (That’s one of the things the hiking community was upset about — that she didn’t dig holes to defecate in, but the ground was frozen. I’d have done the same thing she did — cover it up with rocks — and so would everyone else.)

There is a saying among hikers — “hike your own hike” — and that’s what she did. Seasoned hikers are upset with all the amateurs who will follow in her footsteps, but I don’t think there is anything to worry about. Amateurs quickly learn or quit. I doubt many people who are inspired to try long distance hiking because of her story will have the implacable desperation to do what she did.

One of the problems with the book is that it was so obviously written long after the fact that it loses it’s immediacy and jerks me out of what urgency there is. For example, she talks about the snowpack being extraordinarily heavy that year, and that it wouldn’t be as heavy for another then or twelve years. There is no way she could know that as she was hiking. Yes, I know it’s a memoir, but still, it’s jarring.

Also, more than any other relationship, her relationship with her pack drives her and drives the book. Her hike was what it was because of the weight of the pack. In fact, the pack was so important, it was almost like a character, and yet she never really described what she carried, seldom mentioned using most of the things in the pack (and those she did mention would not have added up to the 50 or 60 pounds she carried).

And then there is the whole pain thing. Wild coupled with 50 Shades of Gray, which was out about the same time, seems to indicate a new trend in the world where pain is admirable, especially pain that is avoidable. Um . . . no. Not to me.

Mostly, though, the book seemed tame and not worth another thought.

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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.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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