Well, folks, the journey has come to an end for now. We are home, safe and sound, after quite an adventure.Our trip started in the American South, where everything was new to us. We biked almost 700 miles in 9 days, learned about grits and hushpuppies, and felt ourselves getting stronger each day.
Then came the accident, a setback and disappointment. A few days in Asheville helped us adjust to the dual facts that 1. I could not ride and 2. We weren't quite ready to head home. We bought the green Volvo (Deena, this baby is coming to you!), and crossed the remaining 7 huge states in about a week.
For the final leg, we moved from encountering new, lively people and places to revisiting some of
the most spectacular sites in the world. Our perfunctory tour of the Southwest transported us from the Civil Rights legacy we'd gleaned in Memphis to North America's more ancient history, visiting Native American sites from Taos Pueblo to Mesa Verde, NM. In Capitol Reef, my Mormon ancestry popped up in the form of an old school house and apple orchard set against red rock with Fremont Indian pictographs from 700 C.E. Yes, indeed, that's America for you. Tenacious people making their mark (and then getting slaughtered and having their land taken away -- more on that another time). We spent two days between Escalante (thank you Uncle Rob!!), Bryce and Zion National Parks, walking carefully, marveling at the land, and trying to count the number of languages spoken on a given tour or bus. (In Zion, we heard Spanish, French, Thai, Italian, German and Japanese -- now that is America. We can thank George W. for the totally devalued dollar and influx of tourism.)
Finally, we spent our last night in Lee Vining on the East Side of the Sierras. This land is home for us, a sort of Sipapu, the Hopi word for the place of origin, birthplace, spiritual land from which we emerged and are destined to return. My dad makes a point of coming here as often as possible, and I always take solace in the quiet and looming peaks that lead into Yosemite. (Plus, it is rumoured I was conceived there almost exactly 26 years ago. TMI?)Now, at last, we are back in Tahoe. I laughed when I saw Dad in a new, clean outfit -- we'd both gotten used to our one set of clothes. (Until Dorothy supplied me with jeans in Memphis, I was wearing what turned out to be Zoe's rain pants as my only non-bike outfit.) We are re-grouping, unpacking, and hugging Dianne a lot. Dad has pulled out the seedlings for some sunlight, and we are starting to think about putting up the yurt where I'll be living this summer. We are also making whispers about when we might ride again. Next summer? The following? Who knows, but I do know that this trip inspired in me a thirst for long hours outside, time with my dad, and connection to causes that matter intimately and deeply to me and the people I love.
But for now, I'm focusing on healing, being home and reminiscing about the three weeks I spent with my dad crossing this great, complicated and beautiful country.
Until the next time,
Kellea
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