Leavin' the desert - back to Durango

We follow the weather very closely. Something I never bothered with in Santa Cruz. Whatever the weather was, I wanted to be surprised. People would say to me, "it's supposed to be in the 80's this weekend," or, "I hear it's going to rain all week." To which I would simply shrug and say simply, "Oh." Thinking, "Who cares? Why worry about what the weather will do? Now I have this weather forecast in my head that's going to occupy my thoughts."

It was almost like someone telling me how good a movie is, and then having expectations, and seeing the movie and thinking, "that's not what was supposed to happen." Because the weather rarely seemed to follow the casual forecasts of my daily experience.

Now we are checking the weather in every new place before we decide to go there. Flagstaff: thunderstorms. Durango: chance of thunderstorms. Taos: no thunderstorms mentioned, but in the high 80's and 90's and will add more hours to our trek back to CA late next week. Hmmm... Several hours later we finally make a decision, though still not entirely sold on it: Durango tonight. Purgatory tomorrow (no, not the biblical one). Stay in or around there till we head back to CA via Salt Lake City and Carson City. It just says "chance" of thunderstorms after all. These are probably just short afternoon storms, not like the rainy season on CA's central coast in the winter.

We are mostly just glad to leave the desert again - Albuquerque was in the high nineties at least with very few trees. Which was fine while we were taking a vacation in an air conditioned hotel room, but not so fine when we decided to go out for dinner, or pack up and leave the place. And our fridge got well above 100 cooped up in the van for 2 days with no ventilation or shade (and the cooler ice melted entirely). Our food died. Or came to life, depending on how you look at it. The milk had an amoeba-like growth in it that smelled of sourdough bread. Yet another reason to check the weather and stick to the temperate spots. I find myself thinking of the lizards we've seen gracing the rocks of this arid country. Our priorities have moved closer to theirs: Stay comfortable. Conserve energy. Move only when necessary.

We are now on the move, heading North on 550. Reveling is blaring over the noise of the wind, and we are feeling good. We sing along, and the trumpets toot us toward Colorado.

It seems whenever we are in one place for a while (that's not too hot or too cold), we are happier. No need to pack up and drive, to reorganize our amazing assortment of stuff at too frequent intervals. But then I also revel in moving through the landscape, on our way to somewhere, but not thinking about the destination, just looking around at the mountains and dry washes and streams and highway signs. There is always something new to see out the window. Every second. I notice so many things while we are on the road, like the cloud patterns or the freckles on my shoulder in the side view mirror, or a herd of cows with colors I have never seen. And I love the way my mind moves with the road.

I think home can be many places. It's not really even a particular place. It's wherever I feel that i am most myself: on the road, by a mountain lake for several days, at a cafe or a library, or in the zone with my little stone tablet, oblivious to my surroundings entirely.