Somewhere in the desert...

Do you hear me,
do you feel me moving through?
With my foot upon the gas,
between the future and the past,
I am here --
here where the desire to vanish
is stronger than the desire to appear.
- Tony Hoagland




Okay, so you've probably guessed correctly that I'm on the road again. The eastern Sierra Nevada mountains have called me back for another road trip, and yes it's beautiful up here.

There's a point where I'm a little tired of this drive, and this road, because of the frequency with which I've been on it. I've been up here a lot lately and while I love road trips, these have been coming at times when I really wanted to be home with my wife and kids. The thing is, as soon as I see Red Rock Canyon, or Mammoth Lakes, I'm happy.

I love the road. I love the deep, expansive views and the slope of the highway. I love the people you see, the food you eat, and the music you listen to. I love the sight of a small desert rat scurrying across the road or the eagle soaring on the horizon line. You can see some of the most amazing things on the road, and ever since I was a kid I've enjoyed traveling it.

I remember taking off on my bicycle as a child. I remember pushing the limit of how far I could travel as a kid. The trick was not going so far that you couldn't get home before your parents suspected anything. I'd hop on my bike after school and explore everything from bayou's to shopping centers. I'd find myself on the other side of town and feel a sense of accomplishment.

I loved it.

My father, God bless him, bought me a Mustang convertible for my 16th birthday. Red. You couldn't offer a young man more opportunity for personal exploration and danger than a red convertible sports car, and my father knew this. He knew full well how this would change his son, and he did it anyway. He trusted me to screw up and be honest about it. He also expected me to obey his rules. I did for the most part, really. By granting me a set of wheels, he changed my perspective of the world around me -- I owed him that much.

Of course, I also took a secret drive to San Antonio just a little over a month after getting the car. I had to. I remember the feeling of Interstate 10, running east to west through God's country. The Texas hill country sang to me a welcoming tune and I never got over it. For the most part, this feeling is still with me everytime I hit a new stretch of road. It's a little flutter in your chest, or a tickle on the top of your head.

I just get excited to drive, and it makes times like this roll on without a care. Hell, one of my favorite songs is "On the road" by Lee Roy Parnell.



There's a point on US 395, just before Big Pine, where you're just cresting over a hill and you see the salt flats. On the ridge, there's an old abandoned refinery that stands there like it's watching over the valley. The mountains enclose the entire area, and there's such a profound feeling of emptiness there. Once you pass the valley, the road dips into a place where these pitch black rocks erupt from the sea of yellow grass and hedges. The contrast is so striking.

Well, I should be heading back home now. I have a good 4 hours 'till Bakersfield, and I don't want to be late. While I love the road, I've got a rich man's treasures waiting for me at home.