Dear Road

Nothing about going east felt right, ever since I left the Pacific Coast, so I gave in to my intuition and came back to New Mexico.

Leaving Yosemite for the Central Valley, one downhill road in particular was so steep, I thought I might accidentally drive off a cliff.

The irony was that when I was at one of the biggest wilderness areas in the country, there was no where to camp.

There I was in my little tent, next to a saguaro that must've been 150 years old. It stood like a guardian, watching over me that night.

There is so much silence, so many days and weeks filled with its lush richness, that I begin to notice how frivolous people are with words.

I was on my way to the home of Marcia and Guy Wood, lifelong journalists who came to live in Angel Fire about 35 years ago.

People are put on your path for a reason, and if you understand the reason and embrace it, you’ll meet more people who you’re meant to meet.

I keep wondering if this whole experiment is just a pipe dream realized for a short time before it gives way to the standard American life.

Life on the road is accelerated, a tightly-bound series of vignettes, strung together within a matter of weeks.