Solo Venture

This weekend, I decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip to California. I woke up Saturday morning and sent a text message to my friend Jake who lives in Grass Valley. Within the hour, I was on my way.

The drive to Grass Valley from Seattle estimates thirteen hours on a good day. Being labor day weekend, I hit some traffic just outside of Portland. I spent the next several hours making up for the traffic time, briskly managing the trucks and cars with cargo carriers and towed boats that spotted the highway.

After driving to Seattle from Pittsburgh, a thirteen-hour drive didn't sound so bad. Even on the road, the time seemed to go quickly. Hour. Hour. Up mountain. Down mountain. Hour. Up mountain. Hour. Down mountain. Hour Hour. The rhythm of the road echoed the elevation of the hills and wheels on pavement.

I had a lot of time for reflection--a lot of time to think about where my life is going, a lot of time to not think at all. I left all of my school and job worries at home and actually meant it. I said "weeeeeee!" around sharp bends. I said "mooooo!" to pastures of cows. I cheered at every passing hour. Sometimes the most freeing experience is solitude in a moving car.

When I got to California, I got the full Northern California experience. On Sunday, we went swimming in the Yuba River. Well, I did a lot of swimming while Jake and his brother panned for gold. I watched them swishing their pans in search of the tiny specks that meant a good day's work. When they decided to stop, we all put goggles on and swam to the deeper ends of the clear mountain water, following fish around the curved rocks. Floating downstream, Jake and I decided to tackle a small batch of rapids.

Jake went first. He slowly maneuvered around each rock. Seems simple enough, I figured. I followed, feeling the first pulls of the current as I slid along on my belly like a salamander. Then the slope began, and the rush came all at once, and the pull was too strong. My body tumbled as if I had no bones, bouncing from each rock. I rolled and twisted, trying to keep my head above water. I had no time to look out for upcoming rocks. I was laughing. I was choking, and I was laughing, and I was completely overwhelmed by the pull, the weight, the water--I felt as I were experiencing the entire past year all at once.

Lodged between two rocks and still coughing, I turned to Jake and said, "I think I've had enough." We carefully fought the water until we got to stones that stood high enough to walk on without slipping. I turned and looked at the water--the sound was so calming but in the middle of it, so intense. When we walked away, I was still laughing and had attained no more damage than a few bruises.

On Monday, Jake gave me a grand tour of the area before sending me on my way. I had hoped to leave by 2pm but didn't get on the road until 3:30pm. From his parents' house in the high hills, the drive was over 14 hours back to Seattle. I drove straight through the night and arrived in Seattle at 5:20am, just in time to shower, pack, and leave for six days at Whidbey Island.