Vulnerability. Limits. We all have them.
A last-minute decision to visit a friend in Portland next week sent me on the road a day early from the bus in New Mexico. I had been postponing an extension of the rental, hoping another opportunity would present itself, and each time one would pass, I delayed just in case something else would come my way. I suppose that means I was subconsciously ready to go, although I had done a bit of research to see if it was feasible to settle in there through the summer.
Oh, what a magical place that was- solitude, the landscape, a night full of stars. But, it was also rough. Apologies for what you’re about to read–
I was essentially camping, contained within metal walls in a high desert region. Nights were cold. Very cold. My first dropped down to 9º. I woke with an odd sensation at the tip of my nose; freezing numbness. It felt too cold to get out from my bedding to make a new fire that had gone dead through the night, and I simply buried my head deep within the sleeping bag, letting my own hot breath warm the space.
The handle for the flue was gerry-rigged in such a way that I couldn’t tell if it was open or closed, until enormous puffs of smoke would pour out from the stove and into the bus. Most nights I tried to sleep with a blanket over my head during the worst of it, hoping to filter out smoke particles. Now, currently in Kansas, I am still blowing blood from my system and even the clothes that were zipped up inside my duffle bag are drenched with the smell of burning wood: one of my favorite aromas…until now.
It had been a full week since I had a proper shower, as there was no running water on the property. I used plenty of moistened towelettes and my hair was washed in a bowl of sudsy, lukewarm water a couple of times, but the soot and oil were difficult to clear. I beamed with excitement when I found a Love’s travel center somewhere along the road in Colorado, knowing that for $12 I could get a hot, high-pressured shower. That, my friends, was glorious.
By this time, I also began dealing with food poisoning. I find it a bit humorous that this is nearly always the first thing people ask me about my time in India. I traveled the world with life-changing experiences, and people are curious about my bowels. The truth is, yes, you must be cautious about what you eat and where your water is sourced from, but, also, the same holds true here in the states. During my last morning on the bus, things were happening that were not so pleasant. I had been introduced to the “pisspot” during my opening tour of the bus. This is where I could pee through the nights, caddy-corner to the drivers’ seat, toilet paper going into the fire. It was up to me to clean and empty my bucket. An outhouse was on-site for anything more, which I generally avoided at all costs; not because it was an outhouse (I’d been using these in my rural upbringing since I was a young child), but because there was a clear, vinyl window allowing anyone passing by with an open view inside. There were a few other buses on the property sharing the facility, and I soon realized I was the only woman on-site. I didn’t face any problems, but that didn’t prevent me from making a daily drive to the rest area for the Rio Grande gorge just a quarter mile from the main road.
I was hoping to be on my way (currently in Kansas) early this morning and arrive back to Ohio before midnight, but my body is yelling at me to slow down. I planned to camp out along my journey back and even pulled over where I had planned to do so; something about these experiences feel like personal feats, perhaps a way of proving to myself the incredible amount of strength I can conjure up. But I found a limit. The thought of sleeping during another night of cold, stomach raging, was too much to bear and I pulled up a list of nearby hotels to check in for the night. Now, my body weak from illness, I decided to postpone my departure until the maximum checkout time and will just have to have another day on the road before I reach my next destination.
In some ways I felt like a failure. But perhaps great strength comes from the ability to understand your own weakness.
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