If you are wondering what will become of this adventure, I will let you know that it ends very shortly. After all, time passes indiscriminately and the world of Boone was icy as Kathryn Burns, bitch-queen of the 8th grade. We drove miles of tangled roads up to the top of Grandmother mountain to go bouldering on cold stone. I closed my eyes as we sped around the blind curves, wondering how many chapters of my life were going to be punctuated by sitting terrified in the passenger seat.
What else. I did some writing in a cafe in town, wrote ten pages that were accidentally erased, no problem. I visited with Grant, Laura and baby Asa and talked about working for them over the summer. River and Earth adventures would be dusting off the gears and getting ready to pick up the speed around the same time the town would be newly ransacked of the friends I had recently made, for in the two weeks I was in town they were all planning their separate exodus from Boone, primping themselves to catapult into the new life: degree, kayak, and a handful of pills into a backpack and off to New Zealand, Costa Rica, somewhere else. (In the infinitely strange and preposterously precise clockwork of my life, the secret series of tunnels and plans carved behind the walls where mice run around pulling levers and ticking things off enormous lists, my own exodus was being planned. But I didn't know that yet. Couldn't feel my brain being prepped to dream a certain dream that would lead me to the literal ends of the earth. For now I felt stuck, right in the middle, right in the heartland.)
Will and I stood on top of Grandmother mountain and looked out on the expanse of blue mountains, the bright foliage of their summer cotillion fading into the drab of winter. Not too much language needed now. Or maybe it was needed but it just wasn't there. And so the next night we dressed up for the after slaughter fest, stayed up late but left abruptly. In the morning I smelled like vanilla glitter and alcohol. I was still covered in white ice and couldn't summon the energy to wash my hair. It was in this state that I got back into the car, late in the afternoon, and nosed it North. My last image was of David and Charles and a whole flag-football team of boone cats sitting in the back of a pick-up truck on their way to play a game in the most savagely perfect autumn day there ever was. The truck tottered away and David and Charles were waving goodbye, Will turned back to his house and the door shut behind him. I started driving and I drove, and drove, and drove.
And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove.
In Harrisburg, PA I accidentally threw out the directions at a starbucks. So then I just winged it. I winged it and I called my friend Fozz back in Seattle who knows the East Coast state routes like the back of his hand and he rattled out a few numbers to me all casual: oh yeah, 89 to 87, to albany and then you're on yer own. When I called Fozz, incidentally, he was lounging in his lounge chair with drinking a dublin sombrero, wearing the two medals we won together around his neck, missing me like hell.
By the time I hit New York, my eyes were two gummy coins on my face. It was some hideous witching hour and I figured, why stop now? I fretted about rape in every side of the road truck stop with no working lights in the women's restroom and a broken lock, but the trip passed without incident. I pulled off the highway into Fort Ann, New York, and followed Route 4 back to Vermont by memory. I kept waiting and waiting for the sun to rise- it was 5 o'clock! but it never did. And then I heard Ryan Adams singing WonderWall: back home the word on the street is that the fire in your heart is out 18 re-plays got me through another hour and then I was home at 6am. Funny how the only thing stretching between two lives is a series of highways. Lo siento for the cliche, but it's the truth.
What else. I did some writing in a cafe in town, wrote ten pages that were accidentally erased, no problem. I visited with Grant, Laura and baby Asa and talked about working for them over the summer. River and Earth adventures would be dusting off the gears and getting ready to pick up the speed around the same time the town would be newly ransacked of the friends I had recently made, for in the two weeks I was in town they were all planning their separate exodus from Boone, primping themselves to catapult into the new life: degree, kayak, and a handful of pills into a backpack and off to New Zealand, Costa Rica, somewhere else. (In the infinitely strange and preposterously precise clockwork of my life, the secret series of tunnels and plans carved behind the walls where mice run around pulling levers and ticking things off enormous lists, my own exodus was being planned. But I didn't know that yet. Couldn't feel my brain being prepped to dream a certain dream that would lead me to the literal ends of the earth. For now I felt stuck, right in the middle, right in the heartland.)
Will and I stood on top of Grandmother mountain and looked out on the expanse of blue mountains, the bright foliage of their summer cotillion fading into the drab of winter. Not too much language needed now. Or maybe it was needed but it just wasn't there. And so the next night we dressed up for the after slaughter fest, stayed up late but left abruptly. In the morning I smelled like vanilla glitter and alcohol. I was still covered in white ice and couldn't summon the energy to wash my hair. It was in this state that I got back into the car, late in the afternoon, and nosed it North. My last image was of David and Charles and a whole flag-football team of boone cats sitting in the back of a pick-up truck on their way to play a game in the most savagely perfect autumn day there ever was. The truck tottered away and David and Charles were waving goodbye, Will turned back to his house and the door shut behind him. I started driving and I drove, and drove, and drove.
And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove And drove and drove and drove.
In Harrisburg, PA I accidentally threw out the directions at a starbucks. So then I just winged it. I winged it and I called my friend Fozz back in Seattle who knows the East Coast state routes like the back of his hand and he rattled out a few numbers to me all casual: oh yeah, 89 to 87, to albany and then you're on yer own. When I called Fozz, incidentally, he was lounging in his lounge chair with drinking a dublin sombrero, wearing the two medals we won together around his neck, missing me like hell.
By the time I hit New York, my eyes were two gummy coins on my face. It was some hideous witching hour and I figured, why stop now? I fretted about rape in every side of the road truck stop with no working lights in the women's restroom and a broken lock, but the trip passed without incident. I pulled off the highway into Fort Ann, New York, and followed Route 4 back to Vermont by memory. I kept waiting and waiting for the sun to rise- it was 5 o'clock! but it never did. And then I heard Ryan Adams singing WonderWall: back home the word on the street is that the fire in your heart is out 18 re-plays got me through another hour and then I was home at 6am. Funny how the only thing stretching between two lives is a series of highways. Lo siento for the cliche, but it's the truth.
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