I distinctly remember the first time I felt the road’s ability to strip away all sense of identity—and every association tied to an identity—until I was left with what remained, and what remained felt truer than everything else.
Twenty people had been laid off at The Frederick News-Post. I heard it in a voicemail from a coworker. It was a Monday morning. And I was 30 miles from the road into Sedona, where I could finally experience the vortexes. Our newsroom staff at the time was comprised of about 50 employees—glory days, in retrospect. I assumed I wasn’t one of the 20 in the round of layoffs, because there were no other voicemails informing me I no longer had a job when I returned. It would’ve been fine with me if there had been.
There comes a time on the road when who you were—or who you thought you were—completely dissolves, and who you are becomes synonymous with the landscape and the weather and the towns you move through—the muddy river running through burnt orange cliffs of Moab, the pines tipping to the sky through Boulder Canyon, the mountain lake of Yosemite as still as glass.
On that day, I was a small, country highway, Alt. 89, lined with trees and slowly carving its way around the mountains. At times, the road opened up to reveal something from a dream world, these grand, red-rock cliffs rising up vertically from long, rolling mountain land below, cutting into sky like monuments from another world
Joanna Newsom sang on my stereo, picking her harp through flickering sunlight: “All that I want and all that I need and all that I’ve got is scattered like seed … and all that I knew is moving away from me. All that I know is blowing like tumbleweed.”
Everyone smiled along the hike to Bell Rock. Bikers, couples, children, loners like myself. Even the dogs seemed to smile. Those 20 people from back East, whoever they were, faded into the background. It was too quiet in Sedona for static. We were all hiking under a clear sky. Under my feet: silver plants and neon green prickly pear cactus growing out of red rock and sand. I walked slowly, breathed slowly, ascended toward the vortex. And just as I arrived, a coworker called and told me about the layoffs, the company-wide meeting, the news, more news, additional news. All I could think to tell him was, “I’m at the vortex. Want me to pick you up a red rock?”
THE PROJECT :: Two road trips across America, in 2008 and 2019, resulted in two travelogues. Neither of them felt particularly complete, so I starting sifting through the writing to extract portions and compile them into something new, a book about what living on the road does to you with glimpses of America by car. I’m less familiar with certain portions of the country, so I’ve decided to visit/revisit them this fall, partly to write those missing passages.
writing
ebooks + zines
astrology readings
get postcards and snail mail
send snail mail: 9701 Montgomery N.E. #1057, Albuquerque, NM 87111
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