Springer's Journey

The Crew

Yesterday I sat in Idaho feeling stressed, watching yellow dashboard lights and trying to figure out whether Cora and I should push onward or establish headquarters for the night.

We chose headquarters.

That decision turned out to be important in ways I didn’t expect.

This morning I woke up after sleeping well, had pancakes, and looked at the map with a much calmer brain. Funny how maps become less terrifying after sleep.

The original plan was simple enough: fuel at Love’s, head toward Moab, and continue the journey.

Somewhere along the way I finally surrendered a long argument I had apparently been having with geography itself.

I was trying desperately to find a magical route that avoided mountains entirely.

Unless Cora suddenly develops wings, that route apparently does not exist.

So I accepted a new reality:

Some mountain driving simply comes with crossing the country.

Strangely enough, once I stopped fighting that fact, the day became easier.

The interstate serves its purpose. It gets you there as fast as humanly possible without actually flying. But somewhere during the last half of today’s drive, I realized I was beginning to feel something different.

I felt like I was actually on a journey.

Off the interstate, things slowed down.

The road curved.

The land unfolded instead of racing past.

Price Canyon took my breath away.

I don’t even think “beautiful” does it justice.

The rocks became red — not ordinary red, but impossible red. The kind of red that makes you wonder if the earth itself got hold of a paintbrush.

And I noticed something else.

I wasn’t just looking at mountains.

I was looking at tiny flowers.

Birds.

Sky.

Light.

The little things.

And while all this was happening, the crew was hard at work.

Mayday Murphy remained deeply committed to his duties as Chief Catastrophe Officer:

“ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!”

“ABANDON HOPE.”

Ferrari the Wolverine continued staring silently into the distance, apparently solving problems three hours before the rest of us even noticed them.

Stick remained my faithful anchor.

Maya quietly sat nearby being exactly what Maya always is: calm.

And then there was Cora.

The yellow oil light made another appearance today.

Old Lorrie would have pushed.

New Lorrie pulled over and paid attention.

Because here’s something I realized:

Of course we stop when Cora needs attention.

She’s carrying us.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’ve been learning this whole trip.

For years I lived like there was another finish line waiting.

More miles.

More endurance.

More suffering.

Maybe then I’d deserve rest.

But maybe there isn’t a finish line.

Maybe there are just places to stop, breathe, look around, and take care of the things carrying us.

Tonight headquarters has been established in Moab.

The crew is all present and accounted for.

And for the first time in a long while…

I feel like I’m not just traveling across the country.

I feel like I’m finally arriving in my own life.

As always,

Springer Jones