2 Roads Diverged
1 journey, 2 views
Tue, 06 Jun 2017 20:55:09 +0000
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Tue, 06 Jun 2017 19:42:40 +0000
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This is a guest post by Kim Bagby, Steve and Mimi’s daughter-in-law. At Mimi’s invitation, she and her husband, Joe, are sharing a “2 Roads Diverged” view of their recently completed trip:
“This is meandering, poorly written gibberish.” – Me, regarding my final post. June 4th, 12:22am.
Suffice it to say this post has been a struggle. Our journey has involved so much writing, I’m uncertain how any of you have managed to make it through up to now. Bless your little hearts and your, I assume, weary, weary eyes. I can’t say another thing without expressing deepest gratitude to Joe’s mother, Mimi, for not just inviting us to write for her and Steve’s blog, but also for taking on the role of our editor. If you’ve found these posts at all readable, it’s thanks to her.
What can I say about the past few months? A lot and also nothing. To be honest, I’m kind of tired of talking. So much of this time has been mundane and boring, while the rest has been almost too big and heavy to think about. We were gone for a month and now we’re home, wondering what to do next. I do think this trip had a deep effect on us, but we also lost a father and father-in-law – it’s possible the residual effects have little to do with the actual trip.
“How about you not tell me what to do?” is one of my most used phrases. “Have you ever tried to tell a Bagby what to do?” is one of Joe’s. So it’s ludicrous that here I am, on the interwebs, attempting to tell people what I’ve learned from the past few months. There are millions of “lessons I learned doing ____” blog posts online, each implying you can take someone else’s random lesson, apply it to your own life, and reach some magical new level via generic internet advice. Well, I would never tell you that’s the case here. You do you. Unless you are a wayward stagehand, 20 minutes late to your booth, literally nothing I say should guide you in any way. And if you are a wayward stagehand, 20 minutes late to your booth, then get off your phone and go to work.
So, as ridiculous as I feel this may be, here are things I’ve come away with after our last few tumultuous months…
I’ve learned to just do it. Just quit your job and do it.
Ok, I absolutely recognize that we don’t have kids depending on us. We’re healthy. We’ve been fortunate with work lately and could afford time off. Not everyone is in that place – this “lesson” comes with a lot of privilege. I recognize this and I have deep gratitude for it. However. I learned very early on in life, through a series of sad events, that it all can change in a second. I mean, everyone “knows” that, but it takes a few lessons – and they always seem to be sad ones – to “know-know” it, right? Taught early, this lesson keeps repeating itself as I grow older. I’ve learned to just do it, whatever it is. And I don’t mean that in a cheesy-internet-wouldn’t-that-be-nice way. I mean whatever it is you’re thinking of now – literally just fucking do it. Someone far wiser than myself recently told me “You’ve figured everything out until now, you’ve handled it all. Whatever is next, you’ll figure it out too.” And really…it’s been that simple (yet groundbreaking?). Was it profoundly stupid for both of us to quit our jobs? Yep. But we’ve figured it out so far. It’s been good for us to get out of that comfort zone, good to shake up our routine with a bit of fear of the unknown. I was more scared than excited as we left town on this trip. I thought we were going to turn around after three days. I thought we might strangle each other. This trip turned out to be the best we’ve ever taken (according to me…you’ll have to check Joe’s post to see if he agrees). I think it’s partially because we were out of our comfort zone and partially because we were in a mental place where we were looking to connect with family and friends. It’s rare in life to take this big of a leap, and I’m so, so glad we did it. We aren’t sure what’s next, but we’ll figure it out.
city ‘o city bathroom walls. Denver, CO
I’ve learned we can exist on so much less crap and so much less space than what we have.
Since we’ve been back, we’ve been downsizing. We took multiple carloads of stuff to Goodwill and a literal dumpster load of stuff to the landfill. It. Felt. GREAT! We don’t need all the crap that we have and it stresses me out having it. Goodbye stuff!
But can we live in a car forever? That would be a hard no. We’ve started looking at smaller houses, though. At first, I thought it was just the post-trip high…but my desire to spend less time cleaning and doing yardwork has stayed strong. Same for my desire to work less and pay a smaller mortgage. I’m not sure what we’ll find in the cookie cutter Las Vegas housing market (2 bed, 2 bath, townhouse, pool, 2 car garage with space for a woodshop and lighting equipment storage is kind of a big ask…) but we’ve been looking. We’ve already had listing agents evaluate our current house. According to them, we’re ready to sell as soon as we find a place that we like. So once (if) that happens, anyone interested in buying our house should hit me up…
I’ve learned that being gluten free sucks.
I know, I know. Gluten free people are the worst, but I didn’t continually blog about the gluten thing just for Celiac-smug kicks. I constantly brought it up because it’s constantly a struggle. Literally the only thing keeping me from stuffing my face with items from contaminated fryers is the fact that it turns out Celiac is a real disease (who knew??) and it can cause cancer. I am so. over. cancer. ruining. every. fucking. thing. person. relationship. life. I don’t want to be in my mid-sixties cursing my mid-thirties self for making decisions that cut my life short, so I stick with the stupid diet. There were days on the trip where we’d hit up farmers markets and make our own food, but other than those days it was really, really hard. Poor Joe is just along for the ride. Having just been officially diagnosed in January, we’re still very much learning how to navigate this new food world. My take overall? I should have never passed up a single donut. I say that, and I don’t even really like donuts.
I’ve learned our dogs are 11/10 verygoodboys…most of the time. But I kinda already knew that.
The dogs loved this trip and behaved amazingly most of the time (and also kept us warm over cold nights), but by the end of the trip I was dying to eat in a normal restaurant like a normal adult. You could say it was a dog roller coaster of emotions. So sweet, such little freedom destroyers. In a happy turn of events, they now seem to be excited about getting in the car for normal rides. They have, however, grown a sense of entitlement about sleeping in our real bed with us. Not allowed, Harry and Leeeroy. Not now, not ever. You’re dogs and your paws are disgusting.
I’ve learned that Joe is pretty alright. But I kinda already knew that, too.
Gross, right? I’m not cheesy, but I do have to say it takes a very special sort of person to put up with the crazy shit I’ve pulled on Joe in the past few months. Quit my job? Ok. Live in car as a 6’ tall person? Ok. With dogs? Ok. Go to every single farmer’s market we come across to make gluten free food in the middle of the night on a camp stove? Ok.
The patience of a saint? Nope. The saints have the patience of a Joe. I’m still floored he agreed to it, and I’m so happy and thankful he hung in there. This has been the best time, buddy (I mean, like, except for all of the sad stuff…). Now let’s take our sweet new camper car to the beach? Or New Mexico? Or Utah?
I’ve learned that I need to focus on my health.
By no means have I ever been a health nut. However, I used to work out most days of the week. I used to eat better, weigh less, and generally feel better. The first few weeks of this trip we had the time to hike and eat really well. I’m dedicating my summer to getting back into that habit. This, especially with my body feeling like it’s out of my control due to the Celiac thing, needs to become a priority again. It’s been far too long since I’ve really felt good. I’ve always known that without your health you don’t have much, but that has been in the forefront lately. Feel free to shame me each and every time I try to bail on the gym this summer, Las Vegas. ***Everyone should be aware that I wrote this post while consuming Milk Duds and cheap white wine for dinner. Obviously, this one’s going to be struggle.***
I’ve learned that I have no idea what’s next. The Kim I know would be planning and planning. Strangely, I’m fine without.
We both worked a few shows once we got home, and then did a bunch of work to get our house ready to sell. We’re now in a lull and have to figure out what’s next. Joe’s found his place in the world of production lighting, but I’m not sure where I’m headed. When I quit my job to start this journey, I assumed I’d start looking for another one when we got home. Turns out…I don’t want to. They call it funemployment for a reason, you guys. How does one get paid to live in their Honda Element? Ideally, near the beach? Ok, in reality I have a lot to figure out this summer. I have no idea why I’m not stressing about it yet.
I’ve learned how to make homemade buttons.
We now have a button maker and make awesome buttons. I made some last show for my boss. Thanks, Meg!
Our family and friends are awesome.
I can’t say thank you enough to those that made time for us, and especially to those who opened their homes/driveways to us. I’m sorry if our dogs pooped in your house (Nick). I’m sorry if we missed seeing you. Hopefully, there is more of this life in store and we’ll make it back around. You guys are what it’s all about.
I’ve learned writing is not my thing.
May the deities bless the writers of the world. Even this short foray into “guest blogging” has been exhausting. Writing, and more so having feelings, is not my glass of vodka. I’m so very glad that there are people in the world willing to do this day in and day out. I have a new sense of thankfulness for the stories I read, be they news, books, blogs, whatever. Deepest, most genuine gratitude to the writers of the world. One of you, I am not. Now I need a nap.
I’ve learned that the way we had been working and building our lives is weird.
We might work 100+ hour weeks and have unreliable jobs, but our lives are not really that complicated or at all hard. Certainly not “having cancer hard.” So I’m surprised that looking back I feel like we were just staying afloat managing life’s day to day mundanities. I’m sure it’s impossible not to end up back there, but I’d like to remove us from it as much as possible. A break has been nice. I don’t think anything less would have allowed us to really think about what our next move will be. I want to roll my eyes every time someone talks about “living authentically” but maybe that’s the best description of what I’m looking for? In a less eye-roll-inducing sort of way, of course. I’m finding comfort in our uncomfortable life. Even if we end up right back in the rat race, it was nice to decide which route to take back in.
Since everyone has been asking, I figured out what my favorite parts of our trip were.
Favorite part: the fact that we took the leap and did it – everything else was a bonus. As far as our posts, there’s a special place in my heart about finding the Love Muffin Cafe. If you’re so inclined, you can read about it here.
Thank you to everyone that’s followed our strange little journey. It will meander on as we rejoin real life, but I feel peace in saying this portion is complete. We have both slight confusion and deep gratitude that anyone would be interested in our weird little lives. We hope we were at least mildly entertaining.
I hear that Joe’s post includes a soundtrack to our trip, and I have one song of my own to add. There were days on this journey that we felt weary, heavy, and old. But there were buoyant, goofy, and ridiculous days as well – as if we were born-again college kids wandering around the country. This song has been rolling around in my head, and it brought a smile to my face to hear it was a favorite of Steve’s.
Forever Young (Fast Version)
Thank you, thank you kind readers. We just might see you out there soon…especially if you have a particularly alluring driveway.
-Joe, Kim, Harry, and Leeeroy
2017 #hotelement road trip stats:
6275 total miles
17 states
5 states visited twice
2 states visited 3 times each (Iowa and Mississippi)
28 cities
3 time zones
3 homes of family or friends
1 driveway
1 Walmart
2 truck stops
1 RV park
2 campgrounds
1 Airbnb
4 hotels, 2 ½ of which were unexpected
1 ER visit
2 Vet visits
2 Verti Marte stops
ZERO law enforcement encounters
1 credit card number stolen
ZERO breakdowns, vehicle in nature
ZERO breakdowns, personal in nature
1 baseball game
13 blog posts
2 memorials
1 bachelorette party
6 dog friends
Unknowable quantity of old friends, their significant others, and their kiddos
Unknowable number of extended family members
A slightly smaller unknowable quantity of close family members
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the conclusion (post 7 of 7)
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Tue, 06 Jun 2017 19:41:12 +0000
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This is a guest post by Joe Buttry, Steve and Mimi’s middle son. At Mimi’s invitation, he and his wife, Kim, are sharing a “2 Roads Diverged” view of their recently completed trip:
The completion of our trip was certainly bittersweet. It was so multi-faceted that it is almost hard to quantify. It alternated between fun activities with people who are important to me and a goodbye to my father. If you have followed any of our journey, it is clear he was always near the front of my mind. He has been since late 2014, when he was diagnosed with his second major cancer. Not always in a sad way. Doing something that he would have enjoyed and taking a second to acknowledge that is not something that leaves me sad. Most of the time when I think of him it is with a smile.
Early on in our trip, my mother asked me if this crazy-ass road trip was a direct response to Dad’s death. (My words, not hers) It was hard for me to answer that with total certainty. There is no doubt that the last 2 and a half years have been transformative. It has been said that you aren’t a man until you lose your father. I don’t know that I feel more like a man (or what that should feel like), but I am certainly changed. In a way, everything is a direct response to his death. I guess I felt like I was in danger of stagnating. And this trip, which was really Kim’s idea, got me off the couch before I got trapped.
I don’t really have many pictures for this post, so here is sleeping Leeroy
I have a clearer idea of the things I want. Traveling is one of my favorite past times, and I work in an industry that allows for a lot of it. But I have always avoided it. I have allowed that to become a hard line. When I travel, I want it to be fun, never work. (Maybe if Kim and I could travel for work together we would do it, but not for now) The irony of Dad’s tendency to not only travel extensively but live tweet every delay is not lost on me. He loved his work and took great pride in it, and so do I. I am fortunate to be able to make a good living without having to get on a plane. I also don’t do my work for the money. I do it because I like it and it is fulfilling. (I mean, I totally wouldn’t do it without the money, but I try to keep money out of my work decisions. You know, like a poor artist who could make a lot more but doesn’t because they do their work “because they like it”. When this decision comes to roost, please donate to my GoFundMe.)
I also have a clearer idea of what I don’t need. Kim and I have started looking for a smaller place. We don’t live in a large house, by any means. But it is bigger than the two of us need. We just spent a month in about thirty-six square feet. We can make due with something smaller, and a smaller mortgage would allow for more travel and less work. (No. I’m not saying a tiny house. I just lived in thirty-six square feet for a month with no toilet. I need more than one, normal, non-composting toilet located in my house, not in a truck stop.) I want to be able to dedicate my free time to endeavors that I want to take part in and as little time as possible cleaning rooms I don’t need and never really use.
I have seen what it truly is to be there for someone. Kim has been there for me. My mom was truly there for my dad. When it was hard, Mom was there even more. She put her needs on hold and dealt with his.
That is the kind of support that I got from Kim. This was also the most stress I’ve been under during our relationship. Kim was always there for me. And there were times when she was thrown into the deep end with little warning. She put my needs in front of her needs. She shouldered the weight of our responsibilities when I needed to go and help take some off the shoulders of my family. In the aftermath of his death, she was a source of strength when I needed to be steadied. She sacrificed her own time with my dad to say goodbye to make sure that I had all the time I could. She was in the room with my mom and I when he took his last breath. She was truly there to do whatever could be done to help, and some of what was asked of her was very hard.
Sleeping Harry. Our dogs have the same face, don’t they.
I am tired of writing about myself. That anyone ever found this anything but self-aggrandizing is a little strange to me. It started as a cool way to honor my father, but then people read it. (not a ton, still waiting on a book deal. Not really. I am very ready to not write for a while.) That was cool, but it meant I had to keep writing it. Dad wrote with such ease. I don’t know if that was natural talent, or 45 years of experience. I imagine it is some of both. What I can tell you is that I don’t have one drop of that ease. Such advanced concepts as picking one tense and writing in it allude me. If it wasn’t for my mother’s diligent editing these posts would barely be in English. I’m not joking. On the last post, she congratulated me for how few tense changes there were.
Soundtrack
As Dad’s cancer progressed, he started to write letters to my brothers and me. My favorites were the ones where he listed his favorite movies or books or songs. In that vein, here is my soundtrack to my trip.
Tom Petty-You Wreck Me
You Wreck Me
It’s lame to say that this is Kim and my song, so I won’t do that. Even though it totally is. The line that puts it on this list is
“Rescue me
Should I go down
If I stay to long
In trouble town”
Rescue might be a little strong, but I could have seen myself wallowing a little bit. This trip and this blog kept that from happening. Our history with this song runs deep. We danced to it at our wedding. We danced to it when we saw Petty at Red Rocks. We dance to it in our kitchen. We dance to it with our unwilling dogs. I really hope this marriage works out for many reasons, one of them being I like this song and a divorce would probably ruin it.
The Tragically Hip-Bobcaygeon
Bobcaygeon
This one made the list after the fact. Sure, it’s a song about a girl. But the imagery is very clear and when I think back about the sky in Moab, I think about Gord Downie’s description of the stars in this song.
“It was in Bobcaygeon
I watched the constellations
Reveal themselves one star at a time”
Downie is also a victim of cancer. He has a non-curable brain tumor. (Why do you guys read this shit? It’s a constant downer.)
Ryan Adams-Lucky Now
Lucky Now
This melancholy song about getting old starts out with lines that speak to me.
“I don’t remember
Where we wild and young
All that’s faded into memory
I feel like somebody I don’t know
Are we really who we used to be”
Kim and I are not nearly as much fun as we were in our youth, and at times it feels like we have left all of the fun behind and turned into boring adults. (Because we totally have.) I can tell you a way (maybe not the best, but A way) to fight that feeling is to say “fuck it”, build a bed in your car and travel for a month.
Replacements- Unsatisfied
Unsatisfied
This song encapsulates the depressing-ass mid-thirties ennui that could lead a person to do something like we did. Our life was everything we ever wanted, yet we were not satisfied. It is also just a killer song, even if hipsters are actively trying to ruin the Replacements.
Butch Walker-The Dark
The Dark
The whole album Afraid of Ghosts is Butch Walker’s ode to his father who he lost to pancreatic cancer. There are 3 or 4 songs I could have chosen. He has spoken about his father, who was in failing health before his diagnosis and how after they found out about the cancer, it changed. His father, who everyone thought would be fine, was now different. Not a fear, or anger, but as if he knew he had a limited time left. I saw that same change in my dad. The stubborn, determined fight of the lymphoma gave way to a man who didn’t fear whatever came next.
This song is about the feeling of riding a motorcycle and feeling his father beside him, but I’m not cool enough for that. If you listen to it, just swap the word “bike” for “homemade camper”.
“I’m just riding
I’m running away
Heat from the engine
Digging in my thigh
Into the dark
With my father at my side”
Johnny Cash-Jackson
Jackson
This was the song Kim and I blared as we headed into Jackson, Mississippi. It sounds like Jackson was harder on their relationship than it was on ours. We just drove through. It was kinda boring.
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers-Room At the Top
Room At the Top
This is a song about embracing escapism. I don’t know if this trip is about escapism or about plowing into your hurt with reckless abandon. I certainly think that the decision to do this blog was born from a desire to come to terms with Dad’s death. (So why not do it episodically so everyone can read along!) The person whose point of view this song takes is in a good place for the night and not going to give that up.
“I’ve got a room at the top of world tonight
And I aint coming down”
This song also includes my favorite Mike Campbell guitar solo.
The Refreshments-Down Together
Down Together
Kim and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to music. The Refreshments are one of the few things we agree on (especially in terms of “what driving music is”) and this song kinda captures the playful teamwork that makes our relationship good. It’s also a happy song, and this list could use a few of those.
Biz Markie-Just a Friend
Just a Friend
Sometimes when long rides got boring we made up songs. Mine tended to be based on this song. Kim usually used “Copacabana”. Why Barry Manilow? She had no idea. This was a clear win for me. The whole thing was gross. I will deny it if anyone ever asks.
Bob Dylan-Trying to Get to Heaven
Trying to Get to Heaven
Aren’t We all?
Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers-Your Name on a Grain of Rice
Your Name On a Grain of Rice
This is a real bummer of a song. It’s pretty clear that it is about a girl, but most songs are. I feel ok co-opting it for this. It hits the sad moments of our trip on the head.
“I see the sun settin over America
I’m tryin to leave my darker side behind
Feelin my way down a blue desert highway
Wish my rear view mirror could tell me a lie”
Butch Walker-Closer to the Truth and Further From the Sky
Closer to the Truth and Further f
This song is really only in because of the imagery.
“And the static singes the speakers like a thousand hymns of inspiration
And the road just winds through the canyon like
A big black snake headed for salvation and
I’m getting closer to the truth, and further from the sky”
I have been on that road and felt as though I was headed to my salvation. I think that the uncertainty I felt towards dealing with the loss of my father eventually gave way to action. Some action. Any action. It would have been easier to do nothing and let a wave of depression or hopelessness run over me. Instead, I decided to go and look for what I needed. I didn’t find it, because it doesn’t exist. I probably knew that at the beginning. But riding on that road, the big black snake headed for salvation, I knew that it wasn’t on my couch in Las Vegas.
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leg 4 – missouri to nevada (post 6 of 7)
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Mon, 29 May 2017 06:11:50 +0000
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This is a guest post by Kim Bagby, Steve and Mimi’s daughter-in-law. At Mimi’s invitation, she and her husband, Joe, are sharing a “2 Roads Diverged” view of their recently completed trip:
Kansas City, MO
Denver, CO
Manitou Springs, CO
Moab, UT
Las Vegas, NV
The road to Denver is long, boring, and windy. We stop in the middle of nowhere for gas and realize the wind is so strong, it’s changed the position of our Thule. I walk the dogs while Joe attempts to fix it. We stroll next door to what looks like a murder motel, with attached murder restaurant. The windows are dark, with 1970’s curtains pulled tight. Through the door, I can see the ceiling has partially collapsed. There’s broken glass all around the lot and the windows are painted with Christmas decor from 2015. The restaurant is closed, maybe even condemned, which makes sense. The attached motel, in not much better shape, seems to be open for business. Creepers. I quickly return to the car. Joe is…upset.
the single roadside difficulty we encountered. harry inspects
Let’s take a pause to discuss Joe’s demeanor. Upset is barely part of his vocabulary. The man exists within the word unfazed. I don’t think I’ve heard him raise his voice more than once (and Bank of America totally deserved it, you guys). He climbed up to fix the Thule, and the runner on which he was standing gave away. He nearly breaks his arm falling. He’s pissed off, he tries cramming the car part back to where it came from. Whoaaaa, Buttry! Pump the brakes! This is why YouTube exists. I YouTube what appears to be a common problem. We review a short clip, Joe snaps the car runner back into place. On the road again.
We roll into Denver intending to meet some of the world’s finest people – Joe’s cousin Meg and her husband Dave. Intending to stay with them? Not so much. Meg, the middle child in a family of female cousins that mirror the ages of Joe and his brothers, is in the midst of a demanding fight for her health, the details of which are hers and not mine to tell. I worry she’s tired, I worry she’s stressed. I know she’s been through (and is currently going through) an unimaginable amount of…shit, for lack of a better word. The past few weeks have been a lot for everyone, I imagine especially her. The last thing we want is to add to her burden. Joe and I plan to camp or just pass through. She continues to offer her home. We eventually acquiesce.
We follow Google Maps slowly through their neighborhood. We observe houses. Cute. Cute…cute. Cute. We eventually locate theirs and parallel park our car-house in front. Meg and Dave’s home is of the big, old, beautiful type you can’t find in a city like Las Vegas. Push button wall switches and wooden floors, etched glass, a sun room, a mud room, and wood molding around all the windows and doors (so many doors!). A murder basement (you’ll have to ask Meg about that one, she said it first…but she’s right.). Our house is cookie cutter and suburbs, theirs is personality and city. I never locate the speakers, but music floats room to room. I’ll never be cool enough to have days of awesome playlists in the background while guests visit, but that’s the type of cool Meg and Dave are. Meg has left us a gift bag on the guest bed, complete with scratch off lottery tickets, easter candy, and homemade buttons of our dogs. She’s welcoming us and our dogs into their home free of charge, and she leaves us a gift bag.
We had planned a nice dinner out, but post-Omaha we’re now aware that Harry and Leeeroy will not be left alone in a strange place. Knowing they have a capacity for destruction that far exceeds what you’d expect from such small animals, and that Meg and Dave have a beautiful home, we change our plans. A night in is in order.
dog friends, dog buttons
Meg and Dave have a sweet-eyed, older dog named Ravell. Harry promptly makes his home on Ravell’s bed. Leeeroy, who loves every dog he’s ever met, feels the need to casually show Ravell his teeth over and over. And over. Leeeroy, can you kindly explain your behavior in a home with the best hospitality life has to offer? Can you stop being a jerk for literally 18 hours? After what seems like ages, Leeeroy decides to be nicer to the dog owner of this home. We all settle in. We order in arepas. Mine is full of chicken and black beans and Venezuelan awesomeness. It’s the best I’ve ever had (sorry Las Vegas, thank you Quiero Arepas). We drink Moscow Mules, complete with copper cups and freshly squeezed lime juice. We chat about family and books and mostly the dogs. Meg shows us – and then gives us – her backup button maker (see above dog button photos). We go to bed. I try to make us as small and unobtrusive as possible in their busy, complicated lives.
middle cousins and dogs. image stolen from meg’s instagram
In the morning, Meg produces a magical restaurant that meets each of our extensive needs. City ‘O City has a patio for dogs, gluten free options for me, and vegan options for Dave (yay! Safety in dietary restriction numbers!). It’s a beautiful day. Living in Las Vegas, we no longer get to experience that feeling of the first day of spring – where everyone is nice and in a good mood and you realize halfway through the day it’s because the weather is finally nice, for the first time in 4 months. That simple pleasure isn’t part of my life anymore. The weather in Denver today isn’t quite that sublime level of amazing, but it’s pretty close. We order, the food and coffee are perfect. We enjoy brunch. We replenish Meg and Dave’s Moscow Mule supplies. We pack our things and move on. Meg and Dave are young, cool people in a cool city and it’s the weekend. I’m sure they have things to do.
An hour away lies Manitou Springs, along with Alexis and John. Alexis and I have known each other since high school, where we were voted (together) most likely to carry off a jewel heist. We did used to steal a lot of things, including (allegedly) a tree from a librarian without a sense of humor. We haven’t lived in the same city since, but we’ve managed keep ourselves firmly fixed in each others lives (especially for swimming, especially in rooftop and/or infinity pools). Alexis married John, then I married Joe. Poor John and Joe, each kind of eternally bound to the two of us. It wasn’t until recently that Joe was given the front seat of a car over Alexis. To be fair, it was her spot first. We were in each others’ weddings. We travel to each others’ houses, we go on vacations together. Apparently, we now camp in each other’s driveways.
Denver to Manitou is the easiest drive of our trip, and makes me dread the long haul that lies on the horizon. I’m not going to write a storybook, but pretend I have. Manitou is the city from that storybook, nestled between mountains and filled with little shops and restaurants…and also hippies. Our hippie friends reside on one of Manitou’s mountains. They have dogs and cats: Colfax and Ginsberg and Tibalt. Joe and I haven’t been training at altitude (be it exercising, drinking, or breathing) and Joe has enough problems breathing as is. We plan to visit their home and sleep in their driveway, which is literally just the side of a mountain.
nature driveway
Another story not mine to tell, Alexis and John have had fairly severe health problems befall their home the past few days. We offer to stay out of the way, to continue on our journey. They insist it’s ok. We attempt to buy dinners and help shuttle vehicles in return. I do not feel our debt is paid. No one warned me that life-altering health problems start knocking at your door in your thirties. I have several friends with life and death situations on their hands right now. I joke about being old all the time, but apparently, we genuinely are. When did that happen?
backyard hike, mountain dog
We drink on Alexis and John’s patio, and hike in their backyard (which is, again, a mountain). The dogs are allowed off leash, a rare treat for which they do not always respect the responsibility. We crate the dogs and have a normal dinner without them like adults. We clean up the small dog destruction when we return.
We are kind of lazy and tired. We make buttons (thanks, Meg). We play games. I die on the Oregon Trail, but not before Alexis. Harry tries to be one of their cats, Leeeroy tries to eat Colfax’s food (it does not go well for him the first or fiftieth time he tries, yet he is persistent).
Las Vegas is 12 hours away. Joe has a job scheduled for our company within the week. Our journey is coming to an end. We decide we have time for one last stop. Moab lies halfway between Manitou and Las Vegas, near Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. There’s a campground with available spots. We’d initially thought we could revisit the Grand Canyon at the end of our trip, but the extra miles are deemed too many. It’s decided – we are headed to Moab.
blogging in car, dogs napping at feet
We begin the drive. We meet a close friend Joe hasn’t seen in years. We have tacos, I walk the restless dogs. We continue. We talk about how Steve loved his visits with family and good friends. We talk about how he would have rolled his eyes at parts of our trip, and been delighted with others.
A few hours on the Utah interstate seem like ages. When the trip began, I imagined short 4-5 hour drives each day. That’s been the exception, with 6-8 hour pushes becoming the norm. I enjoy this time with Joe, but I’m also tired of limbo, tired of being between destinations. “Let’s just get there already” has become my impatient theme for this trip, as it has always been in my life. I’m relieved when we exit the interstate and begin the last thirty miles to our campsite.
Now on the highway, we must pass along the edge of Arches National Park and wind through Moab in order to arrive at our campground. I’ve never been to this part of Utah and the scenery is unlike anything I’ve seen. We call out awesome camper vans, Honda Elements, cars with Thules, and verygooddogs™ as we see them. All strangers, yet all our brethren. We note where to enter Arches for tomorrow. We move slowly down Moab’s main street. The town? It’s the cutest. Blue sky and red cliffs surround the small-town-cute mix of restaurants and shops. Hippies, extreme sportsfolk, and FLDS Mormons wander the sidewalks. There are rock shops and bike racks, kayaks and tie dye. Stoners and rock climbers, and rock climbing stoners. The speed limit is low, we coast slowly and take in the town.
I don’t know who sees it first. I don’t remember who is driving and who has to Google. Joe claims me, me, him. All I know is that as we survey the town’s main drive, the Love Muffin Cafe sign reveals itself. Love Muffin Cafe? As in, Love Muffin from Steve’s memorial photo? No. No way, too strange a coincidence. Must be a chain, or a different restaurant entirely. We never asked the origin of the photo, we certainly didn’t expect to stumble upon it here. Google confirms. Not a chain. Same logo, same restaurant. There’s only one Love Muffin Café, and it’s right in front of us.
Ok. So. I’m a realist, a skeptic. I don’t believe in signs. But even my skeptical, hard heart has to take a pause. I make a mental list: we just happened to be in Baton Rouge the day Mimi selected the memorial photos. I just happened to find and attach myself to the Love Muffin Cafe shot. Short on time, we just happened to decide on travelling through Utah instead of Arizona, and it just happened that Moab was the best stopping point from where we woke up this morning. An entire trip’s worth of random moments and decisions culminate here – at the sole location of a restaurant where a years-old photo of Steve was snapped, a photo that was picked out of a pile and loved by me, weeks ago in Baton Rouge. Maybe you believe in God in one of His or Her various forms, maybe instead you believe in the Energy of the Universe, or maybe you think the human brain assigns meaning where there is only coincidence. Regardless of creed, I think that most would find comfort and a bit of wonder here. There’s the idea that maybe someone, something, some energy has been with us all of these miles. Maybe someone is here with us now, as we stand outside of the Love Muffin Cafe.
Joe later tells me the parks in Utah were some of his dads favorite places, and he expected to find something of him here. Well, Joe. Maybe you could have mentioned that before I started questioning my belief structure.
Moab camp
Moab’s KOA is our last stop, and also the first campground we get to, cook, and clean up before total darkness. High five, Buttry. Four weeks in and we are starting to get the hang of this. Our campground is full of desert sand and dust, with a background of deep red cliffs. The dogs are disgustingly dirty, but the scenery almost makes up for it. We sleep easily in the cool night. The warm day get us out of bed early. We laze about in the morning, comfortable in this place. After a slow start and breakfast dishes, we are off to Arches.
Arches is a dog friendly National Park where you cannot take your dogs anywhere other than the parking lot. We spend an hour driving around. We take some parking lot photos. We leave.
arches, as viewed from the parking lot
Alexis had recommended a trail outside the park. We locate it at the edge of town. I’m promised a swimming hole with waterfall at the end of this hike, and I. AM. PUMPED. The trail winds along a creek. We begin by climbing down into the water and letting our dogs take a swim. I only get in to my thighs. It’s freaking cold, you guys. A giant dog shows up sans owner, our dogs decide to “protect” us. Harry almost gets away, eight pounds of Yorkie willing to take on this perceived intruder, who weighs in at at least seventy-five. We scramble for his leash (it was a terribly timed accident! I didn’t mean to let him go!) and subdue the small dog. We get out of the water. The trail itself is easy, but the sun begins to beat down. We continue to cross paths with hikers in bathing suits and towels. I begin to notice every one of them is model-level beautiful. What is this place? I want to find this fountain of chiseled abs, toned arms, tanned skin, and magically flowing beach waves and/or man buns. Apparently, Joe and I are going to wash away the start of middle age when we get to the end of this trail. That seems easier than diet and exercise, so I’m in. I forge ahead. I had read the trail crosses a creek several times and prepared myself thusly. I thought this had been made clear to Joe, but he is wearing real shoes and full length pants. I scoop up a dog and waddle across the first junction in my sandals and bathing suit. I try to help him. I don’t get very far. Models continue to cross our path. WHERE IS THIS MAGIC SWIMMING HOLE OF YOUTH? I feel bad as the heat increases and Joe struggles through a second muddy creek with dog. It’s hot, it’s been a few hours. Joe is not setup for this, his pants and shoes are ruined. We give up on magical swimming holes and second youth. We turn around.
We return to the campground after a full day of mild nature encounters. Joe cooks our last camp dinner, I find a dish sink at the camp office that makes our last dinner dishes a breeze (finally). It’s our final night on this journey. A month away from the real world, away from jobs, away from house cleaning and yard work. We’ve barely checked our bank balance, I might have been late paying our last bills – I don’t really know because we can’t get our mail. There’s been no twenty-four hour news cycle, no Donald Trump or Russia or North Korea. No work emails, no deadlines, no irresponsible stagehands. I don’t know if I could stay here forever, but I would be willing to make an attempt. Joe’s ready to return to life. We pack up the car and prepare to leave in the morning, some of us more reluctant than others. Night falls. It’s pitch black, but the sky is crystal clear. For the first time in years we can see the expanse of the stars. Joe notices them first. We stare for a few minutes, he picks up his things and goes to shower. The dogs have curled up to sleep. I pull out the laptop and begin to work on a blog post. I think about the places we’ve been over the past month. I think about what’s brought us to this place over the past many years. I notice how quiet my surroundings have grown.
Alone, under a silent blanket of stars in the Moab desert, my mind goes back to the Love Muffin Cafe. I think of Steve. I reflect on the many years I knew him, I think of the last few hours I had with him. Though there for his last days, I arrived too late to see him conscious. I missed my chance at a proper goodbye (whatever that is, if one even exists). Those days are hard to think about, they’re painful and they’re unfair. I shake my head to clear the thoughts.
I sit for a while, mind blank, in the dark of the Utah night. My mind returns to Mimi, always returning to Mimi. I think of her story and The Little Prince. “In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing.” I lean back and stare into the night sky, scanning the thick field of stars. I search for Steve among them. It’s here, alone in the quiet desert night, that I begin to say goodbye. It’s always that I will say thank you.
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leg 4 – missouri to nevada (post 6 of 7)
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Mon, 29 May 2017 06:10:20 +0000
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This is a guest post by Joe Buttry, Steve and Mimi’s middle son. At Mimi’s invitation, he and his wife, Kim, are sharing a “2 Roads Diverged” view of their recently completed trip:
Kim and I woke in Kansas City. As a child, I loved riding Interstate 70 and driving past the stadium, so I was fittingly nostalgic as I loaded the car looking across at the scoreboard. There are worse places to wake up (Extended Stay America. 4615 Opa Locka Lane, Destin, Florida 32541). The plan was to head to Denver. As with Kansas City, there were more people we wanted to see and commitments waiting for us in Colorado than we would have time for. I started the drive west out of town filled with dread. Anyone who has made this drive knows that it is a wasteland. The five hundred miles west of Kansas City seem to repeat themselves as if one has entered the Twilight Zone. But instead of finding it creepy or super natural, it’s just incredibly boring. This trip added the e