“This is Nicholas McKinnon, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you at my leisure. Thanks.”

Beep.

“Nick, hey it’s Dana. I’m just letting you know that I am heading your way. Just have to make two quick stops in town, then I’ll be hitting the highway. I think it’ll be Friday before I get there. Call me back if you want, or don’t. Whatever. See you in a few days.”

Dana had emptied her apartment, settled the lease, stored her meager collection of possessions, and forwarded her mail to Nick’s address. The trunk of her car was stuffed with clothes, other travel items, and of course, her trusty laptop sat on the passenger floorboard, safe and sound in it’s carrying case. The backseat was reserved for Lady, who adored rides in the car more than almost everything else. Dana’s phone provided her with GPS directions during the drive.

As she headed out into the desert on I-15 between L.A. and Barstow she could begin to feel that sensation of exhilaration and excitement that only comes from striking out into virgin territory. It was the happiest she’d been since her own wedding.

Nick was going about his typical business that day. He woke early and tended to his chickens and checked the garden for ripe vegetables. He though to himself that if he didn’t get around to planting fall crops, there wouldn’t be enough time before the weather turned for them to mature.

He wrote a good chunk, far exceeding his daily quota, during the early afternoon. After downing a pint of lager straight from the bottle, he ventured out for an afternoon walk with the dogs. It was during the walk that Dana had called, and of course, Nick didn’t take his phone with him.

On the road, Dana was planning to get to Cedar City, Utah before stopping for the night. It would take over six hours, of driving, with more time added for pit stops. She hoped to get into a motel room by nine o’clock that night.

As she drove, she did everything she could think of to distract herself from thinking about the tragedy and failure that she viewed her life as. She sang along with any song on the radio that she knew the words to. She pitched half-baked film ideas to herself. She talked to Lady about anything and everything, but mainly the sights seen along the highway.

In the late afternoon, passing through Las Vegas, Dana wondered aloud why she’d lived in Los Angeles for all that time and never once made the drive to Vegas. How was that even possible? Sure, Los Angeles certainly isn’t lacking in terms of things to do or entertainment opportunities, and she loved the city like no other; any way you cut it though, Vegas is Vegas, and she’d never been. Not for a romantic weekend getaway, not for a bachelorette party, not even during a breakdown or identity crisis where one would naturally run away to a place like Vegas.

She decided in that moment that she was going to come back sometime and have some fun here someday.

Far beyond Vegas, the daylight was all but gone when she crossed the border from Arizona to Utah. She was excited to be about an hour away from a bed, but that meant another hour of fending off the gloomy and dreadful thoughts that plagued her. It was one of the longest hours of her life.

Finally, she made Cedar City.

As she rested on the bed in the motel room, Lady stared up at her from her crate. Dana dreaded the next two days of being trapped in a car, alone with her thoughts. Today had been so much more difficult that she could’ve imagined. There was still so far to go.

As night fell on the prairie, Nick sat outside smoking his pipe. He was ready to go to bed after a long day. In all honesty, he worried about hosting Dana. What if there was friction that put them both in uncomfortable positions? What if she disrupted his daily routines and work? What if she brought back painful memories of much better days?

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

What if she made him realize just how much he missed being a part of the world?

He hadn’t felt this much worry in a long time. He puffed on the pipe but no smoke filled his mouth. Rather than relighting it, he opted to rap the pipe upside down lightly on the table leaving a small pile of ash, dottle, and tobacco. He packed the pipe away in the plastic box and headed into the house to go to bed.

He’d sort out his feelings and anxiety in the coming days.

The next day, driving through the vast expanses of Utah, Dana continued her struggle. Before departing from Cedar City she added a new weapon to his arsenal in the continuing battle with her inner demons, a bestselling thriller novel on CD from a rack in a gas station. It was a good thing, too, for the scenery along the interstate consisted of the same mountains and vast stretches of scrub brush repeated on a loop, or so it seemed.

Mile after mile of I-15 ticked past as she lost herself in the tale of a mild mannered professor thrust into a race against time. Typical fare, really, as far as tales of heroes plucked from obscurity go. It was a good story, and she was happy not to have to entertain herself as she had the previous day.

Fifty-three miles, Beaver. One hundred and eight miles, Fillmore. One hundred and sixty-seven miles, Nephi.

Watch out, Professor! The bad guy’s right behind you!

Provo, Orem, Salt Lake City.

I-80 into Wyoming now. Dana noticed that there was much less scenery here. The road ran through narrow, natural valleys and unnatural cuts through hills sides, both resulting in large hills blocking any views of the distant horizon. She wanted to make it to Rawlins, Wyoming before stopping today, at the Utah-Wyoming border she knew she was roughly three hours away and still feeling good.

The audiobook was helping. Yesterday had been exhausting, today an absolute breeze.

She smiled, enjoying both the derring-do of the professor and the fact that she’d make her goal with ease.

Nick was also smiling as he sat on the ground, shirtless and sweaty, admiring his good work. He had spent the day harvesting the last of his gardens’ crops and then tilling the remaining stalks and stems under. His thinking was that this end of season practice promoted fertility in the spring.

It was also a heck of a thing to do. An all day chore, using a simple walk-behind tiller and hand tools. These sorts of things always reinvigorated Nick, mind, body, and soul. Since arriving in South Dakota he had taken Theodore Roosevelt’s idea of a strenuous life to heart. He could use a tractor or other more powerful implements, but chose not to on principle.

As he sat staring at the upturned soil, he thought to himself.

Almost time to start splitting wood for winter.

Dana departed Rawlins heading north on U.S. 287 trying to get to I-25 out of Casper. This, like so many byways in the American West, was a long, lonely road. The view afforded by this particular road was a panorama of flat scrubland and little else. This was a two hour stretch that even the audiobook couldn’t overcome.

She began to grow nervous, second guessing the decision she’d made. She didn’t have a plan and didn’t want to impose on Nick. What would she do to get back on her feet? Where would she go after this, and when would that be? Why did she ever think that this was a good idea?

Just as her thoughts began to spiral out of control she heard Für Elise playing once again. She quickly answered her phone, glad to have the distraction.

“Hello?”

“Morning. Where are you?” Nick asked on the other side of the call.

“Nick, hey. I’m in Wyoming. There are no landmarks whatsoever. It’s just emptiness.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have to get used to that up here,” Nick spoke without hurry.

“So, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I’m glad to visit, but if it makes more sense for it to just be like a weekend, that’s fine. I…”

“Dana,” Nick interrupted, “are you on some highway trying to get to Casper?”

“Yes. Somewhere along there.”

“You’re going to see a state historic site on the side of the road called Independence Rock. Stop there for a while. Clear your head a bit. From there it’s about an hour to Casper, from Casper it’s four hours to Rapid City, then two hours to here. So just get here. We’ll figure out the rest then.”

“Okay. It’s just so far. I’m sick of driving.”

“That’s why you’re going to stop and check out the Rock.”

“What is it?”

“Let it be a surprise.”

“Wait, I just saw a sign for it. I’m really close.”

“Well, enjoy it, grab some food in Casper and I’ll see you up here tonight.”

“Okay.”

Dana hung up the phone and turned off the highway following signs for the site. Upon arriving, she read the signs about the site and learned that the uniquely weathered hill was a popular place for pioneers on the Oregon Trail to carve their names as they passed. Somehow, long after the demise of the travelers themselves, the names remain on this ludicrous hill in the middle of Wyoming.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was so special about this place, but she knew that it was indeed special. She was glad she’d stopped here. She recalled that she’d nearly broken down just before Nick called, and now felt a profound reverence and respect. She tried to remember whatever she knew about the Oregon Trail, the real trail, not the computer game. It wasn’t much, but she knew it was basically hell. She was complaining about flying through this country on paved roads, in air-conditioned comfort listening to someone else read a book. Those that carved their names on this rock came in wagons. She’d be with a dear friend hundreds of miles away come nightfall. These pioneers buried their children along the trail.

She had nothing to complain about at all. She willed it that the rest of the drive would be as easy as yesterday’s drive as she pulled back onto the highway.  

Next Chapter: Chapter 8