Made It Home Safely

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Once the critter sitters were briefed on the quirks of our off-the-grid arrangements, getting ready to leave the canyon by myself for the first time was the hardest part of my journey. It seemed foreign and completely unnatural. And in the back of my mind, I fretted about the Dakota's acceleration once I reached pavement. That pack rat's nest episode in the engine compartment coincided with my gut feel that I had been robbed of genuine speed and I thought that maybe some obstruction was restricting the gas pedal movement. These dirt roads don't allow for an acceleration test beyond 35 miles an hour and only briefly at that unless you want to slam down hard and then launch yourself aloft in one of the many deep key-ways in these dirt roads. Both of us had incurred headliner bruises and nearly worn the heavy Ranch Hand bumper grill like braces from previous feats of bravado and brain farts out here on these weather-pocked roads. And I had only vague recollections of the directions to get out of the canyons when heading south.

I loaded up all the documents, clothes and gas cans that I needed and just hoped that I wasn't forgetting something ... which I did anyway. Turning the ignition key was one of the hardest things I had ever forced myself to do; I felt like I was abandoning Terry (Mark), our dreams and our fur friends in horribly callous ways. Concentrating on the rough roads for the next 25 miles helped soften that tension and remorse. I eventually eased up beside the old Indian trading post and hit it out on to the highway. "Hitting it" brought forth disappointing results. For the next couple of hours, I was mortified at being passed going up hill by semis at 45 mph. It was going to be a long drive so I poked the radio seek button and found but one station, a country western venue, and the miles droned by. And I felt so alone. Then a song called "Remember When" came on. It is a bittersweet, lilting, slow lovers' waltz and gentle kind of piece with lines like "... we won't be sad, we'll be glad, for all the times we had ... remember when ..." And for the first time since Terry died, I started to sob quite uncontrollably; no one but me in the truck, no critters and friends to be strong and stoic for, just me alone on this quiet four lane highway. I looked over through my dappled vision to my right and reached out to pat and grasp Terry's leg affectionately, just as he had done so many times before when I was riding shotgun. But in reality, I now knew that I was truly alone in this stark and beautiful desert, that landscape which we both fell in love with not that long ago. It still held its rugged but scarred beauty proudly; it's defiant cliffs bleeding from exposed slashes of incredible colors. I would have to be like those cliffs we loved so much now - stubborn and defiant. I was suddenly snapped out of my lost thoughts when I noticed traffic overtaking me and wiped blindly at my clouded eyes lest they somehow see my heartbreak and I repeatedly stabbed my soft-moccasined foot hard into the gas pedal to no avail.

I survived the drive through Albuquerque on the interstates without acceleration capabilities quite nicely. In any other major city, I might have been slaughtered in the rush of commuters going 30 mph faster but not here. Perhaps that is why we loved this place; it wasn't unnecessarily frantic and fast 'just because'. After climbing their mountain highway at an eye-burning 35 mph, I pulled into Red and Sally's just before supper and it was like joyously arriving home again from a very tough trek.

With their help and encouragement, we got a lot of necessary things done that week and we had some fun as well. And when they retired each night, I would remove to the guest apartment on the second floor of the building next door. I guess I needed that time alone and away from the ranch and the rest of the world to sit out on the deck, to look up at the skies, to pretend that Terry was seated beside me on that rough bench and to talk with him about many things unsaid up until then. And to cry, to cry deeply when there was no one else around - neither friends or creatures to hear and be further disturbed and hurt by my laments. As I gazed up into the skies, I would sometimes be pelted by sporadic rains crying down to join my tears, sometimes see shooting stars etch short but dazzling paths across the firmament, just as Terry had done. I had so desperately needed that quiet time of reconciliation, of putting this horrendous but unavoidable new reality into some sort of perspective.

The days flew by far too fast but we accomplished many things and the three of us found a couple of new and special friends in the process as a delightful bonus. It looks like I will be taking over their small farmstead in September if all goes as planned. Better still, Wayne was a professional mover for years and I can hire him to help pack and load up our belongings at the ranch. Since they are both of the same breed as Terry and I were for collecting odd-ball and sometimes heavy funky stuff, I doubt I could have found a better person to orchestrate the move. Yes, a small light has started to shine on what needs to be done before winter sets in and more pegs are falling into place now. I am so thankful, not only for this break in that onslaught of disasters but for your thoughts and prayers in getting me this far. We are starting to get somewhere now ... finally!
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