A year ago I sat in the passenger side of a rented Chevy Trailblazer. Scott sat in the back seat, and Matt drove. We had ridden together over the rolling scrub of Southern California, through the hot, mystical Mojave Desert, and entered a desolate country full of scrub and rock, mountain and sky. We rode on a wave of joy and adventure. Four days before the drive I found out I was carrying a little seed of a baby. Two days before we had celebrated a wedding.
We stopped and sat under a gazebo in Tonopah, NV to review our topo maps. We planned on hiking for several days, taking advantage of the cooler air at several thousand feet of elevation. As I looked at the maps I began to worry for my little seed. What was I doing here? I pushed away my doubts and gathered my nerve. I would feel better on the trail.
We left the main highway and entered a lonelier, emptier place. The land rose and the road cut through a small town--barely a settlement, really--called Belmont. As we kept driving the pavement turned to gravel.
We had grown tired and stopped talking by then. I gazed at the mountains to my right, looking for signs of green, of coolness, of familiarity. I suddenly felt the heavy, sluggish rear of the vehicle slide to the right and then to the left. I grabbed the handle above the door as Matt struggled with the steering wheel.
My eyes wide open, I screamed as I watched the horizon tilt. The loud crash of plastic and metal dominated my senses as we tipped onto the driver's side. The windshield shattered and airborne sand filled my view. The truck bounced and rolled onto its roof before settling on the passenger side and coming to a stop. The air began to clear. My hand was still on the handle, and I felt a grateful awareness of my intact body.
Matt climbed out of the truck and I took a breath. He called for Scott--we had heard nothing from the back seat. Scott answered back and told Matt to get me out. By this time I was standing on the center console, trying to figure out how to climb out through the Matt's window. Scott hopped out with his usual athletic facility, and together we stared at the wreckage.
Devil's Bluff, Nye County, NV
We walked back to the town on the hill. Above us storm clouds rolled in, cooling our backs with the shade. Mountains rose on the horizon in every direction.
Matt took a small cut to his nose. I hit my head and it spun for weeks afterward. We'll never really understand why. Scott maybe cracked a rib. Maybe. Really, we were just fine.
Fast forward to a year later. The little seed was just fine, too. In fact, there were two of them in there. As babies they hate riding in the car, and some people suspect they know the reason why. We'll have no backpacking trips this summer. Instead my days are filled with coos and raspberries and giggles and silly, milky smiles. My mountains and my sky--Carmen Sierra and David Celestino--remind me of what I am and where I have been.
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