I have plans to somehow restore my old blog into here. Somehow. I’ve gone into the annals of internet memory to find my entries again and have downloaded them. So it’s a matter of transposing them (dates and all) back into this blog. And soon I’ll have added my photos in here…various trips taken over time. There are journeys I never bothered to document, before the advent of the digital camera. Entire jouneys into Mexico…lost to only what can be written about. How reliable is memory?
I’m feeling restless these days. I often fantasize about going to some small town out in the Sacramento Valley and renting a room in a non-descript motel. I’ve done this before. Just a two day get away to read and write. But I also like to visit whatever bar is in that town too. Yes, this could be dangerous for a woman, but I’ve been know to take care of myself, to handle myself. To read the billboards of intent from a million miles away. Which is what going to these towns feels like. Some dipping of the toe into another world not quite my own, but inside of a diorama I became used to seeing and experiencing long ago. Back when I lived in the valley when I was 19 and off and on again until I was 21. When I was working as a ride pilot and flight instructor. I knew the valley well. My boyfriend was a stunt pilot and the world was full of these dustry airstrips we called home.
But most likely I will not venture off this weekend. Not drinking for one. Also, cleaning up my life for two. And I’m on this physical fitness jag now. Don’t want to stop it. But soon, I need to make the trip through the valley to the mountains. I’m hungry for the ruggedness. The streams, For no electronics. For the smell. I always bring a Stegner book with me. I remember one summer driving the mountians around Mt. Lassen with “Angle of Repose” hanging out in the backseat on top of backpacks jammed up against the window for all to see.