See You Down The Road
See You Down The Road is a collection of images from a 37-day road trip I took with my friend Oscar in May and June of 2021 throughout the United States. A life-changing experience at that. Below is a few images and writings that one can find in my book See You Down The Road. Available for purchase. Contact me if interested!
My body was warm, relaxed, and glued to the bed in a small and quaint room at the Elk Refuge Inn outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming. At six in the morning, no one wants to awake and get on with their day, especially with a night of restlessness. Fortunately, this time the restlessness stemmed from excitement, not despair. Immediately my eyes shot towards the glowing orange Camelback resting on the chair, catalyzing the consciousness to churn. The first thought of the day can make or break the flow of time. Will the climb sparkle and shine, feelings sublime? Or will it all come crashing down, our faces lit with a frown? Up and out the door, our feet too fast for the floor, we hopped in the CRV and made our way to the Amphitheater Lake Trailhead.
We threw on our layers, checked over our gear, and took one last yawn, for it was now or never. A grueling ten miles lay ahead of us, switchback after switchback after switchback. Encountering several other hikers, our motivation flipped flopped, “we couldn’t make it, too much snow.” “You’ve got another two hours at least.” “Be careful. You better have microspikes.” The colors under our feet slowly turned from green, brown to white. And when we reached the deep snow, it really put up a fight. This kind of climb was relatively new to me, a battle with a fresh experience. The terrain would turn away most, especially underprepared, but we planned in advance, touching every last detail because things can go south very quickly. About an hour in, our microspikes clung to our boots as we hugged the mountain at a forty-five-degree angle. My mind mingled with the landscape; I was in awe at the stillness of the treachery, fools gold with every step. The only way up was through the unstable snow, which could eat us up like a Sarlacc or float us in a winter wonderland.
We continued on, the lake held too much weight, and it would drown us in shame if we didn’t see it. As we stepped through the last tracks of snow, immense scenery rushed into view. It was Oscar, Amphitheater Lake, and I, up close and personal at ten-thousand feet. The bliss held us close, and the shivering cold vanished. My mind raced with grace, but everything else slowed. The ambiance settled; one could hear the whistle of the wind flowing through the trees. A ruffle every so often would remind me of the vastness closing in. The surrounding range provided a sense of scale; we felt like snails. Reaching the top was a phenomenal feat, an experience I will never forget.
I planned to wake up in the middle of the night, anticipating the Milky Way to show. Fatigue was not going to get in my way of this once-in-a-lifetime event. I set the alarm for one in the morning, and as my head hit the blow-up pillow, I slowly swirled into a deep sleep. The past few hours had been rough, and my body had enough. Three hours later, an incessant "BEEP, BEEP, BEEP." rang through my ears. My dream of scrambling through the Sahara was rudely interrupted. I squirmed in my sleeping bag and zipped down my side of the tent ever so slightly. Instantly, a rush of cool air pounced on my half-asleep consciousness. I shook like a wet dog and took a few deep breaths to restructure myself.
From my perspective, I was looking at a vast curving wall towering over our tiny tent as though it were to reach out and scoop us up. I wasn't sure what to expect when I first opened my eyes. Cramped, cold, but curious, I peeked around more; I could finally make out the dune peak to the West of the tent entrance. It was lit up, a golden glow that made me think the sun was setting. That couldn't make sense, though; we had just seen it a few hours ago. I thought to myself, the mind is playing tricks, but why would my own mind think upon the trickery? Maybe I was hallucinating; the novel natural state can distort the comfortable sense of groundedness. I finally wriggled out of my sleeping bag, threw on my boots, and stepped out onto the damp and delicate sand. This moment was beyond comprehension. The words to describe this situation escaped, and I had no previous experience to fill in my feelings. Trapped in a breathless moment of a new observation, a few tears formed. My body, possessed with peace, wanted to jump with joy to the stars and become a part of the surrealism. But as I gathered more and more and absorbed the aberration, I was frozen in a state of uneasiness. I began to feel so, so small, smaller than small. It's the inconceivable smallness that slowly eats away at our exhausting existence and burdens the soul to the point where one wants to slip away and leave it all behind. I shrunk to the sandy surface as the walls of wonder closed me in and warped my minute presence sequestered in the dunes. They cried out, "You must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer." I looked around and called out with a qualm in my voice, but only the air, still, with a slight silky touch, responded. "Fear is the mind-killer," repeated over and over. "Where is this from? Have I heard this before? Who is speaking to me?" And then, a silence slammed my racing mind. So silent, I could hear the blood running through my veins and the awkward pound of my heart carrying along with its finite duty. It even sounded like my breath began a tune. "Remember, you are isolated, alone, just Oscar, you, and the tent surrounded by nothing but sand and an infinite array of stars," the tranquility wrapped its warm, tender arms around my neck as its euphonic and soothing voice reconditioned me to reality.