Maiden Voyage

The road trip that changed my life, and all because of a cat

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately … and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. — Henry David Thoreau

When I saw that fat man die - Michael, we don't have a lot of time on this earth! — Peter Gibbons, in the movie “Office Space”

I was living and working in Nashville, Tennessee. I started thinking about “Where do I want to live after I retire?” — because it sure as heck wasn’t Nashville. It was getting time to find a piece of land somewhere and buy it; and have it at least partly paid off before actual retirement. But where?

I’m an Oregon boy. I loved Oregon. I also spent many happy years in Montana. I also loved northern Idaho. And I’d seen some spectacular scenery in Utah and Wyoming. I’d flown over — someplace, I’ll never know where — mountains that I figured must be in New Mexico that had trees. Basically, I ended up naming every Western state except California.

Yeah. Where do I buy a piece of land?

And then it hit me: Don’t buy land; buy a home on wheels and roam ALL the Western states! Except California, of course.

Someone at work said, “Talk to Jimmy. He’s an avid RVer.” So I talked to him. He told me it can take 2-3 years to find what you want.

So my lady & I headed off to the RV dealers in Nashville to start looking. I knew nothing about RVs, except that it would have to be a motorhome ‘coz I was never gonna give up my Jeep, and Jeeps can’t pull a trailer big enough to live in. But motorhomes can pull a Jeep!

We picked a dealer at random. I was looking at big Class A Winnebagos when my lady came running up to me, saying “I’ve found the perfect motorhome for us! It has a bed that I can get on both sides of to make the bed, and the toilet has enough room!”

I had never thought about those things.

It was fall of 2009, so this was a 2010 model. I went home and hit the Internet, looking for an ‘09 model of the same thing. I figured they’d be a little less money.

I found a new 2008 in a suburb of Salt Lake City. Yeah, it had been sitting on their lot for two years. They were highly motivated to sell: They knocked more than $20,000 off of the price.

This was going way too fast. I had planned on taking 2-3 years just to find what I wanted, at which time I’d have some money saved up for a down payment.

Then I thought about that deceased cat.

I thought of the line from Office Space, and changed it to “When I saw that cat die…” And I realized that, as Thoreau said, one can come to the end of one’s life without ever having lived. There is a lot to be said for delayed gratification. But when you’re getting up in years, it’s time to stop delaying and get out there and LIVE while you still have life.

I called my credit union. They cut a check. I scheduled the trip for the week of Thanksgiving, when I had a long weekend. I took a one-way flight to SLC; the last time I’ve ever been on an aircraft. From that time forward, if I can’t drive there in my motorhome, I ain’t going.

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I had never seen Colorado, except for one thin slice of wasteland in the very northwest corner. Without thinking it through, I had decided that I would drive the motorhome through the Rockies on my way home. In late November. They say that God watches over drunks and fools. Well, the “fool” part might be true, because as it turned out the trip just happened to be between snowstorms and nothing bad happened.

My lady scheduled a flight that arrived in SLC a few hours after I did. My son, on military leave, also scheduled a flight to SLC that arrived the next day. He would ride with us to Denver, and then fly back to base from there.

I did the deal, drove the motorhome to the airport in time to get my lady, spent the night in an RV park nearby, and picked up my son the next day. We headed south to I-70.

We spent the night at the Green River, Utah KOA. Here’s a shot of my brand new motorhome the next morning:

A Class C motorhome.

I had never been on I-70 before. There is so much to see. My lady was driving. I was sticking my head and camera out of those huge picture windows, photographing the Book Cliffs, the Colorado National Monument, the queer bluff known as Mt. Garfield, and onward. Only one of those shots turned out: this one of the Book Cliffs, just east of Grand Junction, as my lady was driving up I-70 as fast as the law allowed:

The Book Cliffs, with the Grand Mesa above and behind.

That’s OK. Years later, I moved to Grand Junction and have lots of shots of all of those features that I’ll share when the time comes.

We headed on up into the Rockies, over the top, and partway down the other side before we finally stopped for the night. I dropped off my son at DIA* the next morning. It was a boring drive all the rest of the way home.

“How was the trip?” my co-workers asked on Monday.

“Too much Kansas, not enough Colorado,” I replied.

That trip completely changed my life. I had grabbed Life by the horns, and Life was about to take me on one hell of a ride. All because of a cat that died way too soon.

More later.

*Denver International Airport