We decided he'd drive behind me like when we used to ski as a family with little kids.
He'd come down the mountain last, scooping out of the snow any kids along the way who had falls, crashes or garage sales (when your equipment goes flying in all directions due to said fall or crash).
This is my first time to drive the entire 19 hour trip. I get to lead. I get to set the pace. I have to pay attention. And husband is ready to scoop me off the side of the road, you know, just in case.
Four hours in, I am feeling like I'm on top of the world and can drive forever.
Six hours in, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. I'm so exhausted, and my back hurts from a tweaked muscle I got from lifting Austin incorrectly that morning.
I hear Austin's breathing change, alerting me that he's having a seizure. I tell him he's going to be ok.
I call husband and say we are stopping ASAP. He says, "Take the next exit."
I pull into a parking spot, get out and open the hatch, and lie down on the ramped floor in the back of the conversion van. The floor has been lowered to accommodate loading the wheelchair so it rides inches above the asphalt highway so its pretty hot. It feels amazing on my back.
Husband gets me a 5-hour energy and two Advil and then patiently-not-so-patiently waits for my cue to get back on the road.
After feeling like I can't postpone any longer, knowing we only have a couple more hours to go. I reluctantly get back into the driver's seat.
I turn on Spotify to a dueling pianos playlist I'd found a couple days before - eight hours of a little bit of everything. And I blast it.
*************
We are leaving Nevada and entering Arizona. There's an in-your-face digital highway sign warning of Arizona's 8:00 pm curfew. Holy shidoobies. With the anticipation of our trip, I had completely dismissed the curfew, figuring we'd be out of Arizona way before 8:00 pm.
Panic quickly flows through rule-follower me as I'd forgotten about this 30 mile diagonal short-cut that I-15 takes across the NW corner of Arizona before entering Utah.
Fortunately, I realize it's only about 7:00 pm.
And even if it wasn't, am I really going to get pulled over on a portion of interstate that has maybe 4 exits into remote Arizona? Are they really expecting anyone to get out and riot in Beaver Dam or Littlefield?
Maybe not. But I'd rather not chance it. (Remember, I'm the one a wasp will fly over hundreds of people's heads in a gymnasium just to land on me.)
After my panic begins to dissipate, I feel anger. Anger that the whole state gets punished like a class of kindergartners who lose recess because of one kid's stupid, disruptive actions.
Anger that the curfew doesn't just affect the rioters, but the peaceful protesters, the businesses, and the residents just trying to go about their lives to survive, too.
Anger that it seems more and more likely that the rioting is probably from non-residents who are intent on hijacking the protests for their own agenda.
At least that's what it seems like to me. But who am I and what do I know? There are too many opinions and perspectives to even hope to see a glimpse of the truth. Facts will always be spun.
So I drive on...knowing changes need to be made and probably will be made eventually. Hopefully those changes are for everyone's best.
So I drive on...into the thrill and adventure of life's chaos.
***************
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It's mid-golden hour as we enter the Virgin River Gorge with its bright orange limestone walls in contrast to deeply shadowed crevices.
I'm on sensory overload, attacking curve after curve, squeezing past steep rock walls, and trying not to glance over cliffs into valleys as the highway winds through the canyon.
And there's the added challenge of road construction along the entire length. Concrete barriers, orange cones, and narrowed lanes.
Ice Ice Baby is playing from the playlist, the Advil and caffeine are kicking in. I'm dancing on my butt cheeks with some fun neck action thrown in.
I can do this!
I can do this!
I see the lowered speed limit, but the traffic doesn't seem to be slowing. I'm quite woke now and feeling pretty good, so it's ok. I'm social distancing the car in front of me without holding up traffic. I'm also catching "very quick" glimpses of the canyon's beauty.
I feel alive.
Elton John is serenading me with Tiny Dancer, and I'm in the driving groove. It's just me and Austin, the road and my imagination. As I feel the pull of a tight curve rounding past one of the steep drop-offs, I imagine the feeling of us careening off the cliff like Thelma and Louise.
Hold me closer, tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
You had a busy day today
**************
I catch my breath and a big grin spreads across my face as we pass a school off to the right of the highway. There are groups and groups of kids with brightly colored jerseys, huddled together making plans before they hear the whistle. Parents line the sidelines for what appears to be some kind of sports tournament.
No signs of a government imposed curfew and no social distancing. Only signs of normalcy after we've had it ripped away from us for months. Just a regular summer's Thursday evening tournament. No "new normal", just regular normal!
I am so freaking elated, I want to cry.
I call husband to gush to him about what we just witnessed. "Did you see that?!" "I was about to call and say the same!" "Can you believe it?" "I can't believe it!" "What state is this?" "It's Utah!"
Utah, America.
I drink in the purple layers of mountains created by the setting sun surrounding me on all sides. Slivers of snow cascade down peaks in the very far distance.
I glance back at Austin. His eyes are red, and there's a tear seeping from one corner down his cheek.
Utah, America, I sigh.
I think he's sleeping. Sometimes he sleeps with his eyes slightly open and they get dry. The tears could be a natural response to dry eyes. Or the setting sun is shining in them causing them to water. Or....
I feel ya Austin. I feel ya.
Oh, and baby cows in the spring, y'all.
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