There are some things that seem so impossible, they might as well find me standing on the streets of Katmandu while petting a vendor’s monkey. Treasures sometimes sit right under our noses waiting to be discovered, eliminating the need for exotic travel. Off ramps driven by every day, never exiting, could hold the most beautiful wonders one could ever see in their life. But life keeps us trapped in routine, enclosed in four walls, double-masked and afraid. I assure you, I would rather die of the virus than stay inside one day longer. My eyes need to feast on the high desert beauty, while feeding my hungry soul.
Every writer faces difficulties producing interesting material day after day. Imagination needs to be fed by new experiences. When a piece is produced, there are hours of pre-write that provide the final piece. Experiences and excursions provide food for the most interesting blogs. So, without divulging everything, know that I have been working on the pre-write stage since last Friday morning at 3 AM.
A few weeks ago, I started thinking about Katmandu. First of all, as a writer, the name is fun to write and more fun to say. It conjurs up images of exotic mayhem and energy, with sights and smells that would punch a person right in the face. A lack of presence and focus in Katmandu could cost you your life. Katmandu would be a moment in time never forgotten. A vivid immersion into life. Not a place to visit without a serious forward observer pointing out bad guys doing bad things.
For months, my soul has pined for one little adventure out of my house. This longing has fallen on too many deaf ears to count. Watching the mustangs, my mind has reflected on freedoms that have all fallen away to leave me boxed in a desperate state. Turning 65 left me to reflect on very real reasons I cannot just jump into my little white Barbie Jeep and rush into the tomorrow of the high dessert. Tethered to my house and sterile environment, I have searched high and low for a friend that longed to cut the cord and go on an adventure, even if it was off a BLM road just a few miles from my house. I needed to be away, for an hour or two to roll around with the tumbleweeds next to heaven under an angry cloud streaked sky.
My Jeep is not an average geriatric ride. A 2019 Wrangler, she is trail rated. She has been wanting to be tested in a way that included more than going to Walmart for a dozen eggs. And so, with the stars aligned in an extremely odd way, I found myself on the top of a mountain, in the highest of deserts, on the windiest of days, overlooking the world. The path to get there took a driver more skilled than me. At some points, being at a 17 degree incline, my heart pounded as my pulse quickened. But, in the end, there I was, feeling like I was dreaming. In 360 degree panorama, a desert landscape soothed my heart. Thirty to forty mile an hour winds ruffled my hair and chilled my bones. I found my Katmandu.
The exotic thrill of being on a high mountaintop with no sign of other humans can’t be explained. This isn’t a place I could ever drive myself, and isn’t a place I knew existed until a few days ago. One slip of a wheel would have sent my trail rated jeep down a 500 foot adventure of a different kind. I want to believe the effort it took to go to this place would be beyond most people with bad intent. This was a place where my heart was next to heaven in a way it needed to be for the shortest of times. I didn’t need to put on an oxygen mask, or carry high mountain equipment, because this place already existed in my normal world. Someone just listened, while kindly offering to be my sherpa for the day.
Dear readers, I know my limitations and would never attempt to return to Katmandu alone. A very steep climb to a small perch on top of the world will remain a place only the most experienced guides could handle. A place that I have know seen, which I can return to in dreams. My Jeep will need to realize her driver is one that put a sunflower tire cover on the spare tire. That speaks volumes about my ability to visit Katmandu on a whim.
I plan to construct a very tiny sign and return there one day soon. I will plant my sign as proof that I traveled there on a very windy and rainy February day. As for the sherpa, with all my heart, I thank you for seeing a weary soul and realizing that wild things can’t be tethered to four walls and survive. Wild things need to breathe fresh air and experience life. All great sherpas know this.
The high desert nourishes my soul. I can’t think of anywhere VST could have helped me plant roots that would fit me more. I’m not a fragile girly girl waiting for my next shopping trip. Anyone who knows the hoodied-me already knows with car keys hand I have a crazy adventure brewing in my head. Stay tuned. I can’t wait to share them with you