We've been on the run, driving in the sun

Disco Diaries #17

Hey baby hey baby hey!

This past week I rented a Toyota Corolla, packed it with an impressive quantity of cargo, and drove 2,803 miles with my best friend Sonja from Cincinnati to California. She’s subletting here for a few months to get a break from New York. Me, I just like any excuse to drive around and see the country. I’m staying put in the Bay Area for a couple of weeks, working on some writing projects and finding fun places to roller skate. If you know the area and have any food suggestions, send ‘em my way! A girl’s gotta treat herself to takeout every now and then.

Desert’s quiet, Berkeley’s cold

Just about anything can grow in Berkeley, California. There’s bamboo at one end of the back yard, a fig tree at the other, and a giant cactus in between. Fat pines look squat next to the odd 50-foot palm tree. A walk around the neighborhood suggests there are citrus trees in every other yard, with lemons falling to the ground like magnolia petals in the spring. Even tamarind pods dangle exotically over the sidewalk.

In some ways it is like an Eden, but after the apple. The variety of plants makes this area feel like the amalgamation of every landscape we saw along the way, from pine-scented Arizona State Forests to flat Kansas roads dense with wildflowers. But I know we’ve eaten the fruit of knowledge — its juices remind us that moving from one side of a country to another can’t resolve the world’s problems nor your own. 

We made our way to California over a period of six days, enjoying ourselves to the fullest but still inescapably aware of current concerns: wildfires, COVID-19, potential car troubles, stomach aches, creepy predators, etc. Our moms, grandmas, Instagram followers, and anyone remotely interested in getting involved was sure to send us their fair share of warnings for the drive across the country. “Be safe. Be safe. Be safe.” It pounded its consistent rhythm in the background, but we drowned it out with Dolly Parton and Sister Nancy.

It’s not without prudence that we scurried about the many states and terrains. We’re both experienced travelers, I with my history as a touring musician, Sonja with her international career and taste for exploring new cities. We know what we’re doing, and what we don’t know we recognize and study. Admittedly, wildfires are a new threat for us, both having lived only in the eastern half of the United States. We rerouted once to avoid them, and then again to avoid them even more efficiently.  The two or three times that concerns arose, we addressed them practically, calculating the risks and possible outcomes, and managing our anxiety by recognizing the unlikelihood of the worst case scenario. It’s easier said than done, but something I’m actively working on. 

Looking back at what was the most “threatening” moment of our trip gives me reassurance that things aren’t as bad as my active imagination makes them seem, and that I’m perfectly capable at pulling off a safe and responsible road trip.

Destination Kill Bill Church

In transit from Palm Springs to Berkeley, we decided to make an out-of-the-way-ish stop to see the Kill Bill Church. It’s out in the desert, north of Los Angeles. To get there, you have to drive along long stretches of empty desert roads, featuring the kind of striking vacancy that grants the liberty to squat and pee right there on the side of the road. While we were doing just that, a white cargo van pulled off the road ahead of us. For a moment I felt both suspicious and annoyed that they would encroach on our space in this way. I was ready to step on the gas and speed away, likely with a trail of toilet paper dragging from the car door, but then the man asked if we were ok, and my irritation turned into warm, neighborly feelings. They left us to finish our business.

Just after we got back on the road, we saw that the same van had pulled over up ahead, and as we passed they pulled out behind us with such on-point timing that I immediately thought foul play was afoot. The road was bumpy, and our rental car was tired from being forced through 2,000+ miles of mixed terrains over the last five days, but I did my best to speed up and lose them. The van kept pace, and I watched it creep behind us in the rear view mirror. Sonja and I giggled and joked about its ominous presence, although I think we both wondered exactly what their intention was. 

As far as I knew, we were in the middle of nowhere and there was nothing to do but continue with the directions. I wanted to lose sight of them, but the flat, empty roads ensured we were always visible. We were getting close to the destination, and I took a turn down a less traveled road, wishing out loud for the van not to follow. Our assumed stalkers zipped past the turn in the rearview mirror, and we rejoiced.

The next perceived danger came after we finished our visit at the Kill Bill Church. We were aware that our projected route would pass near the Lake Fire, but aside from searching for relevant road closures I didn’t know what to do with that information. There are some things in life that I wish were more Googleable. How to manage travel in wildlife country is one of them. I suppose it’s just another instance of me wanting something inherently unpredictable to hand me its itinerary. 

Thankfully, our only fire-related issue during the whole trip was a road closure on our drive away from the famous Hollywood church. Our Google Maps navigation systems refused to route around. We were denied access to the road we needed, and then as we attempted to reroute and approach from another angle, we found that the road was closed there, too. 

Meanwhile, the “Maintenance Required” warning light had come on in the rental car, and our phones were going in and out of service. I was suddenly feeling disposed to panic, and if I’m not mistaken Sonja was feeling a little flustered, too. Even with everything else aside, being in the desert is a little staggering when you’re not used to it. It feels like you could drive for days and see nothing but little Joshua trees and old tire marks, which is a mystical and thrilling thought unless there’s any inclination of something going wrong.

Still, we paused and assessed. We had water, we had plenty of gas, we had chocolate bars and almonds, Cheetos and tangerines. The dashboard warning light was probably nothing more than a call for a regular oil change. We even had an atlas and could no doubt summon long forgotten map reading skills from the pre-GPS era if necessary.

Ultimately, that little closure just required a 20 or 30 minute detour along a bending road that passed an air force base and an old mining town. We were soon back on track, and never in any real danger — not even with the white van. It was just that brief loss of control that made everything feel chaotic for a moment. 

This was the most stressful period of the whole trip, and we found we had the resources to prevent any real risk. Most of the time, whatever worst case scenarios I think will happen are far from the generally manageable challenges I come across at most of life’s intersections. Sometimes a white van is just a white van driving on a public road.

A song for you

An anthem from our travels.

Bye for now!

Katya