Halfway to Nowhere

Lonely rocks jut from the desolate landscape as I stand atop an edge, overlooking an abyss that has certainly been here much longer then the sporadic civilization that surrounds it. Taking yet another long, deep drag from a quickly fading smoke, I find it hard to feel old. The view, the vista, and the valley, they all have surely seen their fair share of men come through here and yet they remain squarely planted in a unique past. Timeless in a way that it makes today’s society seem so small. Yet here I am, another traveler gazing at the outcroppings of pressure tested rocks, who’s standing on a crest while continuing to soak in the glory of a remarkably wonderful journey that has lead to squarely to nowhere.

I’m sure on a map this place does actually have a name – though I don’t know what it is off hand nor have I wanted to looked it up for fear of ruining what I’ve found. Navigating the two valiantly curving routes that got me here, Wilson Valley and Sage Road, has been an elevating and undulating challenge to say the least. A pair of asphalt roller coasters that while not overly lengthy in Point A to Point B distance, certainly offer as many ups and downs as dating a bipolar alcoholic girlfriend. Climbing to the top of each corner reveals yet another mood swing and kink in the road. Another chance to ask yourself just how comfortable you are with keeping the throttle open when you can’t see what comes next.

While continuing to let the view resonate, I can’t help but feel like there’s something utterly ironic about standing right here, right now. Days like this that lead to views of this magnitude astound me – The continual forward motion of the ride completely counterbalanced and vaporized by the landscapes lack of movement over time. The pieces of the puzzle have been standing still for eons and seem resigned to stay that way, and yet it’s hard not to feel amazed by their presence. To acknowledge just how hard it must be to stand so tall and proud and motionless for so long. Finishing the smoke, I watch a tiny lizard like creature scatter across the asphalt, heading from one side of nothing to the other and I wonder why bother. What makes one side of the road better then the other when they both seem exactly the same?

With sweat rolling down the back of the leathers, I slide my helmet on and turn the 10 over again, if for no other reason then to hear the devil echo through the valley walls. The stock cans filling the void as they reverberate with an eerie force of modernity that’s quickly coming this way. One day soon tract homes will probably sit here and just down the street a supermarket will stand, yet I can’t help thinking that no matter how far society continues to sprawl it will never truly conquer this kind of western attitude. The cowboy sleeping under the sagebrush aesthetic. A slice of hard boiled life that seems unfathomable in our everyday world. This is to empty, to nomadic, to lifeless when viewed from afar and yet far to brightly breathing when gazed upon up close – and for some reason that feels extremely reassuring to me. Perhaps, because I see some part of myself in the resounding emptiness that’s slowly swinging back and forth in the subtle breeze that’s coming straight out of nowhere.

More picts after the jump…