OverNighters
Spontaneity is a hard element to keep alive in a relationship that spans the decades. Here's how we found a solution.
This morning as I drove my Beloved to work, he broke our contented silence by proclaiming, "this is such a beautiful day, it'd really be nice to take a road trip." My hand clutched his thigh. Concern for his mental stability filled me with dread … right alongside the hope he had reached a state of spontaneity.
What most likely prompted this outburst was an overnight visit to Long Pine, CA we enjoyed on Presidents' Day. As a peace offering after one of our rare arguments, he arranged this trip based on a suggestion I made weeks ago.
About a year ago, I insisted we do Sunday drives. One day a week. Pick a direction and follow the road. It didn't have to be long and arduous, even though getting anywhere in the Great Basin requires at least a hundred miles. It always focused on an eatery at the end, such as Middlegate Station about two hours away. These outings would allow me to have him alone in the car all to myself. Our conversations cover everything from history to technology to the arts when not distracted by our social media habits. Being in the car solves this problem. You would think that would be enough to get my wiggles out every weekend.
"I want to get out of the house," I cried one day, "and not just for the afternoon. We haven't been down to Lone Pine to visit the film museum in a long time. Let's get up early this Saturday and make a whole day of it. I'll even drive on the way back home."
He nodded, mulling it over before returning to YouTube. I knew then it had already slipped his mind. With the election and post-inaugural horror show, my pent-up anger began to show. To my surprise and dismay, I discovered he wanted to "just see what happens," and became furious whenever I mentioned my anxiety regarding a certain person. We lived under an uneasy truce for weeks, avoiding the T-word. He retreated to his Internet and AI class homework. I fumed. It became toxic … at least on my end.
When he didn't perform our ritual good-bye kiss one day, my text about it later opened the floodgates. There's nothing less gratifying than a blow-out through text messages. It's as dissatisfying as hanging up a rancorous phone call on a cell phone. I really miss the old days when I could slam down a receiver with a dramatic flourish.
At least we came to an apologetic conclusion. About an hour later, he texted that he'd reserved a room at our favorite motel, the Dow Villa, in Lone Pine. Since we lost our cat a couple of years ago, we toyed with the idea of being free to wander without Buda waiting for dinner. If we found ourselves too far away for a comfortable drive back home, we could do something wild and crazy, like … stay at a motel! Ooooooo, the unpredictability of it all. Be still my heart!
So, early that Sunday, we drove southward on Hwy 395, arriving at the Museum of Western Film History by mid-afternoon. Plenty of time to meander through the well-curated memorabilia, clothing, cars, and props from the films made in the Alabama Hills.
No matter how many times we visit the Museum, there is always something new. A looped movie or TV show. Merchandise like lunchboxes, toy pistols, Dale Evans cowgirl outfits like I had as a child. Sequined dresses designed by Nudie Cohn. Posters of modern movies made in the area, like Ironman, Tremors, and Star Trek. They'll need to find a larger venue, except the present building is designed to look like a 1920s-30s movie theater.
After a nap at the motel, we still had time to venture out to the Alabama Hills to see their weird shapes in the setting sun. Time telescopes when one reaches a certain age. "A few years ago" could actually be decades. While geologic time marches slowly, I wondered why the Hills looked so different. Had it really been that long since we last visited this rabbit warren in our Jeep?
They may have rerouted the roads, but why weren't the rock formations familiar? Even Mt. Whitney's shape seemed changed. How could that be? The rocks are the kind of granite composite that flakes off easily. There were signs of erosion and water flows from winter runoff. Finally, my eyes or something in my brain recalibrated the countryside and it all fell neatly back into place. What a strange feeling, though, to not recognize a place we had enjoyed so often … way back in the 90s and 2000s. What a blur the last thirty years has been.
Then we veered onto Tuttle Creek Rd. that twisted through boulders that hung in precarious piles, just waiting for the next earthquake. A sign warning of "Dips" turned out to be dives into drainages with steep inclines. Emerging from this rollercoaster byway, we came upon a pair of long horse trailers parked at an equestrian staging area. How in the world did they get those through those dips? We tried to find an easier road out of the neighborhood, but it must be a closely guarded secret of those who live there.
After devouring a pile of Basil Fettuccini at The Grill, half of which we ate for breakfast, we finished the day with four episodes of Star Trek: Next Generation. How quaint, you're probably thinking. A few years ago (decades?), we traded our wide-screen TV for our personal laptop binges. Forcing ourselves to stop and go to bed, we couldn't believe how much we had missed watching that show. (The complete set costs $100. Hmm…tempting.)
Back home, I floated in that post-journey bliss. We yanked ourselves away from our laptops and risked the unforeseen. An overnighter is just long enough to upset the daily protocols and renew the bond with each other. I can't say I was bored with life, but this little jaunt lifted me above the malaise of all that's happening in far distant places. Wandering the eastern Sierra Nevada and the Great Basin is the best way to disappear from the world.
Watching Star Trek together that night, oddly enough, allowed us to talk about the plot, discuss the themes being explored remembering how much we love this series. Also, it was a sharing time whereas sitting in our respective chairs with our respective computer screens pulling us into our respective virtual lives is lonesome and absurd. At least we no longer fight over the remote.
Occasionally, we'll look up, our eyes meeting for the first time in hours, and we'll give each other a little toodle-oo wave, much as Oliver Hardy did with his chubby fingers. A tiny flirtation? Sometimes, I'll detach from my screen and see him looking at me with a puppy dog face.
What! Do you want to talk? So, say something. Ask me a question. Engage! Make it so!
As you can see, our digital lifestyle is just as much my fault as his. I know, this all sounds like whining, and it is. I can hear someone saying, You think you got problems? You oughta see my marriage. I get it. We're the 21st Century epitome of the old married couple.
This morning, as we drew nearer to his workplace, he said, "I do like overnighters, though. Maybe Elko next time?"
"Yeah, Elko's fun. Lots of things to do. And there's always dinner at the Star." I asked him if he had any critical path projects for the day. After all, it's Friday and I just thought maybe ….
He hemmed and hawed. "Not really." A long pause and a sigh. "No, I just have a lot of little things to do." Administrivia?
A bit later, I said, "We have a block to make a decision." He chuckled and sighed again. Turning into the parking lot, I tried once more. "Last call." That brought a laugh as I pulled up to the stairway. We performed our little goodbye ritual and he gathered his things from the backseat. I returned home to my chores.
Oh well. At least, he's thinking about it. That's better than a few weeks ago before the overnights entered our conversations. Even a planned one leads to adventure.
In the meantime, the desert warren of trails is just a couple of miles from home. I'm hoping for another super-bloom of buckwheat and other wildflowers like we saw last spring. Just an afternoon bumping around, filling in our mental maps of the landscape. That's really all I want anyway. Just sharing some good times with my Beloved.
Photos by Jeff and Sue Cauhape.
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I loved this post, Sue. You always introduce me to places I have never been. This line was especially appreciated. "Sitting in our respective chairs with our respective computer screens pulling us into our respective virtual lives is lonesome and absurd." Indeed it is. I am glad to see you are doing something about it. Life is so very short.
Thanks for sharing this Sue.