Life is a Highway

Bouncing in the back seat of the red Vega, along a stretch of mountainous highway, Credence Clearwater Revival blaring from the speakers, we drove through clouds laden with moisture and cool with a refreshing and purifying sensation. I remember my dad rocking out to the tunes and my brother and I arguing in the back seat. We were unrestrained because back in the 70’s that’s how it was. It was a stretch of road high in the Alaska backcountry and we were heading to fish one of the many rivers that my dad loved to take us to. I believe we were headed to the Russian river, but I cannot be sure. The images dance around my head and I find myself smiling and feeling grateful for that little spark of memory from so long ago. I remember the windows being cracked and just the cool mist penetrating the world inside our little bubble. The laughter is deafening. We were so alive and so happy. We were in the mountains where we blonged. We were with our dad and nothing was better than that. At one point the clouds abated and we momentarily pierced the clouds into a pocket of radiant, warm light. Then back into the clouds. This stretch of highway is full of tunnels that take you through what the men who built the road WOULD NOT accept as “inpenetrable mountains”. When you can’t get around it, over it, or under it, you gotta just blast right through it. Sometimes I think that I must have been one of these highway builders in a past life…if I believed in past lives.


Driving through the tunnels was always a sudden blast of energy from the back seat. My brother and I would scream and bounce higher. My dad would blare the horn and flash his lights. We’d continue through the darkness, towards the light at the end of the tunnel where we’d countinue our journey to our campsite. This scenario would be repeated again and again, never would my dad grow tired of the two wound up kids in the back seat. I understand that now and cherish similar moments with my kids. I thrive on the energy my kid’s posses. Life would go on and we would move to Hawaii where the roads passed directly through more mountains. Next we’d move to California where much was the same. I still get a kick out of driving through the tunnel at Wolf Creek Pass just east of Pagosa Springs. I’m kind of a dork when it happens. I’m an adult now (or so they say) but I can instantly be transported back to that Alaskan highway so many years ago. I still honk the horn when I pass through tunnels.


Along the highway of life, I have been faced with many dark, scary tunnels. Some have carried me through a realm which I thought inpenetrable, some have been short, some long, some winding, yet the term “tunnel” would suggest (and require) that there is an end. Another side. I have often tried in vain to climb over the mountains ahead of me. I have realized that sometimes you have to stay on the road and go through a dark tunnel in order to get to the other side. Sometimes when you get to the other side you come out of the clouds and into a pocket of light, and still sometimes you are faced with another tunnel. My life over the last year and a half has been full of peaks, valleys, and tunnels. Darkness and light. Metaphorically speaking, it is easy to compare my life changing injury and my life changing loss of my wife to a journey through a valley full of mountains and cloudy mist. The times between these monumental life changing events have been full of so much happiness and joy. The laughter from the back seat, the honking of the horn, the splashes of light as you emerge from dark moments, are all so much more relevant and meaningful than the struggles that I have passed through.


The memories of traveling down life’s highway can be seen metaphorically from many different angles. Some of us out there see life as a journey full of mountains, oceans, rivers, etc. Still others see life as just the period between birth and death. I’ll stick to option A. I have passed through many mountains in my life which I thought inpenetrable. I’ve tried to find my way over, around, and often under these challenges, yet it is often that going straight through them is best. Sure it’s dark and dank, but you can crack the window, turn up the stereo, and blast your horn. You can fill your vehicle with laughter and joy. You can embrace those friends who have made the journey with you. When you do get through on tunnel you can rest assured that the approaching light is stupendously refreshing. You can bathe in its glory and soak up its radiance. I love these journeys for what they are. I am unafraid because I know that along the way there are others who are along for the ride. Tantamount to Tom Wolfe’s “Electric Koolaid Acid Test”, you can load up your metaphorical bus with a bunch of friends and head on down the highway of life. Who you have on that bus is critical. Who stays? Who gets dropped off? Only you decide. As those in Wolfe’s book traveled aboard “Furthur”, they reached what they considered personal and collective revelations. Granted they were on LSD, but notwishtstanding the use of mind altering drugs, you can see your own journey as revelations to life. I guess its all how you look at it really. I truly enjoyed my life with my wife. I can say right here and right now that it was wonderful. She was my best friend and all a man could ever hope to have. She was the energy that pulsed through my veins and always pushed me onward. She was the fuel for my journey. My kids came along and turned my super unleaded, super charged, vehicle for life into a rocket ship. Do I miss her? Does it hurt? I was asked that question JUST TODAY (again). The only (and instantaneous) answer that I know is – “ONLY WHEN I BREATHE”.


So – she has departed from my “Furthur”. Like a hitch hiker dropped of at their destination. You close the door, kick up the tunes, and carry on as best you can. There are countless roads, many turns, some bumps, and plenty of tunnels to pass through. I try not to look in the rearview mirrors much. I don’t want to see her standing there, fading into the distance. I don’t really want to look way out ahead either. Granted, I have to look ahead to a certain extent, but what matters is what’s inside this little bus. I feel the vibe of my kids bouncing around, and my ever growing circle of friends pushing me on. Is there a destination? I would think that there are many along the way, but the journey is what matters the most. I can only hope that the two incredible kids in my life can look back one day and have similar memories of their dad. I hope that they too can broaden their understanding of life’s little road blocks. My desire is that they will learn that they shall encounter bumps in the road of life, but they MUST keep going at all cost. Their destination may change here and there, but unless you keep going forward, you only get stuck where you presently are. I dream that they will someday spread their wings and head off on adventures more glorious than what I hope to show them. I hope that they learn what it means to be a true friend. I believe they have seen first hand what that means over the last year. My son recently told me “dad you have the bestest friends in the world. Where did they all come from”? How do you explain to him that these friends are the ones who have CONTINUALLY pushed me on? How do I truly make him understand that to be such a friend is indeed what life is all about?


I have watched my “readership” grow. I have gottne countless comments, emails, Facebook messages, etc about my blog, my journey, my dreams, and my life. How could I ever thank those of you out there who reached out as I aimlessly passed through one of the darkest, longest tunnels I could imagine? How could I ever repay your kindness? I’ll tell you how! I can repay my debt by being the same kind of friend that many of you have been. Whether we have met face to face, or only through the exchange of emails, you know who you are. I hope to return what you have given directly into your hands. I pray that I am on this earth long enough to show the dignity and honor that many have shown me and my children. Like Atlas, you held our world high upon your shoulders when it became too much for us to bear. You WERE NOT the fair weathered friends who only called, came around, or checked in when it was convenient for them, turning away when it became to much to see. There are so many of you that it would be rediculous to point out each and every one of you by name. I’d be afraid to insult those I forgot. There is the best man from my wedding, my mom and dad, the California nurse, the climbing partners, sparring partners, running partners. There are the Patricks Crossing people, the husband and wife with the Golden Retrievers, the husband and wife named after my favorite vegitarian breakfast sausage, my brother and his wife, teachers, firemen, pastors (with a pint), co-workers, occupational therapists, laborers, a Cortez nurse, and the King who finally found a Queen. Wow – you are from all walks of life. From Houston, Corpus, Cali, Oklahoma (Hi Donna), Texas, Jersey, Washington, Oregon, Maine (are you in Maine now Jacki?), etc, etc, etc. I have shared a beer with many, tears with a few, and a rope with those who really understand me, and a punch in the face by a few. You are all out there. All along the road. At some point you were all on my bus, and some of you still are. I guess I could only hope that along my journey, I have the opportunity to return the favor. I hope that I can inspire someone, somewhere, in some small way, to never give up. To hold on to those nearest you and to always have hope. I have no clue where my journey will take me or where I’ll find a bend in the road. I do know, however, that I can always count on all of you to share in the adventure. I am grateful to you one and all. That gratitude cannot be expressed deeply enough. You are the vehicle that has carried me on. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. You are my friends, and you are “our” family.