The Very Lonely Linguine -- Fallon, Nevada

I'm starting this post from the Daily Grind Cafe in Fallon, Nevada. Boy sits to my left, reading "Man's Search for Meaning," solemnly sipping his americano and not eating nearly enough of the huge chunk of chocolate sitting on top of his "Wine Folly" book. 

Chocolate I've eaten far too much of. 

The cafe is mostly empty. Except for a group of middle-aged people in the corner to my right, saying things like, "GAW-AD, the roof has been leaking for years! The roof's started to do this droop number, right above the bar! I ain't gettin' up there to fix it. I weigh 200 pounds! after all the years of that water drippin' up there... GAW-AD..."

There's a young woman with a yellow sharpie, concentrating fiercely on her textbooks, deliberately blocking out the drama of her neighbor's ceiling. 

It's good to be in a new place. 

My last day of work was on Monday the 23rd. 

"I'M UNEMPLOYED!" I crowed in ecstasy. 

We packed up our belongings and vacated our home on Sunday the 29th. 

"I'M HOMELESS AGAIN!" I jumped up and down in delight. 

Some good friends put us up in their apartment Sunday night (due to aforementioned homelessness). They made us stir fry, shared a hard apple cider and even gifted me with a new pair of very needed Chacos for my journey. 

And there was bacon in the morning. 

What a fabulous beginning to this adventure. 

We went out for a quick final coffee at Main Street Bagels -- 

-- and then hit the road.

As the Geo (aka, Cummerbund) is a stick, and I have been relentless in expressing my dislike and fear of all vehicles not automatic, Boy drove.

When most people go on road trips, they bring books to read, audiobooks to listen to, or playlists to awkward seat dance to. But when Boy and I take Cummerbund out and about, none of these methods of diversion are available to us.

Cummerbund has a lot to say. When Cummerbund travels at below 35 miles per hour, he squeaks (loudly and consistently) his disdain. When Cummerbund goes above 70 miles per hour, he rumbles in protest. When Cummerbund's driver side window isn't rolled up absolutely perfectly, he shrieks at us both so hideously that I'm afraid the window (or my eardrums) will burst into a thousand pieces.

When it's over 60 degrees outside, Boy begins to sweat. Profusely. Boy is a very impressive sweater. But Cummerbund has no air conditioning, so Boy rolls down the windows as we rumble down the highway.

So we don't listen to audiobooks. We occasionally venture to yell, "I LIKE YOU!" over the cacophony of Cummerbund, but that's about it.

Yesterday's drive was fascinatingly empty. We spent most of the journey on Highway 50, the self-proclaimed "Loneliest Road in America." The lonely road kept disappearing into the horizon in a straight line -- like the roads this Colorado girl sketched in dimension art classes, and always thought were absolute bullshit.

Roads don't disappear like that... they don't stretch out into the distance like an unending, uncooked linguine. Roads bend like rivers and ribbon. 

But they do. They do disappear into the distance like an unending, uncooked, and very lonely linguine.

With no other distractions (except Cummerbund), I notice the nature.

Flowers. Only red and yellow decorate the dry land, peppering the mellow green sage with spicy color.

Where have all the other colors gone? 

I'm so used to the yellow and red, that I nearly jump out of my seat when I glimpse a sea of purple mist. Soft, small flowers that sway with even the most delicate breeze.

I'm grateful for the cloud cover in these treeless, arid flats and hills. So is Boy. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his hand reaching towards me, and I move to reach back. But then I realize that he's stopped halfway and is letting his fingers feel the air of the vent. Which isn't blowing cool air by any stretch of the imagination, but is, at the very least, blowing.

Golden brown haystacks from last year's harvest seem like mountains when surrounded by the diminutive sagebrush.

Tufts of yellow-green grasses nestle into rocky cliffs.

White tipped blue mountains casting shadows on the never-ending shrubbery.

So. Much. Shrubbery. 

Clouds like cotton balls stretched too thin.. criss-crossed with jet trails.

Towns are small. Dirty. Gas stations, churches, liquor stores.

We arrived at our campsite at a little after six.

Hickison Petroglyph Recreation Area is spectacular. The camping is limited, but totally free. No running water, but plenty of outhouses. Fire pits. Views. Perfect temperature this time of year.

We quickly set up Mrs. Peterson (feeling very accomplished) and then had a picnic.

And even though we could finally hear each other, we didn't say a lot.

This is so perfect...

Ellie and Mrs. Peterson

We went for a post sunset stroll.

I felt grateful for legs that support me. My right knee is healing surprisingly quickly, and I feel gratitude in every step.

We listened to a podcast in Mrs. Peterson before drifting off to sleep, the wind brushing branches up against the tent, snuggled up in our sleeping bags as the night's chill set in.

The next morning, we quickly packed up our things and then walked to a place with a view for our picnic.

"I think we should adopt Tessa's rule," I told Boy. "Never have a picnic without a view."

So we found a view.

Although the breakfast picnic was fabulous (both the yogurt and the view), these newly homeless, unemployed vagabonds still required coffee. The nearest town was Austin.

We searched for coffee.

And found... Serbian Christmas?

There was no coffee in Austin. Only judgement of hippies.

So we left. I brushed the dirt off of my new chacos before clamoring into Cummerbund.

We have six more hours of driving before we reach the city of Monterey and Boy's Persian friends, Mo and Mori. Thus far, Cummerbund has made it (grudgingly) up all the hills and sped down all the linguines. During the eleven hours of driving, we have only nearly died once (that I know of) when a driver going the opposite direction merged into our lane to pass a truck and trailer. Boy had to slam on the brakes and the other driver snuck back behind the truck and trailer in the nick of time.

My heart pumped violently in my chest.

"Hey," Boy smiled. "I just saved your life."