Travel Sis — Wild Western Winds

She’s five foot, three inches tall. Her eyes change color with the weather, and whatever clothes she happens to be wearing, and her moods, and the state of her passion at the moment; they can register anywhere on the color wheel from aqua to emerald green to vivid blue. All things being equal, her eyes settle somewhere between aqua and turquoise. But, as everyone knows, all things are never equal. She’s a fine-boned, blond-going-grey purveyor of a blazing smile and a merry laugh.

Did I tell you she’s sixty-eight years old?

Oh, and did I mention she’s driving herself to Alaska? Alone?

She wouldn’t appreciate that “alone” designation, seeing as how she’s accompanied by her three little dogs. It’s true that her doglets, as Travel Sis calls them, are good company: great cuddlers, jolly walking buddies. They can’t help her with the 11,600 miles of driving, of course. She’s on her own for that. Ditto tending to the physical demands of caring for her 34-foot motor home.

It’s a long way from north Alabama to central Alaska, and home again. 11,600 miles, to be exact. Yes, I know I’ve already told you that. I happen to believe it’s startling enough to bear repeating.

Actually, she’s already got the first thousand miles behind her. She started her grand adventure by attending her daughter’s graduation from the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. I went with her, across the mighty Mississippi, then across Arkansas and Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle, across the vast and sandy span of New Mexico—a landscape so wide and desolate that I could see the curvature of the earth. Between my window and the edge of the world were random stalks of dry grass, and between those were the twisted shapes of desiccated cacti.

The winds began in Oklahoma. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the western winds. I was born in El Paso, Texas, and lived there the first 26 years of my life.

Our family reminisced about the desert wind. I remembered not being able to ride my bike to school because the wind knocked me over. My older sister remembered the redness of sand-blasted calves when she walked home from school. My brother-in-law remembered sand in the refrigerator. (His memory won the why-I-hate-sandstorms contest.)

Oklahoma’s May wind was a living thing, a beast that roared and screamed and clawed at the motor home. It shook our little house-on-wheels until it woke Travel Sis and me at one in the morning. We slipped jeans over our jammies and put on our tennis shoes in case we had to grab the doglets and make a run to the safety of the concrete block bath house.

The next day we heard weather-folk reporting the night’s wind at a steady 55 miles per hour with gusts to 80 miles an hour. Hurricane force winds, they said, and Travel Sis and I shook our heads in grateful wonder at the sturdiness of the motor home. Hours later I watched in pure admiration as Travel Sis held the motor home on I-40 against relentless winds that pushed and battered and did their darndest to topple us over.

We made it to Albuquerque, to the exuberant graduation, to a dinner spiced with the joy and pride of extended family celebrating the summa cum laude success of our beloved daughter/niece. We refused to let the wind blow away our happiness.

Travel Sis is back on the road. She and her doglets continue their grand adventure, as I sit in my quiet office with the window that looks out on Alabama’s lush green trees and blooming flowers. I check my email every couple of hours. Travel Sis is consistently thoughtful in choosing RV parks with Wifi.

I’ll keep you posted as she explores North America. Again. Did I tell you this is her second time to drive herself from Alabama to Alaska and home once more?

Last time, she was a mere youth of sixty-three.

—to be continued—