“Sayonara, asshole!” I mutter to myself.
My successful escape feels short-lived. “I should have driven you more,” I fret as Clunker makes more protesting noises. “I know, baby.” At least the battery isn’t dead.
A few miles down the highway, I pull over and let Clunker idle as I pull my paper map out of the glove box and take a second to review my options. Where to go?
A couple named Chase and Trinity, whom I met at the Cochise Stronghold back in February, gave me an open invitation to join them in Sedona. Sedona boasts outstanding sandstone climbing and beautiful, red-rock landscapes, and they told me they plan to spend time there throughout the spring before escaping the heat and heading north.
They warned that Sedona is touristy, but I’m ready for touristy. In addition to safety in numbers following this near-disaster, I salivate at the thought of high-quality camping sites with potable water, public showers, and easy access to a grocery store. Money is also disappearing fast. Despite my diet of ramen noodles and bruised, discounted fruits and veggies, my savings have dwindled to a pitiful sum. In Sedona, I can pick up short-term work.
And truthfully, life on the road is getting a little old. No…painful. I thought it would be different. That I would find my people out here. At least when I was working and saving for this so-called dirtbag lifestyle, I had tiny threads of connection—small talk with coworkers, support from the climbers at my gym. Now there’s nothing.
After Mount Lemmon, where I didn’t click with the other climbers, I told myself that maybe solitude is better. That being alone is easier than feeling out of place among people who don’t see me.
I can admit now I may have overlooked some red flags from Dave to climb “alone” on my own terms, to avoid another heart-battering after being frozen out.
Oops.
But now I know this was not the way to go. I have to find another path. Mistakes were made. Now on to the next route. Trinity and Chase were nice, though I didn’t feel 100 percentcomfortable with them. And my confidence in my ability to assess the good ’uns feels a little shot now, but even still. Better than strangers.
Hanging out with Trinity and Chase will be temporary, I know that. I can’t follow them around like some lost puppy. But maybe a few months in their company will be enough to fill the hollow space inside me. Maybe they’ll have friends who can become my friends too. Maybe, for a little while, I won’t feel so invisible.
My fingers trace the worn-soft map, creating a direct path from Jacks Canyon to Sedona. I will have to pass through Sagebrush to get there. My shaking hand hovers over the small dot on the map where I know a dusty town called Sagebrush stubbornly clings to craggy cliffs.
Even now, the thought of that town fills me with burning shame. I could avoid passing through Sagebrush. By heading up the 87 to Winslow, I can pass through Flagstaff and take the I-17 south again. But gas is expensive.
I don’t have the luxury of time to come up with an alternative. I don’t know how long Chase and Trinity will stay in Sedona, and they may move on at any time. More importantly, I have to get out of here, in case Dave happens to drive this way and sees me.
“Well, Clunker,” I say finally. “It’ll take me like, what, three minutes to drive through that shithole? Think you can make it to Sedona?”
Clunker faithfully plods down the highway toward the setting sun, and I sigh with relief. She has this.
I watch the rocky terrain pass by silently. The radio broke months ago, although not many radio stations broadcast clearly out here anyway. Instead, I observe. Many dirtbagswould immediately head north to Yosemite, considered by most to be the Mecca for climbing. But I feel a kinship with this dry, unyielding desert. Between colossal, colorless boulders, plants tangle around each other with needles and thorns outstretched in a bloody fight for survival. Still, for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, I’m not ready to leave this inhospitable place.
It’s dark when we reach the final push, a steep incline that will take me past Sagebrush and then beyond toward I-17 north. I tap my fingers nervously against the steering wheel as Clunker issues some worrying knocking noises.
“Come on, baby,” I murmur. My foot presses the accelerator down until it stomps uselessly against the floor. Sweat beads on my forehead. It must be from nerves. I never wanted to be this close to Sagebrush again.
Clunker’s temperature gauge rises rapidly toward the H. It’s fine. Not a disaster yet.
We pass a sign that says, “Sagebrush: Next Two Exits” and another brown exit sign for the historic copper mine.
We’re too close for comfort. Sweat breaks out all over my body, and it feels like shame.
“A few more miles and I’ll stop, baby,” I promise desperately. Is it my imagination, or do I smell a sweet, burning odor? “We just have to get past this godforsaken place.”
The knocking noises stop. Then, without warning, hot steam billows in front of the windshield.
I jerk the wheel in surprise. Clunker slides dangerously close to the cliff edge. Holding in a scream, I slam on the brakes and wrench the wheel to the left, narrowly avoiding a roller coaster experience off Compass Mountain.
I put Clunker into Park and then throw myself out of thevehicle. Cars careen past Clunker and me, honking and blowing dust at us. The air only seems to make Clunker’s steam billow higher.
Oh, god.Nowthis is a disaster. Stranded and alone in the last place on earth I want to be. And on the highway, where the town marshal or his deputies could stop by to check on me at any time.
“I can’t be here! Oh, god,” I moan to myself as I look desperately around for a way to hide my van from view. There’s nothing, not even a small bush.
Don’t panic, Sierra.This is not a disaster yet. I can let my engine cool down and leave this godforsaken place in no time, before anyone sees me or knows I stopped here. If I keep my cool, only two misfortunes could occur and easily be rectified.
I know it’s all over as soon as I hear, “Sierra?”
