I saw a silver Subaru pull in with a Thule on top, and I thought, “That can’t be Hannah,” and we looked at each other through her windshield with jaw-dropped smiles. Hannah saw my van from the freeway, thought, “That’s gotta be Jenny,” and pulled a u-turn. Hannah was driving through the night on her way to climb in Indian Creek, and I was on a more leisurely route from climbing the Eastern Sierra to a film festival in Colorado. It was dawn, and I was just waking up and starting in on a morning crossword puzzle. One time Hannah found me at a random rest area in eastern Nevada, the kind of place where you could bet your life on not seeing anyone you know. Hannah is standing outside her car, squinting at her reflection in the window as she braids her long, unruly hair.
#Bumpy road salve plus#
I look outside and see the two cars that I traveled with from Colorado plus a new one, a friend who has driven from California to climb with us.
The sound of someone sorting their recycling in the bins a few meters away served as my alarm clock, but now as a small skid steer rambles up to the pile of rocks across the way, I’m roused from my bed and into the driver’s seat. We wake up in a dirt parking lot in Springdale, Utah, just outside the entrance to Zion National Park. There’s a sense of independence and self-efficacy that living alone in my van brings, one that makes my heart come alive and sing. I have the freedom to wake up where I choose, to take my home with me, to meet up with friends and climbing partners across the country and to continuously explore new areas. However, if I actually stop to think, I might end up confessing that I love the lifestyle of living in my van almost as much as I love climbing. If I gave you an off-the-cuff answer, I would say this living situation is a means to an end as a rock climber it’s almost essential to be mobile throughout the seasons, able to chase clear skies and dry rock. I’ve been living in Ole Blue on and off for three years now, driven by a passion for climbing and living simply. So, in the age of climate change and the oil crisis, here we are: three girls driving three vehicles across Utah’s I-70, headed to the same rock and different ends of the same rope. At least two of us plan to return to The Black in a few days, once the weather clears, yet not one of us is willing to leave our “home” behind to carpool. We fled Black Canyon National Park in Colorado this morning, thunder and lightening pulling us away and snow covering our climbing objectives. We’re on our way to Zion National Park, a caravan of women in our respective vehicles. My podcast keeps the pace while the orange Honda Fit disappears over the horizon in the distance. I lean into the gas pedal of Ole Blue, my 1995 GMC Safari, and ease back into the right lane in front of a lumbering semi, hitting the cruise control to stay at 85 miles per hour. The setting sun is pulling me forward and west. The wind whips outside across the deserted eastern Utah landscape and sideways into my passenger side. Either way, essays like this, from a world before the pandemic, are sweeter now than ever. Pulling into a new town, siding up to a counter for breakfast. Store in a cool, dry place (Room Temperature is best).With vaccination numbers rising and coronavirus case numbers falling and spring around the corner, there are whispers heard at outdoor coffee shops and beer gardens: Will this summer be something close to normal? Camping and traveling with friends, that sounds good.
#Bumpy road salve skin#
Discontinue use if you experience skin sensitivity.When using this product, avoid contact with eyes.
Olive oil*, sunflower oil*, beeswax*, shea butter*, rosehip oil*, arnica extract*, comfrey extract*, rosemary extract*, non-gmo vitamin E, lavender oil*, tea tree oil*, manuka honey blend*.
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