Road Trips Defy Aging

Our van at Lake Tahoe

My wife, Barbara, and I are living about half a mile from Lake Tahoe in Nevada. We rented a condo for two months this spring to be nearer our son (San Francisco) and to visit three couples (old friends) who live nearby. We worked hard to get ready: repaired the house, tried to clean up the garage, disposed of my motorcycle, tended the lawn after winter, consolidated and rescheduled medical appointments, planned prescription refills, studied the spring weather at Lake Tahoe, and planned a route. Finally we selected clothing, packed our electronics and clothes, loaded the van, locked the house, climbed into the front seats and turned the key. Click, click, click, click—a dead battery, on Sunday.

Gary, a friend, came over to help us. We installed a new battery from Walmart, and the van started right up. Three hours later we were on our way, and the van has been cruising along ever since.

We took two-lane roads across parts of Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas, and looked again at the poverty of parts of the South. We rejoined I-40 and crossed Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico, then wandered a little through the Navajo Reservation (New Mexico) as well as the Petrified Forest National Park (Arizona). The Navajo Reservation seemed empty. Occasionally we saw clusters of homes off the main road, and they looked basic, poor. That was it.

The Petrified Forest and Painted Desert, both part of the same national park, cheered us up. We visited this park in 1970 (48 years ago), and it is still quietly impressive. The park is small and not as popular as the big names of Grand Canyon, Yosemite, or Yellowstone, so it wasn’t crowded. The colors in the desert invite a camera, and the petrified wood invites inquiry—how can wood turn to stone? Today’s petrified trees died millions of years ago, and they must have been quickly covered with ash or sediment. They didn’t rot because they lacked oxygen. Instead, underground water slowly deposited minerals in the existing cells of the wood. The wood tissue did eventually disappear, and the minerals, or stone, looked like the former log or tree. (Wikipedia.)

We sort of hobbled around the trails with sore knees and hips, and we remembered our earlier visit when we jumped logs and ditches, moving around without concern for injury. When young, we have possibilities, and they’re wonderful and invigorating. Most of life is ahead of us. As we age, life gradually moves behind. We retire. Health problems show up. We slow down.

Many of us fight it, and for us, road trips are part of our struggle to preserve possibilities. The preparation is daunting, but as soon as we hit the road life opens up and we change. We talk about adventure and what’s ahead. We can still do this, we think, and we are renewed, even though our joints hurt. We’ll return to normal aging in a couple of months.

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