by Larry Bacon August 22, 2003
Well, here we are headed to our second assignment with housecarers (our new house sitting agency) in Beaverton, Oregon by way of a conference in Portland. I don't know about you but seldom does an everyday event slap me up along side of my head with a message that says, "Hey, Larry, are you paying attention? Do you get this or do you need some more glyconutrients?" Let me tell you what happened on the way to Portland, Oregon from Atlanta, GA by way of Gunnison, Colorado. Charlotte and I headed west from Atlanta having spent nearly three months with heat, humidity, cockroaches the size of mice and southern fried food. The farther west we drove, the lighter we became, both literally and figuratively. We could identify with the early pioneers - setting their sights on the Oregon Territory. Wild Indians, deserts or floods couldn't deter us from our destination! By the time we reached Colorado, I was soaring - in a frenzy to arrive on the west coast - home at last!
Early one morning, we dropped down from the continental divide on Monarch Pass and entered the pleasant community of Gunnison. It had been several days since we had checked our e-mail so we were anxious to locate the local library in order to access the internet. Over the next hour, three different individuals urged Charlotte to take a detour to Crested Butte. They said something about not missing such an opportunity since we were this close. I, on the other hand, was still eager to push on so the 30 mile detour represented way too much delay. Let us just say that against my opinion, we headed off in our new direction and I pouted my way up to Crested Butte.
If you have ever driven along the Gunnison River, you will know how hard it was for me to maintain my aloof disdain for such a journey. Each turn of the road brought new vistas of still pools, rapids and the occasional fly fisherman wading in the shallows, stalking the wary trout.
We topped out quickly at Kebler Pass where we walked over to an old pioneer cemetery. That was the beginning of one of the most awesome sights I have ever experienced. The well maintained gravel road undulated and meandered along the top of the Rocky Mountains through an endless, dense grove of Aspens. You could hardly see through the stark white trunks, the trees were so thick. Dark storm clouds contrasted with the stark blue of the sky and the pale gleam of the looming peaks. It was just like being immersed in a Bev Doolittle painting! Where were the Indian spirits or the hiding bears? Were we to become her next camouflaged subject? (Look very closely at the picture of the aspens) Reluctantly, we left the Aspen forest behind and descended to the interstate to continue our journey. Returning to our original course, I realized how much I would have missed had I not taken that detour. I was struck in a powerful way by the metaphor this represented in my life. How many "detours" have I ignored, denying myself unexplored experiences and adventures? How often have I been so focused on my path that I missed doors along the way? My lesson for the day was to proceed a little slower, watching more closely for those delights along the side of the road (and to appreciate Charlotte’s wisdom more often.)
