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Adventures
of a Gold Rush Bride
By
Laura Regis
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January
1, 2000 | Page 1, 2
There is something about "going" that is attractive to us human
beings. By leaving behind the routines of daily life and hitting
the open road, we become the pioneering frontiersmen revered in
our American culture. Therefore, it seemed somehow natural for me
to assume the identity of a "gold rush bride" and go west. I packed
it up and abandoned my rather "normal" post-college existence (if
there is such a thing) in late October. Together with my friend
Paul we became "Team Jack Kerouac." Beginning in Denver Colorado
we headed west on route 70. In the weeks to come we would stumble
through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, the desert mesas of Utah,
the deep canyons of Arizona, the Sierra Nevadas of California, the
Pacific Ocean from northern Oregon to San Diego, the Redwood Giants
of northern California, the surfer beaches of southern California,
the vast vineyards of Napa, and the serene slowness of Lake Tahoe…all
the while disappointedly feeding my caffeine addiction with endless
cups of coffee from Micky D's and Starbucks (though I did find solace
in a cup of organic dark roast on Haight St. in San Francisco. Thank
the lord for the Hippies.)
I could chronicle all of the places I went, the things I
saw, but 1) I can only write so many descriptive passages about
beautiful landscapes without boring you to death and 2) my capacity
to relay the enormity of the grand canyon, the giant sequoias, the
pacific ocean (etc.) is limited, and somehow better left untapped.
Instead I intend to share some of my favorite moments, moments which
demonstrate that even in the most extraordinary adventures amidst
the most monumental and grandiose sights, it's the ordinary that
seems to matter most.
#1) It was lunch time in Arizona on the West Rim Drive in Grand
Canyon National Park. Paul and I grabbed some of our "road food"
from the back seat of his Honda (Her name is Emma, by the way. Emma
the Emerald Princess, named after the majestic beauty of her deep
green color - the only woman for Paul). Sitting by the edge of the
canyon, Paul began to pick up tiny rocks and launch them into the
abyss. As they fell we both watched to see how far we could follow
them down with our eyes before losing them to the enormous gorge.
Rock after rock we watched quite attentively. Then, we pondered
what happened to each as it hit the bottom. Paul speculated that
the impact of one pebble might be so great as to cause some cataclysmic
implosion of the entire canyon. Giving no thought to any law of
physics, we imagined the grand event and the grim consequences.
Paul would be arrested for "breaking the Grand Canyon" and I would
return home, cutting my trip short. We laughed at our little day
dream for the next three weeks…
#2) I didn't think I was scared of bears, being the rugged, outdoor
woman that I always considered myself. But upon entering the Redwood
Forest, I learned otherwise. It was early afternoon, a bright day
in northern California, but under the towering sequoias the forest
was dark. Paul and I drove Emma along a narrow path through a closed
campground. Every five feet we saw a warning sign - "Beware of bears.
Do not leave food exposed." Paul nervously closed our otherwise
liberating sunroof. The giant trees were so amazing that we couldn't
bring ourselves to leave without a few photographs. We made a plan:
I would run to the nearest tree and stand by the trunk as Paul flashed
a picture from the safety of Miss Emma, then of course we would
switch places. Fast as lightning I ran from the car, though my body
felt half paralyzed. I squealed like a little pig through the entire
execution of the plan, and when we finally completed it (both in
our designated pilot and co-pilot positions), we were ready for
take off. I began breathing again, but even at twenty three years
old, realized I harbor the fears of an eight year old
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