Have you ever been to Lake Tahoe? It’s unreal.
I’m sitting atop a 20-foot-tall rock right now, contemplating the miracle of a glacier-carved lake that sits 12 miles wide and 20 miles long. The fluorescent blue lake is surrounded by the precious stillness of the majestic Sierra Nevada. Most of the locals tell me they come for the winters and stay for the summers.
I don’t blame them.
Zero Week gave me some options as far as traveling goes. As the only consecutive seven-day period where I had no responsibilities, I thought about San Francisco, San Diego, Colorado and even Mexico. If you play your cards right, you can get just about anywhere with $50. But I came to Lake Tahoe to escape the life of complacency I had created for myself.
A college education can lead an individual to be hypnotized by desk calculators, bogged down by information, and confused by a plethora of agendas. It instills new aspirations in each and every student, most of them doused with the historic idealism of American young people. But others follow a different path.
In the time I’ve spent in youth hostels, truck stop diners, and ski towns, I’ve met quite a few dreamers — a diverse mix of soul-searchers, some so stricken with apathy they’ve taken to what seemed like a permanent life on the road.
Within our conversations, I found myself hopelessly defending my own lifestyle.
One particular character I met while sleeping on a Costa Rican beach was exceptionally outspoken. His name was Mike, and before his South American escapade, he had been a specialist at the largest anthrax laboratory in the United States at Northern Arizona University. With his tarp set up, one-pot kitchen, and weekly clothes-washings, the robot-turned-transient had one of the most bare-bones set-ups I had ever seen.
Mike was fed up with taking orders. As an employee at the anthrax lab, where science scholars analyzed samples for the Federal Bureau of Intelligence and Central Intelligence Agency, he had been watered down by the system. He entered each and every day of work sworn to secrecy, knowing that no matter how bad it was, he still couldn’t tell any of his peers. He said that one day he went to work and felt near useless. He was fighting for an unclear goal, against a ghost-like enemy, funded by money for the War on Terrorism.
He had become a regular among the arms of a ruthless system — one he realized he no longer needed to support. So one day, he took the money he had saved for himself and bought a ticket to Patagonia. He rounded up second-hand supplies, did some research, and set out for a trip with no clear return date. When I asked him what he wanted to get out of his journeys, he talked of “the simple life.” He told me he wished to enjoy his surroundings while he still could. I always thought he was copping out. Now, however, I realize Mike was just keeping the balance.
In the 21st century age of information overload, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. But it’s summertime now. It’s time to put down the cell phones and the Facebook and get outside.
Last term, increased responsibilities led me to a lifestyle of endless cups of coffee and living through my computer. As the breaking news updates overshadowed any of my plans for enjoying the land I fight for, I started to lose sight of what really matters.
So with seven days of little-to-no commitments, I decided to replace a trip to urban San Francisco with a minimalist adventure to Lake Tahoe. I packed up a backpack with three pairs of clothes, a jacket, and a toothbrush and jumped on board a carpool with a part-time local headed south.
When we stopped at a gas station somewhere near Roseburg, I contemplated my surroundings. After two months of rain, the blistering West Coast sunshine painted a huge smile on my face. I was sitting at a gas station, in Oregon, surrounded by towering mountains, lush green fields, and glacial rivers with a life of their own. Even a gas station on the West Coast fords you a view. And now it’s the season to enjoy it.
The endless epiphanies of low-budget travel have a real knack for pulling you away from the grindstone. But even so, responsibilities will come knocking at your door.
With my paychecks not coming for another two weeks, my options for getting home are limited. I don’t have the money for a plane, bus, or train ticket. My fellow carpoolers from Eugene had Tahoe as their final destination. It’s Friday, and I have to get back by Sunday. Hitchhiking is challenging and rewarding, but often dangerous. Tahoe is somewhat of a black hole, and posting a “ride-share ad” on Craigslist might not yield many replies. But the sun is shining, the rivers are overflowing with months of rainfall, and I have my toothbrush in hand. Heck, I’ll be alright.
Gotta love the West Coast in the summertime.
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