Modern Day Oregon Trail

I slept in my truck the other night.

I drove up to Tehachapi to have dinner with my flight instructor and pal, Ana, who I routinely turn to for life advice. It was a much needed conversation that boosted my confidence and morale. I told her about my heartache, about my fear of being alone, and how I didn’t realize what I needed in life until last year. I told her the painful truth that I’ve been finding it difficult to get out of bed and felt hopeless.

“It’s crazy,” I told her, “That I’ve done and achieved so many hard things in my life like getting two masters, getting my pilots license, losing a ton of weight, doing search and rescue, but the hardest challenge I have ever faced is getting out of bed. I’ve saved so many lives before but I can barely save my own." The two hardest parts of my day are when I go to bed and I’m stuck with my thoughts alone or when I wake up when I have to face the day.

I told her that I didn’t realize that I was meant to be a mom until I experienced this relationship, and how the reality of never seeing the kids again rips at my heart.

“Motherhood really is an amazing thing,” she sympathized, “And one day you’ll get that back again. Maybe you can adopt.”

I shook my head, “I just find myself being so distraught sometimes.”

“It’s common for you to experience this. I remember when I went through my breakup of my marriage that I felt the same way. I couldn’t even listen to music,” she said.

“Same here! I find myself driving around in silence too!”

It was a relief to know that I’m not alone in all of these feelings, and that it’s common to feel hopeless. We talked about how common it is to still have feelings for your ex after a divorce (we all do to an extent). We talked about what brings joy and how it comes in the simple, unexpected things. I told her that I used to think joy came from living an extraordinary life, but that I realized it came from ordinary things… things like listening to “W” hum while he played with Legos, listening to your partner cook in the kitchen while you read a book, playing tug-o-war with my dog, or just watching a movie on the couch. At least this gives me a clue as to where I’ll find joy again: in the simple things.

I told her the hard truth about me not being able to visualize tomorrow, and just being incredibly depressed. She told me that it’s common as well, and that nobody expects me to be able to know what’s up or down right now when everything I thought I knew is now gone. It’s a very surreal spot for me to be in, as I am a very goal oriented person. Everyone talks about how admirable it is that I constantly chase goals… sadly, I now find myself “goal-less.”

I stopped doing jiu jitsu…

I stopped flying planes…

I stopped working out…

I stopped studying for the AFOQT…

I stopped my process with the Army…

I stopped learning rock climbing and getting my certificates to be a personal trainer…

It’s like everything I had going for me was suspended in the air, where it remains to this very moment. I am literally living in the most present way I can. I can’t think about the past too much because it’s so painful. I can’t look towards the future too far because it is also painful; we had so many plans together. I now find myself strictly living for the day, which is all we have anyways.

“Well, let’s take a look at what your goals are and let’s find a solution…”

“I still want to be a pilot… I love flying so much…”

“Ok, well you’re almost done with your instrument rating, let’s get that done…”

“Ok, but I want to fly for a living… but I don’t want to get my ATP. That’ll take forever…”

“Next step is your commercial, so let’s get you those hours too…”

“Ok yeah, that shouldn’t be too much…”

“Then get some right seat time with those corporate jet guys at Van Nuys…”

Slowly we started formulating my plan… it wasn’t a years worth of time, but it was a few months of time and that was enough to get my feet stepping again. I told her I was a little scared to do this massive trip, because what if I’m wrong about it and I’m now stuck with an expensive RV? She assured me that this trip would be exactly what I needed.

“I can see you out there now, Linnie, blazing the trail pumping your own water..”

“Until I get dysentery… It’s a modern day Oregon Trail…”

“Exactly!”

As we both made our way back, the snow started coming down and froze the highways. Traffic was stopped and we were gridlocked. I was fortunate for the dozens of friends who offered me places to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere we could go until the roads cleared. We were trapped.

I don’t have a home right now. There is no place I go back to and relax, and feel at ease. Dan’s place is great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not my place. I go into the kitchen and I don’t have my pots and pants. I go to the garage and I don’t have my workout equipment. I go to my room and I don’t have my big soft bed. Nothing feels like home to me.

But as I laid in my truck, hunkering down for the night I felt oddly at home. I crawled in the back seat, used my beanie as a pillow, and fell asleep. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept in my truck. Throughout my career in Search and Rescue I have slept in plenty of vehicles and other random places (river beds, under bushes, etc.). I’ve slept in this truck in Baja, Mexico, as my group of buddies did the Baja 1000 race. I slept in this truck during a shift change for a search of a 2 year old girl we looked for. I slept in this truck during another shift change as we waited for relief for a search of an 11 year old girl in the cold, rainy desert night.

It is truly the only space that is mine.

The snow around me in the truck was very reminiscent of the search my buddy Josh and I did the day after Christmas, 2019. Snow had hit the desert and surrounding areas hard, making all of highway 58 a parking lot for miles. It made it difficult for any emergency services to make their way to anyone. We got a call from our coworker, Jerry, that his son in law was stuck in the snow by Tehachapi. Josh, who belonged to a different unit than me, called around to see if SAR could get to him, but both of our units had their own searches going on or were stuck themselves. Josh and I decided to remove our identifying marks and do it on our own.

As we made our way up the backway to Tehachapi, the snow became thicker. My trusty truck was 4 wheel drive, light, nimble, and had tires meant for the conditions. Josh had the powerful diesel we’d need to yank people out.

We got to a point where the snow was so thick that we could barely see the road, and made the decision that we would be safest making it by foot. We parked our trucks by a lone, cozy little house and made our way up the road with some equipment and headlamps as we followed some old truck tracks. In the freezing cold, I looked back at that cozy little house and wished I was nestled inside it.

*Josh and I, making our 1.5 mile hike to the stranded folks*

The thing I love about snow, as a desert kid, is how quiet it makes the world around you. As Josh and I made our hike up to where the folks were stuck, all we could hear was the crunch of our footsteps and the sound of our breath. Searches are a very surreal experience in general, as you are often times wandering through sketchy places and in inhospitable conditions (because nobody ever decides to get lost on a beautiful, sunny day I swear).

There’s something about searches that just draws me to it. It’s the adrenalin of trying to find someone, it’s the hiking through treacherous terrain or tracking people’s footsteps, it’s very raw at times and makes me feel one with nature.

I’m going to sound like a lunatic here but there is something about humping a bunch of gear, eating MRE’s, and getting your hands dirty that just makes me feel so alive. I’ve always felt this way. When I was a kid I’d pack my backpack full of crackers and diet coke then go ride my bike to the railroad tracks or crawl in my fort and “rough it.” Occasionally I’d pack all my gear and drive out to this sand dune with Joshua Trees out by my house where I’d star gaze and make little fires. It’s amazing how ghostly the desert looks when there’s a full moon out, but I got anxious being out in the open desert without being “blocked in.” Another habit that I’ve had since I was a kid is that I don’t like to sleep in wide open spaces. I usually pin myself up against a wall or surround myself with pillows. What can I say, I’m an enigma.

As Josh and I approached the top of the hill, we saw a CHP officer trying to dig himself out of the snow. He had made an attempt to get to the folks stranded up the road but got stuck himself. He waved us off as we made our way past him; he could handle himself.

The area where everyone was stranded was like a graveyard for cars and trucks. They were all buried up to their axels in snow. We did a quick headcount and found 11 people total stuck in the cold night. We tried to dig a few folks out, but some opted to wait until the snow plow would come in the morning. One guy in a jeep, with way too much pride, tried feverously to free himself destroying his transmission in the process. After finding Jerry’s son-in-law, we found a family of four that had been there for almost 23 hours. Their truck was full of Christmas presents, and they had almost burned out all of their fuel trying to keep themselves and their two little ones warm. After offering to ferry folks back to town, we prioritized the small family as the children were the greatest risk. One dually truck revved his engine, got traction in the snow, then disappeared into the night, forging up the road into uncertainty. There was nothing we could do to stop him, and we had to focus only on the people who we could help: this family.

Methodically, Josh and I lead the family on foot back to our vehicles, following the safe path that we already cleared. We passed by the area where the CHP officer was, only to find that he had dug himself out and left. It was every man for themselves that night in the whole surrounding area. Josh and I found our trucks just where we had left them. After dropping the family off at a hotel, we headed home to rest and replenish. My calves were numb from the snow soaking through, and I was exhausted from shoveling and navigating through knee-high snow but I felt alive, much like I always do after a successful mission.

There is something about this life that just calls to me…

BANG

BANG!!!

I’m startled awake in the backseat of my truck. A drool puddle has already formed on the beanie I was using as a pillow.

“HEY! Get going!” said the CHP officer who was banging on my window. Some of the traffic had already started to clear, but there were quite a few trucks still frozen in place, unable to venture forward on the ice. I hopped back into the front seat, gave a sheepish wave, and made my way through the previously frozen highway. Ana got stuck with a flat tire just as she neared the exit, and I couldn’t double back without getting trapped again in the ice. It was a hot mess throughout the entire highway.

I was groggy, and rubbing my eyes by the time I got back to Dan’s house… it felt much like the other nights I’d done searches, but this time I was finding peace within myself.

I realized that in my current state of uncertainty, that living in my truck and being exposed to hardship was the only home I really knew anymore. Time to make my own Modern Day Oregon Trail.

God Left Me A Long Time Ago

The Art of Falling