It happened a few days ago in Yellowstone. Night was fast approaching. The park was closing and I was in a hurry to reach the gates before it did. Spectral wisps of fog were settling over the roadway like ethereal spun sugar, delicate dancing tendrils of mist snaking across the asphalt and slipping between the trunks of the lodgepole pines.
Suddenly in front of me, he appeared – a giant from another era, unmoving, steam pouring from his nostrils as he turned to face my car. I slowed to a halt, waiting for him to clear the way, but he would not. I edged forward, but still he would not budge. Time was running out for me, a fact that did not seem to bother him. After all, he knew nothing of time. He existed beyond it’s grasp. Unconcerned, he only shook his wooly frame and picked at the cracks in the pavement with his massive snout.
I edged ahead further until I was nearly on top of him, and then and only then with the slightest concession possible, he took a small step to the side. With the night hungrily swallowing up the landscape, I drove forward, sweating bullets from every pore, with barely enough room on the road to pass him.
As I reached him, he leaned down to peer into the open window, one dark, glassy eye rolling over to meet mine. He huffed a mighty exhalation. The scent of him filled the space and choked me, musky, earthy, ancient. His horns glinted in the moonlight as he turned his head further towards me. I instinctively leaned away and crouched down, which made him seem to loom over me even more.
And then, like the passing of a cloud over the moon, I was clear. He was in my rearview, standing still, watching me drive away as the fog slowly claimed him from my sight.
It was the echo of that memory that woke me from my sleep this morning.
As I blinked awake, I heard a message in my head – “Reach Sedona at 3pm. You will meet a woman there and she will have something important to tell you.” And then and only then I remembered the choice from yesterday- the pivot in my journey – and what was ahead of me today.
I sat up quickly, blearily, and with a nervous glance at the clock, I grumbled to my feet and sprinted through my normal routine, hitting the road in a frenzy and driving, driving, driving. Deserts flashed by. The awesomeness of Zion National Park filled my vision screen. The desolation of the low, dry hills lulled me into a daze.
Somewhere along the way, my car suffered what I hope is a minor injury brought on by the rough terrain of mountains and dirt roads. A sharp whining clank and rattle started blasting through the chassy every time I exceeded 35mph. I had a feeling that sound would be with me until I reached Seattle or until I broke down along some deserted stretch of highway.
I decided for the moment to ignore the problem until it could be dealt with properly. I drove and drove, hours and hours, miles and miles, all a blur. As I got closer, as the minutes ticked by, as the clock grew older, this sinking, desperate feeling rose in me. I was going to be almost an hour late. I had failed the message by going the long way round to reach Flagstaff.
Whatever was waiting for me would be long gone.
My car was clattering and my patience was at an end. So, nearly in tears, I pulled into a service station half way between Flagstaff and Sedona to figure out my next steps.
It was 4pm. I hadn’t made it.
I filled up my tank in a foul mood, tired and defeated. But it was then that I noticed the clocks around me. All of them read 3pm. I made a check of the clock inside the friendly Food Mart. 3pm. I knew that I wasn’t in the Pacific time zone, but it was obviously 3pm. Perhaps, I thought, Flagstaff is a place that doesn’t believe in the evil Daylight Saving Time conspiracy. I had no other explanation for this phenomena.
Nevertheless, there was no denying that folks around Flagstaff believed that it was 3pm and I was close enough to Sedona for the message I was following to have weight. I was thinking about this as I went inside to pay for my gas, only to end up in line next to a young woman I’d seen earlier who had been filling up a bright yellow VW Bus a few pumps away from me.
The hairs on my neck stood up. I glanced over at the bus and noticed for the first time that it had Washington license plates. This was it.
Very soon after, Jill and I got to talking. She was extremely friendly and we made an instant connection there in a lonely service station on the road to Sedona. She was from Bainbridge Island, the third synchronistic encounter with somebody from that area on this journey. I told her my story, and about how tired I was feeling. Her welcoming energy, all the brightness about her – it healed something in me. That’s the best way to explain it. As we spoke, I thought about the man from Cahokia and the woman at Devil’s Tower, and how all three of them were connected in this sacred trio.
Every time in this trip I have begun to falter, these people have shown up in my life – past, present and future Washingtonians urging me to keep going, offering me a kind smile, a knowing nod and in Jill’s case, even a hug.
And now here I am in Arizona with a whole unexpected leg of the journey ahead of me. Fresh maps have been purchased, old maps have been thrown away. A new landscape stretches out west to the sea and I feel energized and ready.
Meanwhile, somewhere far to the north, the Bison ambles back into the treeline on a well worn path to the hot springs, his coat dusted with snow. And I head into the painted hills to the south in gratitude, with a promise to see him again soon.
Route: Eh, I don’t know. A whole lotta Utah on some numbered route going South and then wandering around in the Utah and Arizona desert on some other numbered route. I’m in Flagstaff, Arizona now if that helps.