All That Space...

When I was a young man, I didn't know how to sit still.

I have always lived with big sky views, and space begging endless exploration.

The stationary discipline of lower and higher education always seemed like the most difficult challenge. How was I supposed to sit still in a class with its black boards, assignments, and the lectures of the lecturing? Especially when the world was passing by at lightning fast light speed outside the window. I wanted to be out there. Moving. Participating. Experiencing.

Growing up in the wilds of Alaska, Oregon, and Washington, space was never in limited supply. Seattle was yet undiscovered, Portland remained a sleepy big timber town, and Anchorage and Fairbanks, did not yet know the taste of tourism, cruise ships and senior citizens leaning against the windows of rail cars begging a glance at Denali.

For four years I stuck it out, then struck out of post secondary education. After turning 21, I couldn't sit still another second. First becoming a guide in Alaska, I discovered that not even great land was satiating enough to keep my interest. Becoming a trucker, running the lower 48 and Canada, a big windshield and a bigger hood beckoned. Tasting my perfect addiction, I spent 17 years slamming gears in all manner of applications. I've run outlaw and within the law, cross country and across town, and through all those miles, I found an endless desire to chase horizons, the fabric of North America, and the perfect moment.

I still remember the open road, the good and bad. The one of a kind chicken haulers and white trash in transit CB conversations. I remember chicken fried everything, shower lines, diesel scented dawn and the sultry humidity of Alabama. I know the gut punch of endless loneliness that you can't explain to someone that hasn't been there, and the let down feeling of seeing something so breathtaking and turning to share the moment with a special someone-only to find an empty shotgun seat staring back at you.

I don't know how you can explain running the big roads to someone that hasn't been there. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This one is facing west, with Mt Hood capturing the last sunburst of an early January, high desert day.

Maybe this image will explain the unexplainable.

And why my heart remains always addicted to such