God she's beautiful...
PROOF! Sorry, Jeff.
I ventured beyond that railing and down this path for better pictures. I was scared.
At this point I was about to enter Montana, and in the previous 24 hrs had slept 4hrs. I would like to note, also, that at this point there was nothing wrong with my car, Gina. I surmised she may have been tired but I kept her full of gas and tried to clean all the bugs off of her as best I could.
Once in Montana I encountered Pompey's Pillar National Monument. I pretty much peed myself when I saw the signs along the highway as I learned about the monument and its history just the week before. The real Lewis and Clark had been there and written their name on it! I was covering real, live history. The story goes that at this point in Lewis and Clark's journey they were being guided by Sacajawea and her son's name was Pompey. They came across the monument that they learned was sacred to the native peoples in the area, and so they wrote their names on it and named it after her son (typical Americans...)
View from the top.
View from the top....
Stairs from hell.
Gosh, isn't she a beauty?
I could almost touch what William Clark touched. It was magical to say the least.
While at the top of Pompey's Pillar I had a very candid conversation with the park ranger at the top about global warming. It was a lovely conversation and I promised him that not everyone was blind to what was occurring in the world. Americans often want to deny that it's existing because it's not directly effecting them, but tell that to the 14 million people on Indonesian and Micronesian islands that are about to be evicted by mother nature and you may be skinned alive. Seriously folks. We've destroyed the planet to such an extent that we are now embarking on the end of human civilization. We've secured our end in Earth's history books. Congratulations!
Also, despite my joyous encounter with history, this is where my car began to break. Poor Gina, my rough driving and overly-packed trunk combined to obliterate my fuel pump (which I didn't know at the time). Go me... More than 24hrs into my drive, very little sleep, jacked up on caffeine pills, and now a broken car called for some extreme sobbing and wishing I had never left home. I was very near broke and thousands of miles away from any kind of help. My next town was Billings, Montana...
In Billings I located a parts dealer off the highway and asked them to take a look at my car (through my hiccups and holding back tears), well, more like listen to the disgusting noise and tell me what it meant. These people referred me to a mechanic's shop on the adjacent block.
This experience is probably one of the worst in my life. The mechanic surmised that because of my gender, and my very out-of-town license plates I was a good target to be taken advantage of. Despite my extreme level of upsetedness I told him that a $600 quote for a fuel pump was outrageous. But hey, thanks for determining the problem for me. If that man has a wife or daughters he should be ASHAMED of how he attempted to take advantage of me. The repair takes all of 30 minutes or less for an experienced mechanic, and you wanna tell me that (mins the cost of the $300-350 fuel pump), your 30 minutes cost $300?! Give me a break you worthless piece of garbage.
I found it in myself to set out on the road toward Butte, and perhaps buy a fuel pump there and install it myself. When in Butte I did buy my fuel pump at a whopping $350 which about gave me a heart attack. I definitely did NOT budget for that. Despite buying the part I was still at a loss: my mother had packed my trunk like a jigsaw puzzle, and if I were to get it apart would I be able to get it back together? How many hours would it take me to disassemble my trunk to get to my fuel pump? Running on no sleep and no money I decided that I would take the risk and drive all the way to Portland....that day. If I shut my car off who knew if she would re-start, and the longer I delayed the longer Gina would be hurting. As I left Butte my anxiety grew with the mountains, to sizes and amounts that my eyes and stomach had encountered but once in Quito, Ecuador. But this time I was alone, broke, and night was falling...
It should be pretty obvious at this point that I was crying about 90% of the time. The mountains just kept growing and growing, and Gina became more and more fussy as she couldn't get enough fuel to climb the mountains as her supercharged engine demanded of her. I felt so awful, and despite all my sobbing I tried to comfort her. I kept her gas at 3/4s of a tank or more, stopping as often as possible, and usually at outrageous prices (Michigan folks, quit your bitching about fuel prices. Ya'll don't have it that bad). I just wanted my mommy. I was certain that leaving Michigan was such a mistake, and that I wouldn't make it and what the fuck was I thinking.... I was terrified. My journey away from my family had hardly begun when I began to unravel.
Nancy attempted to help by suggesting a more southerly route that would allow me to bypass the very intense Bitterroots across Route 12. This was to no avail as Route 12 was closed because of the intense forest fires.
That was exactly in Route 12's path.
ACK!
Yep, Nancy was about to have me burnt to a crisp. I had to drive through the treacherous Bitterroots which I initially welcomed because my last road trip through these parts had been so beautiful and joyous. But night was fast-approaching, and who knows what could happen then. This road system is loaded with "Runaway Truck" lanes, and I didn't know if my sweet Gina could make through the tumultuous elevation changes, steep grades in the road, and the sudden twists hidden in darkness. What if I broke down on the side of this highway system? I would most certainly become road kill. What choice did I have?
As I climbed into this remote portion of the Rockies I sobbed and sobbed and prayed that the Universe would see me through. The mountains just seemed to get bigger and bigger and me smaller and smaller. It's like the road was leading me down further and further into the valleys between the peaks, and soon she would swallow me whole. The moon was full and lent an eerie light on my journey. I recall talking to Gina and telling her we'd make it, if only to assuage my own terror and to feel less alone. And yes, I was going on 48hrs with 4hrs of sleep, too much coffee, too many caffeine pills, and very little food.
Finally I came out on the other side and hit Spokane, Washington. I thought that I was in the home stretch. Just five hours to Portland, and considerably less mountainous terrain....or so I thought.
When I finally hit Oregon I crossed the Columbia and followed 84 along the border with Washington. This was just as terrifying as the Bitterroot Range, if not more so in some respects. I had the mighty Columbia River to my right and the only thing separating us was a flimsy little metal fence. Often in the darkness it seemed as if the river was just feet away. One wrong move in my exhaustion and I was toast. To my left was a very real, very close terrain that I've had limited experience with: cliffs. These cliffs were at a 90 degree angle to the road and stood hundreds (300ft+) high. The cliffs were so steep and so high that they blocked out the moon! So here I am, deeply under-slept, cliffs so treacherous that all the road signs could say was, "Rocks", no moon, and an incredible river just feet away on my other side. Needless to say, this is where my neuroses, paranoia and general vulnerabilities set in.
I was certain that the mountains would eat me, swallow me whole. My heart longed for the flat lands that I came from; where one could see the next town in the distance because everything is so flat. I just kept crying that the mountains would eat me, that I just wanted flat land, that I wasn't prepared for this, that I wasn't going to survive. I don't know if it was my circumstances or my lack of sleep that lent to my extreme fear, or if it was a combination of both, but in any case I hope I never feel that level of terror again. I couldn't stop crying. And every time I stopped and got out of my car the ground felt so uneven. I wobbled and often fell against Gina until I climbed back inside to continue my drive.
I eventually made it to Portland, where I returned the fuel pump until more prosperous days, and have securely parked Gina until I acquire my own wrench and socket set to repair her myself (I'm thinking October). I've determined that I can be my own mechanic.
I am a strong, independent woman; nothing and no one will stop me.
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