Haven’t written in a while. And I’m ok with that. No point in being too rigid in routine.
It’s 5 pm and I’m finally in mountain time. It’s green as far as the eye can see. And lush! So very lush! Especially refreshing after spending several days driving through the seemingly endless nothingness of Nevada and Utah.
Our directions out of Reno were literally: In 627 miles take exit yeehaw onto weehoo ave. Thank God for cruise control.
For the past three days of driving we (my brother, Michael, and I) have been averaging out at approximately 60 mph for the sake of the Borobooth (which I’ve tentatively named Boogie - she likes to wiggle...this’ll make sense in a little bit).
I designed and built (with the help of a carpenter) the Borobooth last year for my high school senior project, with the aim of it being a portable glassblowing studio.
About this time last year I was certain it would just “rot away in the driveway” as my dad was so certain it would, but when covid cancelled all foreseeable spring and summer plans I returned to doing glass at home in my at-home garage studio.
March turned to April and by May I knew I wanted to be back in Colorado (where I was when covid was just starting to affect the US).
And I wanted to do glass.
Very convenient that I had the very trailer to make it happen.
And so we took off, cruising up the bay until I realized shoot! I left the box of colored glass! And so I called my mom and she agreed to ship it out to me in Colorado within the following few days.
Just as Waze was reminding me to exit off to 101, it hit me.
OOOOHHH no. Ahah we REALLY need to turn this party around.
I had remembered to load up the box of tools and studio equipment, but somehow had forgotten ALL of my glass.
And so, with a very frustrated Michael in the passenger seat, we drove back home.
At least I get to say bye to mom and dad in a less stressed out state. (Unsurprisingly, the four of us were mostly just yelling at each other moments before our first departure, which, also unsurprisingly, led to me forgetting all of my glass)
Hitting the road again, Michael riding the comedic glory of my timely forgetfulness (and I quote, “HOW DO YOU FORGET YOUR GLASS?! WE’RE TOWING YOUR GLASS TRAILER!”) and our full load this time, we cruised up the bay, through the uninspiring six-laned land of wait?-this-is-our-state-capitol, and over the Sierra foothills at a whopping 55 mph, 60 if I was feeling gutsy (Michael, again, found great comedic traction in my hesitance to meet the speed limit).
AND THEN THERE WERE MOUNTAINS!
You know the question everyone always loves, Are you a mountain person or a beach person?
Yeah...there’s kind of no doubting I’ve become a mountain person through and through.
MOOUUNNNNNTAIINSSSS!! I squealed repeatedly.
We were finally crossing the Sierras over a mountain pass that would drop us into Reno.
And it rained and flurried and snowed and on our descent into Reno it eventually hailed.
Fast forward through two days and racing RC cars, binging Hulu shows, chilling on the shore of Lake Tahoe, and some now-laughable-but-then-highly-irritating arguments with Michael, we were on our way and on the road again.
It took us twelve hours to cruise through Nevada, through Salt Lake City, and just past Provo, Utah to our campsite. The following day we’d have a very doable 360ish miles as our last leg of the drive.
At this point we were pretty comfortable pulling the Borobooth, Michael especially. I was always wary and was frequently glancing at my mirrors to make sure the damn thing was still attached. We’d know if we’d lost the trailer, I reasoned.
The worst were open valleys where crosswinds picked up, because it’d make Boogie boogie. The trailer would sway, I’d reduce speed, and we kept on our merry way.
Well, that was until we were in Utah.
We were about 70 miles from the Colorado-Utah border when we heard a big CLUNK and Michael, behind the wheel assured me we’d lost a tire or something. We pulled over immediately to a wedge of median between the main highway and an exit to a rest stop and hopped out to assess the damage.
It was IN the air. The WHOLE front of the trailer was IN the air. And the rear—glued to the highway.
The Borobooth’s primitive suspension (thank u craigslist) meant that any bump we encountered stressed the frame at the connection that kept the trailer level, and after 950 miles of wiggling and jiggling it finally sheared off, kicking the entirety of the structure up at an angle only rearing horses achieve.
Well that was unexpected, I laughed to myself. Michael, of course, with Colorado within reach, had a very different reaction, but we dealt with it as best we could and we eventually settled on a plan to call AAA for a flatbed trailer to bring us to the nearest hardware store were we would MacGyver the trailer upright and cinch it down with straps for the remaining couple hundred miles or so.
During this time one truck pulled up and tried to offer assistance with very little promise. We thanked them, sent them on their way, and assured them that AAA was on its way.
With a 60-minute AAA wait time, Michael and I bunkered down in the sweaty little cabin of ours, trying not to melt before AAA came to rescue us.
BUT THEN!! OUT OF LITERALLY NOWHERE! ANOTHER TRUCK PULLS UP.
And before they could really say anything, I said something along the lines of “no, yeah we’re ok, we’re just waiting for AAA to come…”
“We’re welders…”
“OH NO WAY! Well in that case, we’ll TOTALLY take your help.”
What. Are. The. Odds.
Like saving stranded trailers was their full time job, the two guys (who I later learned were named Garrett and Tony) hopped out immediately, and in perfect unison, lifted the back of the trailer upright, dropped its legs to keep it propped up, and had their generator running in no time.
I learned that they had just finished a big project in Moab, and were on the way back to wherever home was for them when they saw us from the other side of the highway. They said that they just had to check us out, and Michael and I, hardly in belief that this was happening, were very glad they did.
“What is it?” Tony asked.
“It’s a portable glass studio”
“No way! You two are artists?!”
“Well, I do glass...this is my brother, Michael.”
“You coming from Salt Lake City?”
“No, California—the Bay.”
He said something along the lines of “No way! That’s rad!” and in that moment, maybe for the first time ever, I felt like I really was an artist. I felt proud to be recognized as an artist (though I’ll forever have a strained relationship with that term).
I was extremely giddy the entire time. How can you not be, though, when two dudes pull through out of nowhere like some god-send with the perfect skill set AND equipment needed fix the problem on site.
If this isn’t divine intervention, I don’t know what is! Thank you universe! THIS is why I meditate and pray every day.
Garrett sprayed a final coat of black spray paint to match the frame of the trailer (ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! PAINTING IT TOO!! Now that’s craftsmanship if I ever saw it.), I slipped them a wad of cash I had stashed in Mary Lou (my truck) to split between the two of them to thank them for their outstanding generosity and display of humanity.
I asked to take a portrait of them on my film camera and they kindly, perhaps awkwardly obliged, before peeling off in their truck.
And soon enough we, too, were on our way as if nothing even happened.
“Who do you want to be? I think those words have taken on a whole new meaning in the past several weeks...I said in my last session that I miss my dear Maya Angelou so much in this moment...many times I wonder what Maya would say, I wonder what Maya would do....We were making biscuits...and I had just came back from opening the school [in South Africa] and I said, ‘Oh, Maya that school’s going to be my biggest legacy’...And she said, ‘you don’t know what your legacy is going to be”. ‘Yeah I do, I know this school is going to be my biggest legacy, and she said, ‘I SAID, you have NO IDEA what your legacy is going to be’. And I said, ‘yes ma’am,’ because only Maya could make me feel like I was seven or eleven…‘You have no idea what your legacy is going to be because your legacy is not one thing. Putting your name on a school and even being supervisor of that school is one thing, but you have your whole life. Your legacy is not one thing, your legacy is EVERY life you touch.’ She said, ‘it’s everyone who’s ever watched a show and made the decision to go back to school, to leave their husband, to not hit their kids anymore. [It’s] anybody who’s ever heard something you said...and made a change in their life’...Do as Maya always taught me: When you learn; teach. When you get; give.” (Oprah Winfrey, Week Four of WW Presents Oprah’s Your Life in Focus: A Vision Forward)