Alyson Gagne

I’m not 100% sure when the moment happened that I decided I was done. Maybe there wasn’t a single moment. But at some point during my time in the PNW the decision happened that I was ready to go home.

It’s no secret that the last year and a half turned out very different than I was planning or hoping for. In the end that was ok – I ended up going to places I would not otherwise have gone to, and did things I would not normally have done. It’s not like I was ever going to see every single thing I wanted to see, or visit every single little corner of America no matter how long I spent driving back and forth across it. I had an amazing time and I can honestly say I regret none of it.

That said, there are a few places that I feel not regret, but something more like disappointment that I didn’t get to visit. Some I simply won’t get the chance to on this trip, like Glacier National Park or Santa Fe, New Mexico. But some were wrongs I could right on my way back to the East Coast. And so my drive from the PNW ended up swinging down through the South in what I started to think of as my Making Up For Lost Time Tour.

I Feel That Rocky Mountain High In Denver

Denver is obviously not in the South, but the drive from Portland to Dallas is 2,000 miles long and I can only drive so far on my days off from work. That being said, Colorado was the perfect first stop on my Lost Time Tour because it was a destination I had been rerouted away from twice. When I left at the beginning of 2020 my plan was to spend some time in Austin, swoop through the Southwest and hopefully pass through Denver or somewhere in Colorado. Almost none of that plan happened and I couldn’t make it to Colorado at all. At the end of the year I tried to make it back to the Rocky Mountain State again, this time when I was stranded in smoky Montana, but again it didn’t work out (because it turned out Colorado was itself also smoky at that time). Third time’s the charm, though, and I finally got to spend a week here on my way back East.

Denver is a fun town, although I admit that when I checked it out, the downtown area felt a little bit like a ghost town. I drank some beers including at a “heavy metal brewery” (exact what it says on the tin), went to the contemporary art museum and strolled through the botanical gardens. I also got to visit Rocky Mountain National Park, my 31st (?? I think?) national park on this trip.

I have to admit something kind of unflattering about my experience at Rocky Mountain NP. I choose to interpret this not as a criticism of myself, but as an observation of the experience of traveling long term. By this point, over the last year and a half I have been to dozens of national parks, plus God knows how many national forests and state parks. I have driven from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from the Mexican border to the Canadian border multiple times. I have seen some of the most incredible, breathtaking and unbelievable scenery this continent has to offer – I have laid my eyes on more of these things in the last 18 months than most people do over the course of their whole lives. I say all of this before I say the following: I was kind of unmoved by Rocky Mountain NP.

It’s not because it’s not incredible. It’s not because it’s not worth visiting. It’s because I honestly think I am suffering from some kind of beautiful vista burnout. It’s a very strange feeling to go to the Rocky Mountains and think, “eh, but I already went to Grand Tetons.” Or to go on a hike in the forest and think, “eh, but I went backpacking in Yellowstone.” Or gaze up at the massive pine trees and think, “eh, I’ve wrapped my arms around a 2,000 year old giant redwood.” To be honest, I drove through Rocky Mountain NP gasping for breath in the thin air and feeling like kind of a brat.

Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy the Rocky Mountains – just not as much as I think I might have if I had gone at the beginning of my trip. I’ve learned a lot of things on this journey, but one I am surprised to learn is that it’s possible to get overloaded with natural beauty. No one can be that consistently awed for that long, I guess.

I Lasso Some Fun iN Dallas

My second stop on the Making Up For Lost Time Tour was a week in Dallas. I originally planned to go to Dallas to stay with a friend there for a week, but she ended up not being in town, and I had already kind of planned the rest of my trip around leaving from there, so I went to Dallas anyway.

I ended up having an absolute blast. I went to a Texas Rangers game in their gorgeous new stadium – the Rangers lost, but I had a hell of a good time. I explored Deep Ellum in Dallas, which is a weird long-time bucket list item for me, since one of my favorite bars in Boston was called Deep Ellum and I had always wanted to know its namesake.

In Dallas I also reached a new level of solo travel: I went to a water park by myself. My hotel was directly across the street from the original Six Flags Hurricane Harbor, and it’s fuckin hot in Dallas in June, and a day pass was pretty cheap, so one day after work I walked across the road and spent my evening in the park. I made it to every single attraction that I could ride as a solo adult rider. I got a Dole Whip. I had a hell of a good time.

An unexpectedly fun thing I did in Dallas was to visit the Fort Worth Stockyards. Specifically, while I was there I made a spontaneous trip to the rodeo – the Junior rodeo actually, which happened to be occurring while I was there. That shit was WILD. You can see photos and even a video on my photos page.

The last time I came to Texas I did not do a blog post and therefore did not have a chance to mention this at that time, but: I kind of love Texas. I always thought I loved Austin, but now that I have also been to West Texas and Dallas, I feel like maybe I just love Texas. I don’t know why, but going to this state feels like a big hug. This was not my first (metaphorical) Texas rodeo, and it certainly won’t be my last.

I Get into Hot Water in Arkansas

Ok this is where the Lost Time Tour really starts to heat up. Anyone who has been following along since the beginning knows that one of my early stops was in the Ozarks in Arkansas – a stop that was defined in large part by the things I didn’t get to do. The pandemic prevented me from going to Hot Springs, the rain prevented me from going camping and slicing open my hand on broken glass and getting 15 stitches prevented me from doing a Buffalo River float. Now, on my high speed tour back through the South, I felt like I was on a mission from God to go back to Arkansas and do all of those things.

And, I am happy to announce that I did… not actually get to do them. I made it to Hot Springs, and my original plan was to continue driving later that afternoon to the Ozarks where I had a campsite reserved, then go on a river float the next day. Last year when I originally attempted the float, the people at the float company told me they didn’t take reservations and to just show up when I wanted to go. This time, I called ahead while I was in Hot Springs and they informed me that not only do they now require reservations, but they had already been booked up for weeks. And well, without the river float there wasn’t much reason for me to go 3 hours out of my way to the campground either. So I once again found my trip to Arkansas thwarted! How many times must I return to this state before they let me float on their fucking river!!

That being said, I did get to visit Hot Springs, which has been a bucket list item for many years. I visited the bath houses and even though the spa services were already sold out for the day (I’m sensing a trend here), I was able to soak in the public mineral springs pools. Over all, Hot Springs is so cute and charming and historic, but it’s also so desperately uncool in a way that I find so deeply endearing. I don’t know what it is, but I just kind of love Arkansas.

After I gave up on the camping plan, I managed to snag a last minute room in town at the historic Arlington Hotel – a massive old hotel that dates to the glory days of Hot Springs in the 1920s. Now it feels a little on the spooky side – if you’ve ever ridden on the Tower of Terror ride at Disneyworld, it has a very similar energy. The reviews of the hotel were mixed because of that, but I thought it was actually really charming. And, I didn’t even meet any ghosts.

I Get the (Red, White and) Blues in Memphis

Next stop: home of the Blues, Memphis Tennessee. Memphis is another perfect spot on my Lost Time tour, because I have now driven directly through Memphis on four separate occasions, and each time my frustration only mounted that I could not stop and visit. Now, I finally got to, and on Fourth of July weekend no less!

My hotel room had a gorgeous view looking over the Mississippi River and the Memphis Bridge over to Arkansas. I was also walking distance to Beale Street, which is where I spent my first afternoon and evening. I ate fried catfish at the Blues City Café and then cruised up and down Beale Street watching live bands playing at some of the blues bars. I made friends with the drummer in one of those bands, who gave me recommendations for places to get food in town (a couple of which I took him up on, and he was right – they were delicious!).

I spent my Fourth of July doing the tourist thing around town. I toured the Lorraine Motel where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated and which is now home to the National Civil Rights Museum. It was very educational but man, was it also heavy! My day took a lighter turn next when I took a guided paddleboat tour on the Mississippi River next. At that point I was exhausted and sweating through my clothes, so I returned to my hotel room, where I could watch the Fourth of July fireworks from my own window.

I honestly think that Memphis might have been everything I wanted Nashville to be. I loved Nashville, but there is a kind of Disneyland energy to it that I think might be a somewhat recent phenomenon – maybe it’s all the bachelorette parties. Memphis has an authenticity, and a dgaf-ery that is easy to fall in love with. The people are so damn friendly. The food is delicious. And the music obviously speaks for itself. I only had a couple days in Memphis, but I can imagine it won’t be my last time there.

I Feel the Low Country Boil in Savannah

Good lord is Savannah hot.

It is “swass” hot. Sweat-through-your-bra-by-the-end-of-breakfast hot. I’m-about-to-shave-my-fuckin-head-because-I-cannot-stand-my-own-hair hot. Oh-my-God-is-it-about-to-storm-or-is-the-humidity-just-always-this-oppresive hot.

It wasn’t even lunch time before I went into a corny little gift shop and bought myself a hand fan and spent the rest of the day fanning myself furiously like a debutante (or a drag queen). It felt very theatrical, but multiple people on the street said something to me about being jealous of my fan.

Savannah is such a gorgeous town. All I could think about when I was there was that it was like a “classy New Orleans” (no shade to New Orleans). It is full of beautiful 19th century architecture, shady parks, and dramatic old hardwood trees dripping with Spanish moss. It’s all brick and cobblestone and wrought iron. It’s so elegant and classical. I felt like I should spend my time there sitting in a rocking chair on a porch drinking mint juleps.

Instead I walked around the old town and ate my body weight in boiled shellfish. I also on a spur of whimsey signed up for a “haunted bar crawl,” which was basically like a regular guided ghost tour but with stops at historic bars (so, naturally my kind of ghost tour). This was notable mostly because it’s the first time since I left New Orleans a year and a half ago where I just made friends with strangers. After the tour was over, some of us continued on to another bar and kept hanging out. Then, it was late, and we all parted ways. It felt like a magical moment from the Before Times.

On my way out of Savannah I also stopped at Conagree National Park in South Carolina. It was 90 degrees and about 90% humidity. I brought my diva fan on my hike with me. When I got back to the car my shirt was so soaked in sweat it looked like I had dunked it in water. I don’t even really have any pictures of my stop in Conagree because it was so hot that I pretty much left in a hurry.

So moral of the story, next time I want to go to Savannah, please remind me not to go in July.

I Channel My Inner Hillbilly in Asheville

What a better way to beat the heat than to head for the hills, so I made my way to Asheville, North Carolina. Asheville is one of those towns that everyone knows is pretty hip and artsy and everyone “kinda wants to go to one day.” I’m glad to say I finally did. It reminded me of a kind of hillbilly Portland Oregon, if that makes sense. Lots of cute public art, very proud lefty politics, active and vibrant art and music scenes, all the tasty craft beers. It has such a chill hippie vibe that I loved.

I have a love affair with Appalachia that I can’t quite explain. It’s got such a subtle natural beauty that is almost impossible to photograph. It is the butt of so many jokes that they seem to have such a good sense of humor about. It’s so green and natural and wild and has such a vibrant cultural identity.

To be very honest, I was pretty tired by the time I got to North Carolina. This was my fifth stop in about 8 days. Plus I was on something like my 9th straight week of constant movement since I left Oregon. I was tired, my car was a mess, and I was pretty ready to be home. I loved Asheville, but you’ll notice I don’t have a ton of pictures, because most of what I did was just cruise around drinking beers and stopping myself from spending a bunch of money on art.

I left Asheville for my final leg home up the Blue Ridge mountains. I took the Blue Ridge Parkway, another fitting addition to my Lost Time Tour, since I had hoped to drive the parkway on my way out when I very first left home in February of 2020, but didn’t, because it turns out that driving the Blue Ridge Parkway in the winter is fucking mental.

So instead I took it home, or as far as I could make it in one day – the drive from Asheville to Shenandoah on the BRP is something ridiculous like 19 hours of driving, so I drove most of the way from Asheville to the Virginia state line before I crossed over to the interstate for the rest of the way. I was looking forward to a stop at the Blue Ridge Music Center, but in real Alyson fashion I arrived literally as the band was wrapping up their last song for the day. So I bought a CD from the gift shop and listened to that in the car for the rest of the drive north.

I Wrap Things Up in Shenandoah National Park

I made it to Shenandoah National Park just before sunset and hustled to get checked into my campsite and get my tent set up before it got dark. Then I had to drive back out of the campground to get firewood, and then because I didn’t have a proper hatchet to make kindling it took me ages to get my campfire actually started. I got all of that finally done, and I was finally sitting and relaxing in my little camp chair (the one I bought all the way back in Gulfport!) looking at my little campfire and it suddenly hit me very strongly: this was My Last Night.

The last year and a half have been incredible; undoubtedly, it will be one of the most memorable experiences in my life. When I left, I had no real timeline for when I would be done. My plan the whole time was “to go until I got tired of it.” But in the back of my mind I had the constant thought running: “will I know when I’m tired of it?”

When I took my hiatus at the end of last year, I pretty much had to have it beaten into my head with a frying pan that it was ok for me to take a break. I decided to stop for a while, but I was still very sure that I wasn’t ready to stop forever. I had too much left that I still wanted to see. Plus I just knew in my bones that I wasn’t ready.

But knowing that I wasn’t ready forced me to consider what it would feel like to know when I was ready. Would I see it when it happened? Or would I blindly force myself to continue on for months on end until I ran myself truly ragged?

In the end it turned out that I didn’t have to worry about it too much after all. It did come on me slowly over several months, but at some point it became clear to me: I was tired. I had done way more than I had even dreamed. And I was done. The feeling, once it happened, was surprisingly unambiguous.

By the time I got to Shenandoah I had been in the process of “going home” for several weeks (basically since I left Tacoma) and I was really looking forward to getting there. But sitting in my camp chair in Virginia on my very, very last night on the road was a strange feeling. This Was It.

I don’t have anything really profound to say about that moment. There wasn’t anything symbolic or literary about it. I can’t drag out any trite metaphors about the last year and a half of my life boiling down to a single moment, or anything.

I just made myself a cup of Sleepytime tea and watched my campfire and thought about all the places I had been and things I had seen. And when my fire burned down, I finished my tea, crawled into my tent, and went to sleep. And the next day I got up, packed my car for the last time, and drove the final 600 miles home.

I covered a lot of ground on this part of my journey, but the places I talked about in this post are on land belonging to Native people in the following tribes: Arapaho, Cheyenne, Ute, Očhéthi Šakówiŋ, Kickapoo, Jumanos, Tawakoni, Wichita, Osage, Caddo, O-ga-xpa, Chickasaw, Yamassee, Muscogee/Creek, Cherokee, Yuchi and Manahoac, certainly among others.