Westward Ho
There is something about the presence of a cat… that seems to take the bite out of being alone.
~Louis J. Camuti
I started second-guessing myself as I drove into the evening in my dusty car. What the heck was I thinking dragging Libby across the country? After eight weary hours of driving, we had completed the first leg of the “Big Adventure,” from Orlando, Florida, to the quaint, little town of Monroeville, Alabama. We were westward bound, exploring as many states as possible along the way.
One middle-aged lady in a Subaru with a cat.
I had settled into a lazy life of retirement at age fifty-six. Ten years after officially retiring as a Detective Police Sergeant, I had an epiphany. I was not living my Best Life. My whole purpose in retiring at such a young age was to travel. I wanted to explore foreign countries in far-flung places. I dreamed of road tripping the entire United States. National Park Geek would be my new nickname. It was time for a major life change, or I would be too old, too infirm, or just too afraid to do it.
I sold my townhome at market peak and paid off all my bills. It was now or never. I got rid of loads of junk and put my “must keeps” into storage. My two faithful dog companions had passed away within months of each other, so I could hit the proverbial road. No current relationships. No responsibilities. Nothing should hold me back. Oh, wait, I had been talked into adopting a skinny black-and-white kitten named Libby. Flash forward three years to a full-grown, sassy boss of a cat. How could I leave her for two months?
My sister said, “If you leave her with me, you will not get her back.” Well, that was not an option. It was currently hip to travel with a dog everywhere — to the grocery store, public library, or even the doctor’s office — so why not a petite, sweet feline as a trusted companion?
On the first night of our journey, anxiety flooded through my body as I lay on the hotel bed. I was exhausted from driving. It was a challenge carrying Libby’s litter box and my overpacked suitcase to our room. I knew it would be the first night of many. What if there were stairs? I told myself. Maybe we should just drive back to Florida and hang out by my sister’s pool. I asked Libby in a shaky voice, “Should we turn around and go home? What do you think?” Her response was a cool, green-eyed stare. The Queen had her own comfy, giant hotel bed. She was not going anywhere. I decided I would reassess in the morning.
The arrival of a new day ended all that paralyzing fear. Life was once again full of endless possibilities.
Away we went checking off items on our “must-visit list.” There were national parks to explore, local delicacies to try, and delightful independent bookstores to visit. Libby settled in quite nicely. I had bought a giant Pet Tube that fit the entire back seat of my Subaru. It was a cylindrical, deluxe cat house fit for the Queen.
Each new stop was a plethora of weird smells and odd spaces to pad around. Hotel room windows became Libby’s favorite perching spots. She startled a couple of young cleaners in a fancy bed-and-breakfast in Mississippi, who thought she was a cute stuffed animal until she skittered under the bed. She made many friends along the way, including vacation rental owners, pet-friendly hotel concierges, and delighted children looking for a break from long backseat travels. It was a toss-up as to whether people thought I was cool bringing my cat along on my big trek or a “Crazy Cat Lady.” One of the best things about this trip was it taught me not to care about what people think.
Many times, self-doubt would creep back in, especially when we made it to Utah and I realized that I was more than 2,000 miles from home. Now we had to drive all the way back! I learned to focus on one day at a time, to live in the moment. Each morning brought fresh, new adventures. This was a trip of a lifetime, and I was doing it all by myself. Libby was the best of company; I never felt truly alone. She was my backseat driver, cuddle buddy and best friend. She was a trooper. If she could persevere through the insecurities of what came next, then I could, too.
We drove through majestic scenery that took my breath away. We traveled switchback roads through snowy mountains and dusty deserts where my palms sweated and my knuckles turned white. In many places, we lost our GPS and cell-phone reception. During these times, I would tell Libby, “We’ve got this, girl!” I’d receive a meow of approval from the back seat. Each new challenge made me feel strong, independent and resourceful.
Libby and I were on the road for forty-seven days. We traveled 8,443 miles through thirteen states. We explored five national parks, an ice cave, a volcano, and the birthplaces of Harper Lee and Elvis. We drove on Historic Route 66 and made side trips to funky museums. A sing-along with a trio of handsome mariachis was an unexpected highlight in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I got lost hiking in Sedona, Arizona for three hours on a trail misnamed “EASY BREEZY.” I had no water or map but I never even considered panicking. I knew I had to survive and get back to Libby, who was window napping in our pricy, pet-friendly hotel.
Whenever my anxiety reared its ugly head, I would encounter friendly fellow travelers who shared experiences and tips for the road. In Bryce Canyon, Utah, a retired nurse gave me her spare pair of hiking boots because my worn-out sneakers were not cutting it through the snowy, rocky terrain.
With each leg of the journey, my self-confidence grew steadily. Yes, I could have made this fantastic trip all by myself, but it was so much better with Libby, my steadfast companion.
— Lori Shepard —
Image source : © pixabay.com
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