Lost on the Palouse

 

            Peter had just exited I-90 onto exit 245 heading into the tiny town of Sprague to see a handful of homes, a restaurant, a gas station, and a cannabis dispensary. He had heard stories of the beauty of the rolling wheat fields, the endless, non-descript curving roads touched only by rock and sparse brush outside of the fields and could not resist the temptation to take the drive to see it for himself, thrilled at the prospect of walking through such glory.

              At just below a quarter of a tank, he pulled into the gas station to experience possibly the slowest pump known to mankind, scrubbing the multitude of bugs from his windshield as he waited, but finding that he still had more time, he washed the rear and side windows as well. Waiting even longer still, memories of buying bags of weed from the stoner kid in high school tempted him to pull across the street and indulge in an activity he had not partaken of in years, following the recommendation of the young girl behind the counter, a pungent, lemony strain, promising increased cerebral activity and an energy boost.

              Returning to his foray into the swirling, winding chaos of the open Palouse, he found himself surrounded by rocky, uneven, barren fields of sagebrush spotted by the occasional bovine, coyote, and deer. Rounding an uphill corner, he was forced to quickly swerve around a dead and bloating porcupine in the center of his lane, fortunate to meet no other traffic in his abrupt swing into the other lane.  Thirty minutes into his drive, he departed from the highway to a side road that, if his memory served correctly, led into the rolling wheat fields had been promised.

              Staying true to its word, the landscape rapidly shifted from barren rocks to wheat fields, which seemed to have no end, until he came across a wide turn off that allowed him free access to safe parking and what seemed to be the highest hill within shouting distance. Retrieving his single pre-roll encased in glass, a lighter, and several bottles of water, he walked to the top of the tallest hill and surveyed the surroundings, developing a plan in his mind of distance and direction that would hopefully prevent him from becoming lost in this rolling, directionless, and unhindered freedom of brown hills and blue sky.

              In a perfect balance of ascent and descent, he was thankful to see that most locations lay within range of a cellphone tower, and he puffed his lemony goodness, noting the sharp contrast between the tropical flavored smoke and the wheaty, dusty surroundings. Frequently glancing back to the high point that marked the beginning of this journey, he kept a second eye on the movement of the sun, triangulating his path, his point of origin, and his basic speed but soon came to realize that everything suddenly looked the same, having lost direct sight of his starting point. Cresting the zenith of his current hill, he sat down and surveyed everything surrounding him, his emotions a whirlwind, a fight between the possibility of being lost and the calming effect of the cannabis, while at the same time, feeling energized to continue his journey.

              Minus the few minutes he spent ruminating on his current condition, he noted that he had been walking for just over ninety minutes and found himself torn between two different directions to find his way back to his car, the road, and the way home, as visions of himself as an emaciated, dried, and slowly swelling corpse lying in the dust, harassed by crows, by worms, and the occasional fox, having fallen into a dead zone with no cell coverage, his family tormented at his unexplained silence. Shaking his head and focusing on a brighter future, he made a decision and began walking back, he guessed, to the direction from which he had come.

              Forty-five minutes into his return, he still felt completely disoriented but continued his path based on his interpretation of solar movement, trusting that the road would soon appear, hopefully fronted by his vehicle, growing hotter as the early summer sun beat down upon its closed interior. He finished his last bottle of water to joyfully recognize the black snaking asphalt still a fair distance ahead, breathing a sigh of relief, he eventually stepped through the ditch, with no car in sight, either his or any other, now faced with another decision, uncertain of the wisdom of a left or right turn, his sense of direction completely absent.

              Scraping a shallow divot with his heel, he planted an empty water bottle to mark the location he reached the roadway, before turning to the left hopefully find his car sooner than later, with every stretch of road containing nothing to stir his memory of the drive. He walked along the white line keeping track of his travel time and after thirty minutes he stopped, dug another shallow hole, and planted another bottle to mark his progress, frustrated with the realization that he had just spent the last thirty minutes walking in the direction opposite of his vehicle.

              The idea of aimless wandering, lost on the Palouse, and never seeing his family again crossed his mind more times than he could count and with no other option before him, he reversed his path, to walk another thirty minutes back to the first planted water bottle, to only continue on, finding his car no more than a mile beyond the point he had escaped the endless rolling hills. Sliding his back down the side of the car into the small block of shade he sat to enjoy a brief reprieve from the oppressive heat, wringing out his shirt, while feeling both ridiculous and thankful for resolving his potentially fatal situation.

              He jolted awake at the sound of aggressive sniffing, to see a fully grown cow only inches from his face. He made a mental note of the semi-darkness in which he now sat, concerned and confused how he had fallen asleep in this hot, dry, barren wasteland. His tongue felt as if it had swollen to three times its normal size, his rosy, red skin felt as if had been absorbing far too many hours of direct sunshine, and he knew that his family, now so far away would have grown concerned at his long absence and his failure to call or send the occasional text.

              Tired, sore, dry, and ridiculously thirsty, he rose slowly to his feet and considered the multi-hour drive that lay ahead of him. The thought of driving over the pass well past midnight was not a happy consideration but he knew that he had no other choice. Driving until he picked up enough bars on his phone to send a text, he stopped in front of someone’s driveway and sent the message that he was on his way home and wouldn’t be there until very early morning.

              Looking at his watch more times than he could count, he determined that, all things being equal, he would arrive home around three in the morning. His speedometer continued to climb higher and higher as he pushed his luck, hoping to get home sooner than later. Pulled from a semi-sleep by flashing red and blue lights, he pulled to the edge of the road, turned on his dome light, waiting for the officer to appear at his window.

              Knowing the routine, he rolled down his window, spoke calmly and respectfully to the police officer, and handed him his driver’s license and his proof of insurance. Watching the minutes click by as the officer took his time inside of his own vehicle, Peter sent another text message, confessing his crime of speeding, his being pulled over, and a reassessment of arriving home somewhere closer to four in the morning.

              He received the speeding ticket, apologized profusely, and set his cruise control at seven over the speed limit. He stopped for an extra-large coffee, and continued his mind-numbing drive home through the dark until he saw the first rays of early morning light appear on the horizon beyond him. The ever-familiar cul-de-sac embraced him as he reached his hometown. He pressed the garage door opener, entered the garage, closed the door behind him, and collapsed on his bed to have his wife leave him alone for the next several hours.

              Feeling frustrated and foolish for his lack of responsibility, his speeding, and the loss of funds from the ticket, he rose from bed just past noon, knowing that an online payment was his next chore, having no desire to go to court to have his traffic ticket reduced. Thankful for the weekend, he knew that one and a half normal days would get him back on track.