A Cross-Country Car Road Trip During The Coronavirus Calamity-- A Guest Post By Jeff Rasley

No one was standing on the corner in Winslow, AZ except statues

It's been almost a decade since the last time noted travel author Jeff Rasley did a couple of guest posts for us on Nepal, where he organizes Himalayan treks. No more travel to Nepal during the pandemic, but Jeff just took a very different kind of trip-- a road trip through the American pandemic. I think you'll find this as fascinating as I did. Be sure to visit Jeff's web site. He took all the pictures... but one. You can probably guess which one I inserted. Here's the guest post:

When my wife Alicia and I began our annual road trip from Indianapolis to Los Angeles on March 12, the coronavirus pandemic was still considered a “China problem.”

There were cases in Washington State, but it seemed likely the virus would be contained within the Seattle area.

A few days before packing the car to head west, I hiked the Starkey Park Trail along Eagle Creek in Zionsville, Indiana, with my hiking group. No one wore masks or washed their hands before we set out. “Social distancing” was not yet in the national vocabulary.

China began reporting deaths in January due to an epidemic in Wuhan. But news of a new virus on the other side of the Pacific Ocean seemed no more relevant than routine reports of epidemics, pestilence, and wars in other parts of the world.

We would drive nowhere near to Washington State on our planned route and Seattle is over 1,100 miles from L.A.

Surely Not Here!

Surely the virus would be contained by quarantining anyone coming to the States from China. Nevertheless, added two surgical masks, a large container of disinfectant wipes, and bottles of hand-sanitizer to our baggage.

Our first destination was Kansas City. News reports on the radio about the spread of the coronavirus were a little worrisome as we drove across Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri. But traffic on I-70 was normal.

No one seemed to be particularly concerned about the coronavirus at the gas and food stops we made along I-70. There was an outdoor concert in the Power and Light District that night we planned to attend. When we arrived, we discovered it was canceled.

But the restaurants in downtown KC were open and no particular precautions were being taken by servers or patrons.

We stopped in Manhattan, Kansas, the next day for a walking tour of Kansas State University. The University opened in 1863. The 19th Century castle-like limestone buildings in the center of the campus gave Alicia and me an eerie feeling. Not because of the architecture, but because we were the only people walking around the campus. All the buildings were locked up. It was spring break, but campuses don’t become ghost towns during a normal break in the academic calendar.

Heading West

As we drove west, the scenery changed from the flat and rolling farmlands of the Midwest to the Flint Hills of Kansas and then the high plains of eastern Colorado. When the Rocky Mountains in central Colorado came into view it looked like we were driving into another world. We were disappointed to find the 19-mile Pikes Peak Highway closed.

Santa’s North Pole near the entrance to the highway was also closed, so we couldn’t ride the highest (elevation 7,500 feet) Ferris Wheel in the world. No signs explained the closures.

But in Colorado Springs, Downtown and Old Town were happening places. Lots of people were walking the streets, shopping, hanging out in coffee houses, and dining out. The University of Colorado campus at Colorado Springs overlooks the Garden of the Gods Park. Its architecture is uniform, modern, and attractive.

Temporarily Closed

Notices around the campus stated that classes were temporarily canceled to reduce the risk of spreading the virus, but many students were walking around and hanging out on campus. The dining center, Café 65, was open to the public and serving food cafeteria-style. A poster at the entrance urged diners to wash their hands to reduce the risk of infection.

That warning prompted Alicia and I to begin washing our hands with soap and water or hand sanitizer every time we touched anything outside of our car. And we repeatedly washed every surface of the car that we touched with disinfectant wipes.

Cottonwood Hot Springs

We spent the night at Cottonwood Hot Springs and Spa outside of Buena Vista, Colorado. The Spa had several overnight guests and even more visitors with day-passes to soak in the hot springs. Fear of the virus floated away while I gazed up at a starlit sky suspended in a 110-degree spring-fed pool. Yet, for the first time on the trip, I felt reluctant to be physically close to a stranger. I remained on the other side of the pool while sharing tales of trekking and climbing in Nepal with a shaggy-bearded old hippie.

After a morning soak in the hot springs, we drove by Mt. Elbert, the highest peak in Colorado at 14,439 feet. It is one of a cluster of fourteeners around Leadville, the highest city in Colorado at 10,142 feet. Leadville is historically important to the labor movement, because of the violent miners’ strike in 1896-97.

Gun battles killed strikers and strike-breakers. The strike ended when the National Guard was called out and union leaders were arrested. It’s now a funky tourist-town. Radio news reported an outbreak of the virus in Colorado, but stores and restaurants were open for business in Leadville.

Alarming Reports on the Radio

News channels on our car’s radio broadcast increasingly alarming reports about the virus spreading to New York and other states outside of the Northwest. Still, Alicia and I felt safe from exposure driving through White River National Forest and Glenwood Springs in our Nissan Altima.

We pulled off the road for several scenic views of pristine trout streams with white-capped peaks in the distance. We made a picnic lunch on the bank of the Colorado River. Late in the afternoon, we hiked the Serpent’s Trail in Colorado National Monument.

We drove toward a pastel sky of orange, then red and violet as the sun sank behind distant hills on the way to Moab, Utah.

Social Distancing at the Diner

Cars and pedestrians were out on Main Street when we arrived that evening. We walked around town for a while and settled on the Moab Diner for a late dinner.

For the first time on the trip, we experienced something truly out of the ordinary at a restaurant. A handwritten poster requested patrons not to sit next to a table occupied by other diners. We complied.

Other than that slight inconvenience, in four days of travel we encountered no problems booking motels, fueling the car, purchasing any needed items, and dining in restaurants. That changed on March 16.

Arches National Park in Utah

Utah’s Arches

We spent the morning driving and hiking around the other-worldly Arches National Park. The Park was crowded with vehicles, hikers, and bike riders. There were no warnings at the park entrance about maintaining a distance from other hikers. But, after listening to hourly reports about the spread of the virus, we instinctively stepped away from other people on the trails.

I climbed a few boulders on one of the trails and then wondered whether other hands could leave the virus on rocks I touched. I carefully washed my hands before returning to the car and then cleaned the door handles, steering wheel, and controls with a disinfectant wipe. I also began to be very careful not to touch my face, wipe my eyes or nose, unless I first washed my hands.

We drove back into Moab for a late lunch. That’s when the relative normalcy of our journey ended. Every restaurant in Moab had closed to inside dining while we were exploring the wonderland of Arches. For the first time, we were forced to order takeout. Customers were still allowed to enter and order inside restaurants, but you were not allowed to eat inside.

On to LA or Back to Indy?

Alicia and I debated whether we should proceed on to LA or return to Indiana. We were asymptomatic and there were no reported cases in Indy when we left home. So, we felt confident we were not infected. We could not just end the journey, because we were 1,500 miles from home. We decided to drive on, but to be even more vigilant in taking precautions to protect ourselves and others as best we could.

We spent that night in a cabin at the Whispering Springs Motel in Hanksville, Utah (population 219). Stan’s Burger Shack was open and serving food without any restrictions. Alicia and I chose a table distant from the hand full of other diners. Before we tucked into our order of burgers, fries, and shakes, we wiped the bag, wrapping, and paper cups with disinfectant.

Butch Cassidy’s Hideout

We learned that Hanksville’s claim to fame is that Butch Cassidy used it as one of his hideouts. Driving along US-89 later that day, we serendipitously noticed a historical marker for Butch Cassidy’s Childhood Home. It is a very modest one-room log cabin just off the highway near Circleville, Utah.

The Visitor Center at Capitol Reef National Park was closed, but a petite ranger with ruddy cheeks and blond hair greeted visitors and handed out brochures about the park.

She cheerfully opined that being outdoors in a national park was one of the best places to be during a pandemic. “Visitors to the park can avoid groups of people and it’s good for your mental health!”

One of the most interesting areas in Capitol Reef National Park is the ghost town of Fruita. It was a Mormon settlement established in 1880. The settlers planted and tended orchards of cherry, peach, and pear trees, which are still tended by rangers.

The settlers hung a box on a huge cottonwood tree on the trail near the entrance to the settlement. The 200-year-old Mail Tree, which served as Fruita’s post office, still stands.

Alicia and I are not gamblers (maybe with life, but not money), so we are not really “Vegas people.” But we thought it would be interesting to see what was happening in Las Vegas in that early stage of the pandemic. The Strip and Downtown were lit up as if nothing had changed. But on March 17, the day before we arrived, all of the casinos closed.

Still, cruisers on The Strip backed up traffic for a mile the night of March 18. Some strip clubs refused to close but adapted their illuminated signs to advertising “hand-sanitizer nude wrestling” and “coronavirus-free stripping and table dances.”

We arrived in Los Angeles on March 19 to spend a few days with son Andrew, daughter-in-law Halima, and puppy Link in their new apartment in Brentwood before we moved into our rental condo for a week in Venice Beach. Mayor Eric Garcetti issued an order that night closing most businesses.

No Fatalities Yet in LA

Only a couple of other people were out on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood

It felt like the cascading effect of the virus was chasing us across the country. There were no reported fatalities yet in L.A., but around 100 people had been infected. Plans to make side-trips to visit friends Brooks and Maggie at their vineyard in Santa Barbara and Jeff and Pam in Lake Tahoe were canceled.

Dinners and a beach party with cousins David and Melissa and friends Glen and Jay were canceled. Enjoying L.A. would require more creativity than dining out.

Each of the eleven days we were in L.A., Andrew, Halima, Alicia, and I took long walks. We walked around the campuses of UCLA, USC, and Santa Monica College and the Walk of Fame in Hollywood.

We walked the beach in Venice and Santa Monica, and Andrew and I rode bikes on the 8.5-mile trail from Venice to Manhattan Beach. We hiked the trails and marveled at the 40-foot Paradise Waterfall in Wildwood Park, Ventura County.

Venice Beach is ordinarily a weird and wonderful place to hang out. Homeless dumpster divers mix with TV and movie stars.

Commercials, music videos, and scenes for cinema productions are routinely shot along the boardwalk or on the beach. Gorgeous Instagram models, surfer dudes, and famous athletes pose or amble along the boardwalk from Muscle Beach to Santa Monica Pier.

It has a carnival ambiance with buskers playing guitars, artisans hawking their wares, and hustlers selling CDs. Boomboxes blare and strangers give each other high and low fives as skateboarders and roller-bladers whiz by. But not the week of March 22, 2020.

Surfers and Bikers

A few surfers were in the water every day. A fair number of people walked, biked, or skated on the boardwalk and beach path, but numbers were well down from what I’d experienced in previous visits. The paddle tennis and basketball courts and skatepark were open and in use until March 27, when crime tape was put up to prohibit play.

Open marijuana dispensary on the Venice Beach boardwalk; other shops are closed

The shops along the boardwalk were closed, except for restaurant take-out, a marijuana dispensary, and a vaping store. Some of the street artists, who live in tents on the boardwalk, had no place to go, so they remained, but were not allowed to sell their works. There is a famously significant homeless population in the Venice area.

Many people live in tents or under make-shift shelters in alleys and some sleep wherever. The numbers were down from what I’d seen in the past, but there were still quite a few people living rough.

Muscular joggers, drag queens, and raggedy bums still roamed Venice Beach, but everyone carefully stepped aside rather than acknowledge a fellow human being with a smile, wave, or handout. Fear of infection drove the fun-loving spirit off the boardwalk and beach path.

The Drive Home to Indiana

What we experienced on the 2,200-mile drive back to Indy was similar to the last two days before arriving in LA. Motels and gas stations were open as were restaurants for takeout. We spent a night in Tusayan, the village just outside Grand Canyon National Park, and spent a day hiking the Rim Trail and driving through the park. Alicia and I had one of the most awesome sights on the planet almost to ourselves.

We tried to visit Petrified Forest National Park, but the gate was closed. We stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, and made stops in other towns along Rte. 66, like Holbrook, Arizona, and Tucumcari, New Mexico, that look like movie sets from the 1950s. The gate to Cadillac Ranch, just west of Amarillo, Texas was chained, but we could see the line of upended Cadillacs from the highway.

Visiting the Alfred P. Murrah Building Memorial in Oklahoma City is an emotionally-charged experience. On a previous visit, Alicia and I shared the experience with a crowd of people praying, crying, or placing mementos. This time, we shared the space with a security guard and a solitary duck.

The last scenic stop we planned was Garden of the Gods Recreational Area in the Shawnee National Forest in southern Illinois. Its rock and sandstone formations were created 300 million years ago. It looks more like Utah than the Midwest.

The gate at the park entrance was closed. But a backpacker walked around it, so, while Alicia guarded the car, I jogged the 1.5-mile hilly road to the scenic Observation Trail. Three miles of speed-walking and running felt good after so many hours in the car. The views were well worth the calorie burn.

Indy a Hot Spot

Before we arrived home on April 4th, Indianapolis was designated a “hot spot” for COVID-19 infections. By then, the virus had already killed 125 Hoosiers, and 4,400 had tested positive. Fatalities and cases were increasing, not leveling off. On the road, Alicia and I were rarely in close contact with other people.

After restaurants closed to inside dining, the only time we were in an enclosed space with a bunch of people was during a grocery run to Whole Foods in L.A.

Because we developed strict protocols, we felt safer from infection driving across the country than we did doing “essential” grocery shopping at that Whole Foods store in a “closed city.”

We washed our hands before and after touching anything handled by another person, including takeout orders, motel keys, and gas-pump handles. We wiped with disinfectant every surface we thought another person might have touched, including restaurant and motel door handles, counter-tops, and faucets.

On hikes, we avoided close contact with other hikers. We carried synthetic gloves, scarves, and sterile masks for use as needed. When we were traveling, much of our time was spent sheltered-in-place within our 4-door Altima.

Carriers Everywhere

Back in Indy, we are “hunkered down” by order of the Governor. Yet, potential carriers of the virus shop in grocery stores, pharmacies, hardware stores, liquor stores, cigarette shops, deliver mail and packages and other “essential” businesses.

A contractor and his worker are in our house to replace our kitchen. Construction work is exempt. If we thought there was any chance either of us had been exposed to the virus before we began our journey, we would not have risked exposing others by taking the road trip. That would have been immoral. But back home in Indiana, we feel less safe than on the road.

The sanitation protocols we followed gave us confidence that we could risk completing the great American road trip, despite the cascading effects of the pandemic.

Out the Car Windows

Driving by picturesque farms, winding rivers, and rolling hills, crossing the mighty Mississippi and Ohio Rivers, feeling the desolation of the Flint Hills and the Mojave Desert, passing by sparkling trout streams and through the majestic Rockies, and gazing across the awe-inspiring Grand Canyon-- just looking out of car windows on an American road trip is a fantastic experience.

It was a wonderful antidote to the depressing statistics and personal losses caused by the pandemic.

Trekking In The Himalayas Can, If You'd Like It To, Bring You More Than Just Awesome Vistas

Yesterday we published a guest post by Jeffrey Rasley on safety in Nepal. Today we'll look at a more personal reminiscence by Jeff on his complex and exhilarating relationship to this relatively mysterious and inaccessible country. His new book, Bringing Progress to Paradise, combines adventure travel with service work in Himalayan villages and if anyone is interested in contacting him about either his e-mail address is jrasley@juno.com/.

A Resting Place in Nepal
by Jeff Rasley

I first went to the Himalayan Mountains in Nepal as an adventurer and mountain climber in 1995. After four Himalayan expeditions in five years I’d had enough. In 1999 my climbing team barely escaped an avalanche that killed three Nepalese porters. Even though there was nothing I could have done to help these men, I was plagued by guilt over their deaths.

The men who staffed our Himalayan expeditions as guides and porters were the strongest and kindest people I had ever known. They emanated a beautiful spirituality and displayed almost super-human strength. After seeing those three men swept away in a tsunami of ice, snow and rock, I resolved not to go back to Nepal. There were other places to go adventuring, which would put only me in danger, not others.

But a call to return to Nepal in May 2003 was too strong to resist. It was the Jubilee celebration of the 50th anniversary of the first recorded summit of Mt. Everest by Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. The country was suffering through a civil war and needed tourist Dollars. The King of Nepal and Sir Edmund Hillary made a joint appeal to mountaineers throughout the world to come join in the celebration.

So in the spring of 2003 I trekked through the Khumbu region of Nepal and up to Mt. Everest Base Camp at 18,000 feet. I trekked with twenty members of the Hillary family for two days along the Base Camp trail. They were making a pilgrimage led by Sir Edmund’s older sister June, who was 86. I learned much about Sir Edmund’s devotion to the Sherpa people. After he became rich and world-famous, Hillary devoted much of the rest of his life to philanthropy for the Sherpa people. He greatly admired the unique character of strength and Buddhist gentleness he found in the high mountain people of Nepal.

The Jubilee experience had a profound effect on me. I felt the pull of Nepal again, but it was more than just the mountains, the culture, and the need for adventure. My encounter with the Hillary family compelled me to think about what I could do for Nepal and then to act. I’m not rich or famous, like Hillary. I don’t have the time or inclination to own and operate an expedition company, like Peter Hillary, Sir Edmund’s son. But I decided I would try in my own small way to help make a meaningful connection between the high mountain people of Nepal and friends from the West.

My plan was put into action the year after the Jubilee. I organized a three-member expedition. We raised $1,000 for a water project in the Dolpo region of Nepal and delivered 65 pounds of children’s clothes and school supplies. Since then, I have returned each year with a new group. Our trekking groups and related fundraising efforts have helped to finish construction of a village school, employed two teachers, connected a village school with two American schools in pen pal relationships, and distributed hundreds of pounds of school and medical supplies, clothing and toys. In 2009 our group included seventeen members and more than 90 people have made cash donations.

So here I am again. It’s just after sundown on December 1, 2010 and I’m sitting with Ganesh Rai and Buddiraj Rai by a campfire on the Ratnagi Danda, a 10,000 foot high ridge in the Nepal Himalayas. Everyone else is asleep in their tents. We are on our way out of the mountains trekking back to the airstrip at Paphlu village to fly to Katmandu. Our trekking group delivered a hydroelectric generator and the equipment to create electricity for Buddi and Ganesh’s little village, called Basa, which means “resting place.” The villagers have lived for hundreds of years in Basa without any source of power except burning wood. Now the village will have electricity.

Sitting by the campfire with Ganesh and Buddi I hoped to gain a deeper understanding of the unique spirit of the high mountain people. They had promised to share with me the traditional stories and rituals of the Rai people of Basa. Because I had helped finish the village school and had helped to provide employment for villagers by bringing trekking groups to Basa, the villagers called me “dhai” (elder brother).

Ganesh and Buddi knew that I had written a book about the special relationship I have developed with Basa village. They had requested permission from Kumar Rai, the senior porter of our staff and son of the village shaman, to tell me the ancient stories and rituals. Kumar had granted permission and told them he hoped I would write another book and bring more “white people” to Basa.

But working with the village is not a one-way street of Westerners bringing our money and higher material standard of living to Basa village. Yes, my friends gave Basa the capital to build a hydroelectric power station. But “the resting place” can give my friends and me a different power-- the power of spiritual contentment.

I will try to fulfill Kumar’s hope. What I learned from Ganesh Rai and Buddiraj Rai that night high on the Ratnagi Danda will be the beginning of my next book.

Is Nepal A Safe Place To Visit? Guest Post By Jeffrey Rasley

Author and Himalayan Mountains expedition organizer Jeffrey Rasley is one of America's foremost experts on Nepal. Since I'm getting ready for my third trip to that country, I was happy to find out he's releasing his second book about the country, Bringing Progress To Paradise. I was even happier when he agreed to do a guest post for the blog.

A Change To Violence

-by Jeffrey Rasley

In the 1980s and ’90s, the trekking-tourist industry grew rapidly. Many Nepalese were lifted out of poverty in the tourist destination areas such as the Katmandu Valley, the Khumbu along the Base Camp Trail, Langtang, Pokhara, and around the Annapurna Circuit Trail. But the boom was short-lived and busted by the end of the ’90s. The 2003 Jubilee celebrations caused an uptick, but the truce between the government and the Maoist rebels ended after the celebrations, and the return to violence again scared off the tourists, particularly Americans, because President Bush declared the Maoists an international terrorist organization.

In October 2004, while I was mucking around in Tribhuvan International Airport dealing with lost bags, friend Elliot was waiting for me outside the airport when he saw an explosion in downtown Katmandu. The Maoists had rolled three hand grenades into an office building. That was the closest anyone in my trekking groups came to experiencing violence or being directly affected by the civil war in Nepal. But fear of violence and the political instability of Nepal frightened some friends away from joining my expeditions.

Beginning in the late 1990s, the Maoists claimed territorial rights over certain trekking trails. These trekking trails became revenue sources for the Maoists. Armed bands would block trails and require trekkers to pay a fee to use the trail. The leader of the band would give the trekkers a lecture about politics in Nepal and then issue each trekker a certificate declaring the fee had been paid so other Maoist bands would not collect the fee a second time. If a trekker didn’t have enough money to pay the fee, the Maoists would take a camera, climbing gear, down jackets, or other valuable possessions. The fee was generally around $100, but after the U.S. government declared the Maoists international terrorists, Americans were required to pay double the amount of all other nationals. When the Maoist insurgency was at its worst, I wrote “Canada” on my trekking duffel with a Sharpie, just in case.

The Maoists were unsuccessful in penetrating Sherpa communities in the Khumbu, so, happily, I never had an encounter with one of their armed bands. Every Westerner I met in Nepal who hiked the Annapurna Circuit from the mid-90s through 2006 had a Maoist encounter. In the Khumbu, what we encountered was an ever-increasing military presence. Each year, we passed more government soldiers on the trails and had to cross through additional military checkpoints.

In Katmandu, the king would periodically impose a curfew on citizens, which usually didn’t apply to tourists. Walking back to our hotel in 2004 after a night out with Nepalese friends, Briggie, Elliot, and I had to endure the hard stares of young soldiers with loaded carbines. They were understandably resentful that we were allowed to walk the streets of Katmandu freely, while our Nepalese friends had to skulk down alleys and hide from the soldiers, or risk arrest or a beating. Most of the army recruits during the civil war were young uneducated village boys. Their training was poor, evidenced by the fact that they lost most of the pitched battles against the Maoists, and the allegiance of the Nepalese people eroded and eventually swung in favor of the Maoists. So it sent a little shiver down my spine when that young soldier stepped out in front of us, pointing his rifle at us, while intently eyeballing Briggie, a tall, slim, blond, blue-eyed South African. But with a sneer and jerk of his head, he let us pass.

****

I have never been the victim or even seen any real violence in Nepal, but what I did experience was amazement and disbelief at the change in the Nepalese attitude toward violence as the Maoist Rebellion became a full-fledged civil war. Just before my first visit to Nepal in 1995, a Nepalese guy killed a European in a bar fight in Katmandu. The entire nation was in mourning when we arrived because of the felt national disgrace and sorrow over a guest of Nepal being killed. In the ten-year civil war, from 1996 to 2006, an estimated 12,800 Nepalis died. I found it unbelievable that the Maoists and the government could have brought such a degree of fear, death, and destruction to a nation that mourned so soulfully over the death of one person two years before the war began.

In 2006, as the war reached its climax, a friend was brutally beaten in Katmandu. Raaj is a native Nepali, but grew up in India, has long hair, owned a tea shop in Katmandu, and is the leader of a rock band. He looks like a dissident, but he was not a Maoist, just a guy who loves Western rock music. One night when walking home after a gig in Thamel, Raaj and his band mates were jumped and beaten by “royalists.” Raaj’s arm and nose were broken. When I saw him a month or so after the beating, of course I was upset for him, but I also found it hard to accept that such a thing could happen in this country that had been a beacon of peace in a violent world just a few years before.



More on Jeffrey's Nepali observations tomorrow.