Solo Adventures: Are they Terrifying or Enlightening?
Last month I traveled through the National Forests of Arizona where I set up ultrasonic detectors as part of a project that monitors bat populations. This was my first solo adventure in a job I had started less than a month prior to the trip. It consisted of two and a half weeks of travel to remote areas, hiking through forests, scrambling up and down mountains, and sleeping in my car with no cell service. As a self-proclaimed adventurer, I was excited to take on these challenges by myself.
The trip started with a 13-hour drive to the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, where I passed through mesas and dense forests, stopping multiple times for pictures as the sun set. Eventually, I pulled into a small cluster of cabin-themed motel rooms over an hour from the nearest grocery store. From there, my plans for the night were to take a shower, prepare for the next day, and go to bed at a decent time. However, when I started to plan, I learned that the road I needed to take was currently engulfed with wildfires, as was another area I needed to visit. My plans fell apart immediately. I tried to rework my route that night, but the Wi-Fi in the room gave out and it was already past 2am. So, I made a rough plan for the next day and went to bed unsure of what the next two weeks would bring.
A three-and-a-half-hour drive kicked off the next morning— it would have been 30 minutes with no road closures. As I neared my destination, the paved roads shifted to gravel, and then to large rocks that rattled my car and everything in it, I winced every time I heard my gear being thrown against the walls. The path narrowed as I drove, overgrown with cacti on each side, I crawled forward with my head hanging out the window to make sure my tires stayed off the cacti. Unfortunately, the path continued to deteriorate as I progressed, and I was forced to make a decision: risk popping my tires and getting stranded miles away from cell service, or turn back without finishing my work.
This was about the time I realized traveling alone may not have been as romantic as I had envisioned. I had nobody to consult with about the options, it was just me. Nobody could bail me out if I got stuck. I grew more stressed with each cactus I narrowly avoided, and with each time my tires spun out. It got to the point where I left my car every few minutes to assess the roads in front of me and check my tires for signs of a flat.
Ultimately, I made the smart choice and turned my car around after only getting one of four detectors set up along that road. I still had one more option left for this area. It was slightly better than that first road, but not by much. To get there, I drove my car down narrow, rocky roads and up a mountain steep enough that I had to use my steering wheel to hold myself forward in the seat. Then when I reached the top of the mountain, I had to scramble down a steep canyon to a plateau just inside the area I needed to monitor. It took 30 minutes to climb down 300 feet to a plateau where I could set up a detector, the entire time I battled loose rocks below my feet and intrusive thoughts of tumbling over the cliff to my death.
Those thoughts became a recurring theme. What if a rattlesnake bit me, or I got robbed, or my car broke down, and being alone amplified these fears. I sensed I was afraid and forced myself to acknowledge these feelings. In doing so, I concluded that two main things were bothering me: first was the thought of my heartbroken fiancé and parents if I died, then the second issue was loneliness — as I was in remote areas where I rarely saw other humans. After I assessed my fears, I decided that the best way I could handle them was to be careful and talk to myself, so that’s what I did. I checked bushes for snakes, I steered clear of deadly cliffs, and I carried on a consistent conversation with myself while I did it. This mini therapy session lasted for a few hours, and it may not sound like much, but it was enough to calm my mind and give me the confidence to finish my trip.
The next locations I visited went more smoothly than the first. I left the Apache-Sitgreaves and drove 7 hours to the Prescott National Forest where I was able to loosen up a bit. The locations I visited here were easy to get to, there were no wildfires, and I got to camp in the mountains with perfect temperatures. Up there I was able to unwind at a nice viewpoint near a cliff and enjoy troves of pines and rolling hills below me. I put my nose into the groove of a Ponderosa Pine’s bark and took in its sweet butterscotch scents, I watched a group of ravens bounce around the forest chattering amongst themselves, I cooked dinner over a fire, and saw a herd of elk stroll through the campsite as the sun set. Finally, I sunk into a $10 lawn chair and kicked my feet up on the back of my car to relax before going to sleep for the night.
The next morning, I left my campsite and moved on to the Coconino, where the roads were made up of mud, holes, and large jagged rocks. My head bounced back and forth for hours while my car crept through the forest, my teeth clenched as tree branches scraped by my windows, drowning out the sound of the radio. Google maps said it would take an hour to go from point to point, but that was a lie. I trudged along at 7 mph for nearly three hours on the nearly non-existent roads and at one point I nearly choked on a mint, luckily, I was able to spit it out before it blocked my airway. But not before I was reminded of how easily things could go wrong while traveling alone — a thought that lingered the rest of the day. Even with the rough roads, the Coconino went by without any major issues, although it kept my mind full of images with my car stuck in a mud pit or flipped over a large rock. However, in the moments between these invasive thoughts, I enjoyed the beautiful sights of pines, waves of wildflowers, and hummingbirds that zipped by every time I left my car.
The next day it was time for me to move on and leave behind the bone-rattling, yet beautiful, Coconino. The Kaibab was my last stop, and it went well, allowing me to cruise through to the end of my trip under light rains that kept the days cool. My time here felt short compared to the first days in the Apache-Sitgreaves, where I had struggled with fears and uncertainty. When I wrapped up work, I even decided to spend a couple days camping near the Grand Canyon before I returned home. There I spent my nights by the fire listening to coyotes howl and bats chirp in the darkness. I left Arizona with a peaceful mind.
Now, looking back, I enjoyed the trip and learned a lot about myself. Solo travel is terrifying at times, fears and dangers are amplified when you’re alone. A fall down a cliff, a mountain lion, or even a piece of candy could end you. However, experiencing nature with nothing but your thoughts is an enlightening experience. Just you by yourself talking to hummingbirds, wasps, wildflowers, cacti, and trees, coexisting with the wild in a way most people never will.
